I used to feel intimidated and shaky when it came to sharing my knowledge in class. For the last few years, I’ve battled low self-esteem and anxiety whenever I put on a presentation or answer a question among a large group of students. Even if I knew I had a unique or relevant idea, I would hold back from raising my hand to speak.
I remember clearly in one of my grade 10 classes, when my teacher decided to call on me unexpectedly. I had a good grasp of the course content, but I panicked the moment she said my name. I could barely form a decent sentence to answer the question given because all I could focus on was how intense my nerves were. I’m someone who is already very reserved, so on top of being way out of my comfort zone, I was also scared of embarrassing myself if I got an answer wrong in front of my peers. Although I learned a lot from listening to others, I never give myself many opportunities to work on my own speaking skills because of my fear of humiliation.
Years later, I know now that my fear of speaking up was partially the result of societal standards that we’re taught when we’re younger. It’s evident to me that girls become aware of gender-based societal expectations early in life. This awareness, which is sometimes unconscious, often permeates into their future career goals. It’s like Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie said, “We say to girls, you can have ambition, but not too much. You should aim to be successful, but not too successful. Otherwise, you would threaten the man.”
Unknowingly, I embodied these messages every day when holding back because I was handing my male counterparts more even opportunities to lead. Going to a school where rowdier behaviour was seen as the norm for my male peers always made me feel extremely uncomfortable with speaking out; to no one’s surprise, this really hurt the quality of my high school experience.
When it finally came time to fill out my university applications, I discovered something new about myself: I was interested in learning about the business world. As of 2020, women only hold about eight per cent of executive positions in Canada’s 100 largest public companies, according to a report from Rosenzweig & Company. I wanted to see way more.
While thinking about where I wanted to be in the next five years, I realized just how much I wanted a stable, full-time job after my undergrad. I figured a business degree could lead me there (as opposed to way more years studying medicine, like I had originally planned). So after the excitement of my acceptances came and went, I decided to study commerce at the Smith School of Business. I hadn’t even considered business school until applications rolled around, so I was super excited to see where things would go in the fall.
Like many other students, I checked out my schedule for the fall semester online over my summer break. I wanted to be as prepared as possible; what time did I have class every day? What section was I in? Who would my professors be? I was really looking forward to having a few female role models to look up to in a business school—something I really didn’t have in high school. So I looked up all five of my instructors on RateMyProfessors.com, but my hope for the new school year diminished as I read about each of them—none of them were women.
Since I was still new to business, I never really had a chance to connect with any successful women in the field before arriving at Smith. Although I was slightly disappointed, I was hopeful that I could still meet several mentors who could help me navigate my unique place in commerce. I thought it might be harder without any female professors, but I tried to adjust anyway—I was mentally preparing myself for an environment where female leadership was just uncommon.
When classes finally began in September, I noticed a gender divide in my section’s seating arrangement right away. Most of the time, I found that about one-third of the room was occupied by male students. On the opposite end, another third of the room was mainly occupied by women. And the middle region was the only area in which males and females chose to sit among one another. The physical divide was striking to me, I felt so partitioned from the rest of my peers.
Week after week, I noticed that the side of the room filled with my male classmates seemed livelier during lecture; they were more confident to raise their hands and were always outspoken in class discussions. Sometimes, one of our professors would engage so deeply in conversation with that side of the room that he didn’t even notice his back was facing a whole third of the class. I wondered if he knew how alienating this felt to the rest of us. The amplification of the gender dynamics in class was enough to keep my fear of speaking up as strong as it was in high school. For the entirety of the semester, I never raised my hand in that class.
My classmates and I were eventually sorted into groups. My assigned group was made up of myself and three of my male classmates: Alex, Sahad and Marco. I’d never spoken to them before so I felt unexpectedly uncomfortable during our first meeting, but by the end of it I had been assigned a leadership role. I guess everyone was being collegial to make good first impressions.
