Resistance: reconciling Electrical Engineering
In August 2020 I was on a walk with my mum and sisters. We were having long chats about sexism and racism, discussing the workplace and how problematic big corporations are in terms of diversity and the lack of support they provide for minorities. We talked about women in education, in the workplace, and how problematic it is for so many.
For a topic I have so much to speak to, I was mute. I could feel my throat getting thick with emotion. ‘Push it down, you’re fine’ I remember telling myself. Rather than listening, all my energy went into not crying, forcing feelings away to enjoy the pleasant day. And then, midday, in the middle of our walk, I burst into tears.
It was the first time I had cried in front of my mom in almost five years.
I couldn’t control myself, it felt like a flood of emotion had erupted from my body. When my mom consoled me, she knew I wasn’t crying because of the conversation, I was crying because I had been living that conversation for six years. I was beginning to let my experience surface.
It is difficult to write this as I am reliving my traumas and revealing these experiences to the world. The importance of this effort, and what I am reminded of when talking with my female peers, is that these experiences and feelings are shared with other women. I am deeply saddened that people will relate to this. Hopefully, through sharing and voicing my experiences I can be a part of making them less common to women and minorities in engineering.
These experiences cannot be summarized in one sentence, though I have tried for hours on end. I have been studying electrical engineering at Carleton for six years and over which have had two different industry placements. Each position posing its own bundle of harassment, oppression, and stress induced hospital visits. This industry isn’t an easy path to choose, but I chose it for my love of math and physics. At least that’s what I tell myself. Sometimes I wonder if I chose it just to prove that I could, that I wasn’t just a ‘pretty lady’.
I will never forget the first few months I started feeling targeted. I used to fantasize about my first days in big lecture halls, running from class to class, making friends, and lasting connections. All while looking my best of course.
That fantasy plummeted into a sea of self-doubt and fear when I wore a skirt to class for the first time. In a first-year lecture hall of about 150 engineering students, it’s easy to find the female students in the room, there aren’t many. I can’t remember details about this specific day other than that was the last time I wore a skirt to class.
Over the years my clothes became baggier, I slowly removed the things that made me feel femme and for a long period of time didn’t like looking in the mirror. My breasts were always problematic, bringing attention I didn’t want. No matter how much I covered up I was always watching the eyes of my peers fall to my chest. No matter how hard I tried I was always ‘the girl in the class’ or one of them. I questioned my gender and my sexuality for the way my male peers made me feel, and how I acted around them. Instead of being true to who I was, I moulded myself to be as similar to my male peers as I could, in hopes of being treated the same.
The first time I considered dropping out was in my second year. I was taking a Java coding course and the professor was refreshingly encouraging of his students. He started one of his lectures by informing the class of a business opportunity, presenting an idea to a board of investors that would rate and fund projects.
He opened his office for students to share their ideas, and expressed that he would help in getting funding for new innovations. I was thrilled. Finally, a professor that wanted to hear my ideas!
I went to his office, with my notebook full of ideas I had been mulling over.
His office was narrow and windowless. Stale grey walls and florescent lights set the tone for most of my engineering life.
I sat down in a chair and he pulled his chair over to me. I remember him sitting too close.
‘It’s fine, I’m probably overthinking this’ I told myself, our knees were almost touching.
I was nervous but began explaining my ideas and the research I had done.
“Yea that’s great,” he interrupted.
He continued by explaining his own business idea and model for the next half hour. Without interrupting I sat patiently. Wondering why he was telling me these plans.
Without acknowledging that my idea had just been disregarded, I asked him why he was disclosing this to me.
“I thought we could go 60/40 on this and present it” he smiled. I felt uncomfortable, our close seated position suddenly felt exaggerated, and I looked at the door. He hardly even knew my name how was he seriously considering me to present a business with him?
“Why me?” I asked.
“Well, you see, a man and a man in front of a bunch of investors, is boring. But a man and a young woman like you would surely get investor’s attention.”
After he said this, the door at the front of his office seemed more closed. I felt dirty and gross. I remember wanting to slap him. He hardly bothered to listen to my idea and now he’s asking me to stand beside him and look pretty for his business? My rage came and went as soon as I remembered his position. He was my professor. He had authority over me. I have never felt it more than in this moment. I thanked him for his time, and got up to leave.
