Can You Hear Me Now? Good.

“You know, the purpose of coming to these events is to network with other people…”

I could literally feel the color drain from my face. 

I grew up fairly shy and quiet. I was never comfortable taking up space and speaking up around family and friends. With new people? Forget it. 

Yet I was smart and determined. I knew from a young age that I wanted to work in science, and as the first person in my family to eventually go to college, I knew it would be on me to get there. I graduated college with a degree in marine science in biology, my goal since I was about nine years old, and I was soon off to my master’s program in marine biology. 

Suddenly I was expected to speak up more. Much more. What? Now, I knew this was a possible issue. I even had to promise my Advanced Placement English teacher in high school that I’d speak up more to take the class. But this was another level. I had to give presentations in every class. I was expected to participate in discussions weekly. Now, none of this is bad, yet I had no way to ease myself in. It was sink or swim, and while I was usually treading water, I’d often end days exhausted from the anxiety and the sheer amount of speaking I had to do. 

My school held “Dinner with the Dean” once a quarter, bringing together students from the Graduate School to engage with the Dean and with each other over dinner. Let’s be real, my classmates and I usually went for the free food, but it was a nice break to hear from students in other programs. During one dinner, a couple of program directors, including my program director, attended. Somehow, I ended up seated between my director and some students from another program. Maybe it was being seated next to my director, maybe it was the fact that the dinner was after a full day of classes, but I was exhausted and feeling especially shy. I made eye contact with others, I responded to questions and stories, but I wasn’t being particularly chatty. And that’s when my director, in clear earshot of our section of the table, said, 

“You know, the purpose of coming to these events is to network with other people…”

I proceeded to chat with the students next to me, but I wanted nothing more than to sprint from the table in tears. How dare he?! What exactly did he think embarrassing me would accomplish? I later told my friends (who were seated away from us) and they sympathized and told me not to worry. 

Oh, if only it had ended there. 

The next day we had our weekly seminar with the program director. For some reason networking came up and the director made a comment about how I needed to be better at networking after the previous day’s dinner. In front of my entire first year class. 

My God, why couldn’t he let go?!

Luckily my friends wasted no time snapping back, reminding him that he is notoriously awkward and in no position to comment on my behavior. And everyone else agreed. 

Oh, did I mention that for the first time in my life, I was the only person of color in my class? 

Somehow I got through that year and the following two years, passed my thesis defense, and graduated with my master’s in marine biology. 

Then, things started to change. I shifted my career focus to science communications. I volunteered on the executive boards of nonprofit organizations. I needed to network. I had to speak more in front of people. But I was doing so in my own time, because I wanted to. Soon it became easier. Soon I even started enjoying it. 

Now I regularly speak on behalf of organizations and have no issues sharing my ideas in meetings. Instead of shrinking, I want to take up space. I love taking up space. All because I gave myself the time, care, and support that my program director denied me. While my director pointed out my flaws publicly, I remind myself of my strengths and my qualifications. And the more space I take up, the more that others validate what I already see in myself. 

So to that director: Can you hear me now? Good.