Our group dynamic quickly became messy. Alex and Sahad would constantly criticize Marco while he wasn’t around, poke fun at the quality of his work and even go as far as deleting it behind his back.
During these awkward moments, I’d usually keep to myself. I didn’t know these guys, and felt like I’d start more drama for raising my concerns, or questioning them, so I let them take the lead instead. I had seen the way they treated Marco, and I didn’t want to be laughed at behind closed doors.
Women who work in male-majority environments are more likely to report gender-based discrimination, according to a study by the Pew Research Centre. Women are also less likely to see fair amounts of attention to gender diversity in these environments.
Today I know that this was what was happening to me in that first semester at Smith. I never asked enough questions or got enough hands-on experience with any of our projects, and it held me back from fully understanding the course. Looking back, I wish I had the confidence I needed to voice my opinions instead of being scared of being ridiculed for asking a simple question or getting an answer wrong.
As the semester progressed, I realized that quite a few of my female classmates might have also been scared of taking the lead. In preparation for one of our exams that winter, our professor asked the class to volunteer for an activity which was designed to get us ready for our mid-term. To no one’s surprise, only male students volunteered. At this point, I was feeling more disempowered than ever. Even though I had ambitious goals of securing a high-paying job upon graduation, I still couldn’t get myself to push beyond the discomfort of being the only female participant. And as usual, I was scared of getting an answer wrong in front of my peers.
I really wish our professor had put greater efforts towards seeking female perspectives. He could’ve tried harder to select female voices in class discussions and activities. There were times where some of my female classmates were either more reserved or on the verge of volunteering and he could have put more effort into seeking them out. Instead, I found he would often spend more time interacting with my male classmates.
To make my experience even more isolating, I observed and worked with several men who made sexual comments about women throughout the semester. They’d take a minute to make comments about my appearance, or stare at me while talking aimlessly about who they wanted to hookup with.
I had one classmate who would relentlessly stare at me this way and I was stuck with him as one of my group members. I felt so extremely uneasy in all of our team meetings that I would usually just sit there counting down the minutes until it was over. Not surprisingly, my results in that class were far lower than my grades in all my other subjects.
It seemed like many of my male classmates thought about romance as a one-way street; they’d simply announce their interest in a particular girl, without considering whether she consented to their affection. And every time they made these remarks, I was made to feel like I was some sort of prey. I wish some of our professors paid more attention and intervened when these types of comments were made. I wish I could go to school without worrying about how my male classmates would judge my appearance. And I wish the same for my female classmates.
Before the end of my first semester, I took a leave of absence for personal reasons. I returned to Queen’s the next fall feeling refreshed with the renewed goal of successfully completing my commerce degree from square one.
This time, I was lucky enough to be put into a group with four other women and my experience was drastically different.
There’s a misconception that women make unpleasant bosses because they’re notorious for causing drama.
62 per cent of Canadians say they’d feel “very comfortable” with female CEOs, according to a survey from the Reykjavik Index for Leadership. Women are also more likely than men to perceive both genders as equally competent.
I didn’t have to worry about my looks or work contributions being calculated by my peers. My new group members were far more understanding when mistakes were made, so I didn’t have to be scared about making mistakes. I didn’t dread going into a meeting, and all of this led to me feeling much more mentally safer than I had before. I didn’t feel stressed or panicked going into team meetings and finally, my hands didn’t shake when I spoke out. At last, I was making decisions during our meetings and leading conversations and it all came naturally to me.
The result of working in a mentally safe space? I faced lower levels of anxiety than I ever had, which enabled me to share ideas regularly, instead of having to wait weeks to build up the courage. I stopped caring so much about what the men in my class would think about me or the way I looked or behaved. And everytime I shared my thoughts, I became even more confident in my abilities. As I got used to being very vocal in meetings, my fears lessened and my heart didn’t beat as fast. My group and I achieved higher grades than our previous semesters, giving me the self-esteem boost to realize my contributions were truly meaningful. I not only walked away with a stronger understanding of my classes, but a fresh sense of trust and belief in myself.