“I’ll have to think about it, I’ll get back to you.” I said. I stood up, having to step back because of how we were seated.
“Take all the time you need, I’m just an email away and I am always here if you need me.”
“Thanks for your time” I said sticking out my hand, hoping that would instill the professionalism that he should’ve had when talking to a student.
He shook my hand and held on.
“Wow, such a strong girl,” still grabbing by hand, “do you work out?”
With one hand on the door handle and one hand in his, I looked away.
“No.” I pulled away and opened the door.
My heart was racing, I felt like I was going to throw up. I felt my throat getting swollen and pushed it down to a deep place so that no one could see my distress.
After that day, I skipped class for a month and a half. I considered dropping out of engineering altogether. I was angry, ashamed, and demoralized. I couldn’t talk about my experience until four months later, in mid-summer. I will never forget telling my mum about the experience with my brother in the room. It was over coffee one morning, having one of our big world issue discussions as we usually do. My brother, a mechanical engineer, stayed very quiet while I described my second year of engineering. He came up to me afterwards and wrapped his arms around me.
“I never realized how different things are for you and me”
“I’m really sorry that happened, you shouldn’t have to deal with things like that”
I will always cherish this moment.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the last time I was asked to be ‘the woman,’ or the last time a male superior used their position to harass me without consequence.
After my fourth year of coursework, I had the opportunity to work an internship with a high-tech, radio frequency integrated circuit (RFIC) communications company. It paid really well, and I had a connection that helped me get an interview.
As a preface, interviews for high-tech companies have a similar intensity to exams. My interview process consisted of four different interviewers consecutively testing me for 30 minutes each. It was a quick hello and basic get-to-know-you questions, followed intensive hours of problem solving related to circuit design and electronics. This is pretty standard for the field (I believe). For two weeks, I spent hours interviewing for the position. Studying in-between visits. I remember knowing I had the job when I was working on the whiteboard during an interview, and caught an interviewee checking out my ass.
After receiving the job I asked my manager if they have ever had a female intern before. He said he thought they did, but not while he was a manager.
I started the job just like anyone would, excited and enthusiastic about learning; eager to be good at what I needed to do. It was really difficult to dress for work because I didn’t have any female peers. Always professional, I wore dress pants and a high-necked (loose) shirt. I remember the day I wore my favourite professional dress to work. I can’t discuss the details, but the dress remains unworn since that day.
My excitement at this company started and ended with my supervisor. What started as an enthusiastic work relationship quickly turned into something that made me uncomfortable to come into work every day.
It all began with my hand cream.
Most of my work was conducted in a lab, testing and building circuits. My hands always got so dry. I kept a small bottle of hand cream on my desk that my friend had given me earlier that year. I used to love the smell of it.
I had just rubbed some on my hands when I was sitting at my cubicle and my supervisor popped his head in to check in on some work I was completing. He sniffed the air intentionally and asked me what that smell was.
“Oh, it’s my hand cream” I said, pointing to the little brown bottle on my desk.
“May I?” he asked, motioning to grab my hand.
I didn’t say anything. He took my hand and raised it to his face to sniff it.
“Mmmmm” he dropped my hand and starred. He was always making intense, prolonged eye contact with me. “I’m going to get this for my fiancée.”
I felt uncomfortable and held off wearing the hand cream for a long while after that encounter. One day the skin on my hands started cracking and I desperately needed moisture. I put on the otherwise exiled cream and got up to hustle back to the lab. As soon as I got up from my seat, my supervisor was at the opening of my cubicle.
“Mmmmm… you’re wearing that cream again aren’t you”
He growled and made a biting motion towards me.
That interaction was when I knew my previous discomforts around him weren’t unjustified or ‘all in my head’. The texts he’d send me outside of work, the unsolicited hugs, I would stiffen whenever he’d touch me.
My enthusiasm at work depleted after the first four months because of these interactions with my supervisor. I began getting really anxious and angry with our encounters. This was difficult to navigate as I was in charge of completing his lab work and couldn’t avoid being in communication with him. I had no female peers to confide in. With no one to talk to I did what had become a habit, and pushed the feelings down.
The one friend I carpooled with slowly started to realize how uncomfortable I was before and after work. He started making jokes when my supervisor would try to give me ‘morning hugs’. When my supervisor approached and tried to hug me, my friend would ask ‘where’s mine?’ My supervisor would laugh and walk away. It wasn’t much, but it helped.