Working with other women showed me that in order to thrive, women need to feel safe. But safety and security cannot be established in an academic setting where we continue to ridicule women for their mistakes and allow men to normalize harassment and sexual remarks.
I had to remove myself from male-dominated spaces to get to a healthy headspace after being around men who excelled at the expenses of the women they sexualized. It took me a long time to arrive at these realizations. I worked through so much internalized misogyny, thinking I was the problem when really it was the unsafe environments I had been subjected to.
And I’m proud of myself for making it this far. I’m hungry for more success and excited to figure myself out—I’m just worried I may find myself in another position where my capabilities aren’t recognized because I am a woman. But I know that society can’t effectively support women if women aren’t offered equal opportunities to reach for success the same way their male counterparts are. This is a change I’d love to see.
I used to feel intimidated and shaky when it came to sharing my knowledge in class. For the last few years, I’ve battled low self-esteem and anxiety whenever I put on a presentation or answer a question among a large group of students. Even if I knew I had a unique or relevant idea, I would hold back from raising my hand to speak.
I remember clearly in one of my grade 10 classes, when my teacher decided to call on me unexpectedly. I had a good grasp of the course content, but I panicked the moment she said my name. I could barely form a decent sentence to answer the question given because all I could focus on was how intense my nerves were. I’m someone who is already very reserved, so on top of being way out of my comfort zone, I was also scared of embarrassing myself if I got an answer wrong in front of my peers. Although I learned a lot from listening to others, I never give myself many opportunities to work on my own speaking skills because of my fear of humiliation.
Years later, I know now that my fear of speaking up was partially the result of societal standards that we’re taught when we’re younger. It’s evident to me that girls become aware of gender-based societal expectations early in life. This awareness, which is sometimes unconscious, often permeates into their future career goals. It’s like Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie said, “We say to girls, you can have ambition, but not too much. You should aim to be successful, but not too successful. Otherwise, you would threaten the man.”
Unknowingly, I embodied these messages every day when holding back because I was handing my male counterparts more even opportunities to lead. Going to a school where rowdier behaviour was seen as the norm for my male peers always made me feel extremely uncomfortable with speaking out; to no one’s surprise, this really hurt the quality of my high school experience.
When it finally came time to fill out my university applications, I discovered something new about myself: I was interested in learning about the business world. As of 2020, women only hold about eight per cent of executive positions in Canada’s 100 largest public companies, according to a report from Rosenzweig & Company. I wanted to see way more.
While thinking about where I wanted to be in the next five years, I realized just how much I wanted a stable, full-time job after my undergrad. I figured a business degree could lead me there (as opposed to way more years studying medicine, like I had originally planned). So after the excitement of my acceptances came and went, I decided to study commerce at the Smith School of Business. I hadn’t even considered business school until applications rolled around, so I was super excited to see where things would go in the fall.
Like many other students, I checked out my schedule for the fall semester online over my summer break. I wanted to be as prepared as possible; what time did I have class every day? What section was I in? Who would my professors be? I was really looking forward to having a few female role models to look up to in a business school—something I really didn’t have in high school. So I looked up all five of my instructors on RateMyProfessors.com, but my hope for the new school year diminished as I read about each of them—none of them were women.
Since I was still new to business, I never really had a chance to connect with any successful women in the field before arriving at Smith. Although I was slightly disappointed, I was hopeful that I could still meet several mentors who could help me navigate my unique place in commerce. I thought it might be harder without any female professors, but I tried to adjust anyway—I was mentally preparing myself for an environment where female leadership was just uncommon.
When classes finally began in September, I noticed a gender divide in my section’s seating arrangement right away. Most of the time, I found that about one-third of the room was occupied by male students. On the opposite end, another third of the room was mainly occupied by women. And the middle region was the only area in which males and females chose to sit among one another. The physical divide was striking to me, I felt so partitioned from the rest of my peers.