Work was ramping up. I started working overtime at least once or twice a week. I was asked to run tests that I hadn’t the slightest idea how to run. My team wasn’t responsive when I asked questions. I always asked everyone, except my supervisor. Not unless absolutely necessary.
Our office was moving into another building. Without support, I organized, disassembled, and reassembled millions of dollars of equipment on behalf of my team, all while fulfilling their lab requests. My team purposefully ignored me throughout those maddening months.
At this point, I was exhausted, tired of being harassed, tired of managing a lab move, and tired of being ignored. My supervisor noticed my sour moods and asked if I was alright. Even though he was a significant part of why I hadn’t been ‘alright’, it was the first time anyone had asked how I was doing.
“I’m frustrated with the team, but I will deal with it. I appreciate you checking in, but this is something that I want to communicate to the team on my own” I felt disgusted with myself for confiding in the same person that was sending me messages about his late night thoughts.
Later that day he pulled me out of the lab. He sat me down and talked to me as if he had just solved all of my issues. He had told the team about my frustrations and he agreed with their response - I needed to be more aggressive when asking for help.
I remember feeling so defeated. How could I have been so foolish to confide in this person? He was so proud of himself. He smiled through his explanation, as if this was some way to get close to me outside of the strict workplace boundaries I had set. Moments before I led the team design discussion, everyone was informed of my grievances, and worse, from someone else.
I remember thinking, “why should I have to be aggressive when asking questions? Is this not already such an aggressive environment for me to navigate?” I was furious. But far too emotionally exhausted to express anything more than,
“thanks.”
At the end of the team meeting, my manager asked if I was okay while we were all sitting around the table.
“I have been struggling in the lab recently and haven’t had any help” I said, trying to withhold my frustration. Knowing they already knew. I already appeared weak because of my supervisor, I couldn’t even look at him.
“Help?” My manager looked confused. “You haven’t asked for help,” he said innocently. He looked around the room and the other members of my team agreed, “you haven’t asked for help.”
I was enraged, I swear I could have set on fire at that very moment. For the past 2 months, I had been asking for help consistently every day if not more than once a day. I had facilitated the entire lab move and completed every one of their over-complicated tasks.
I showed my manager the emails I had sent, asking for help. I looked to another designer on my team and reminded him,
“When you asked for this test and I told you I didn’t know how to do it you laughed and said you didn’t either.” My throat was getting thick, “you laughed and told me good luck.”
“You need to be more assertive in asking for help.”
“Okay” I said.
For six years I have avoided my femininity, hiding the way I look and acting cold in ways I never knew possible. I felt dark and troubled, not able to be my true self. In these situations and hundreds more - they would take too many pages to write - I have felt ashamed to be who I am. I hid behind a version of myself, with the hope that I could be spoken to on the same level as my male peers. The lack of support in both education and industry for engineers concerns me deeply. I can’t help but imagine how different it would be if there were more women in the room. I can’t help but imagine how different it would be if I was a man.
My heart sinks when I hear the relatable stories of my engineering peers, our shared feelings bring rage to my soul and sadness to my heart.
Within that sadness there is hope - in this oppression I have felt that my very presence, was an act of resistance.
Deep breath in
You’re okay
It’s been a really testing
and trying day
Creation is calling
And so is my heart
My 9-5 job
Is tearing me apart
A sea of grey
Corridors of white
Empty halls and empty words
Haunt me at night
In the day I dream
Of what it could be
The engineering life
For the ‘shes’ after me
I don’t want them to cry
Or change what they wear
To be more like the men
Under 30 with grey hair
This purpose fills my heart
And breaks it all the same
For I get so tired of
Maneuvering this game
What does change look like?
Does it shine does it smell?
I know what it will feel like
Making light amongst hell
A mural a painting?
My usual way?
Should I leave should I quit?
Something tells me to stay
Is it money?
Is it power?
I can’t answer
I don’t know
Crazy thoughts fill my head
I should leave and be free
But I can always feel
The girl after me
“Be the role model you wish you had”
A deep breath of release
I want to make a difference
For girls just like me
To empower others I must
First empower myself
Move with purpose
Move with grace,
Prioritize your health
Both physical and mental
In times like these
A Monday night poem
In isolation, Covid 19
It is time for change.