Week after week, I noticed that the side of the room filled with my male classmates seemed livelier during lecture; they were more confident to raise their hands and were always outspoken in class discussions. Sometimes, one of our professors would engage so deeply in conversation with that side of the room that he didn’t even notice his back was facing a whole third of the class. I wondered if he knew how alienating this felt to the rest of us. The amplification of the gender dynamics in class was enough to keep my fear of speaking up as strong as it was in high school. For the entirety of the semester, I never raised my hand in that class.
My classmates and I were eventually sorted into groups. My assigned group was made up of myself and three of my male classmates: Alex, Sahad and Marco. I’d never spoken to them before so I felt unexpectedly uncomfortable during our first meeting, but by the end of it I had been assigned a leadership role. I guess everyone was being collegial to make good first impressions.
Our group dynamic quickly became messy. Alex and Sahad would constantly criticize Marco while he wasn’t around, poke fun at the quality of his work and even go as far as deleting it behind his back.
During these awkward moments, I’d usually keep to myself. I didn’t know these guys, and felt like I’d start more drama for raising my concerns, or questioning them, so I let them take the lead instead. I had seen the way they treated Marco, and I didn’t want to be laughed at behind closed doors.
Women who work in male-majority environments are more likely to report gender-based discrimination, according to a study by the Pew Research Centre. Women are also less likely to see fair amounts of attention to gender diversity in these environments.
Today I know that this was what was happening to me in that first semester at Smith. I never asked enough questions or got enough hands-on experience with any of our projects, and it held me back from fully understanding the course. Looking back, I wish I had the confidence I needed to voice my opinions instead of being scared of being ridiculed for asking a simple question or getting an answer wrong.
As the semester progressed, I realized that quite a few of my female classmates might have also been scared of taking the lead. In preparation for one of our exams that winter, our professor asked the class to volunteer for an activity which was designed to get us ready for our mid-term. To no one’s surprise, only male students volunteered. At this point, I was feeling more disempowered than ever. Even though I had ambitious goals of securing a high-paying job upon graduation, I still couldn’t get myself to push beyond the discomfort of being the only female participant. And as usual, I was scared of getting an answer wrong in front of my peers.
I really wish our professor had put greater efforts towards seeking female perspectives. He could’ve tried harder to select female voices in class discussions and activities. There were times where some of my female classmates were either more reserved or on the verge of volunteering and he could have put more effort into seeking them out. Instead, I found he would often spend more time interacting with my male classmates.
To make my experience even more isolating, I observed and worked with several men who made sexual comments about women throughout the semester. They’d take a minute to make comments about my appearance, or stare at me while talking aimlessly about who they wanted to hookup with.
I had one classmate who would relentlessly stare at me this way and I was stuck with him as one of my group members. I felt so extremely uneasy in all of our team meetings that I would usually just sit there counting down the minutes until it was over. Not surprisingly, my results in that class were far lower than my grades in all my other subjects.
It seemed like many of my male classmates thought about romance as a one-way street; they’d simply announce their interest in a particular girl, without considering whether she consented to their affection. And every time they made these remarks, I was made to feel like I was some sort of prey. I wish some of our professors paid more attention and intervened when these types of comments were made. I wish I could go to school without worrying about how my male classmates would judge my appearance. And I wish the same for my female classmates.
Before the end of my first semester, I took a leave of absence for personal reasons. I returned to Queen’s the next fall feeling refreshed with the renewed goal of successfully completing my commerce degree from square one.
This time, I was lucky enough to be put into a group with four other women and my experience was drastically different.
There’s a misconception that women make unpleasant bosses because they’re notorious for causing drama.
62 per cent of Canadians say they’d feel “very comfortable” with female CEOs, according to a survey from the Reykjavik Index for Leadership. Women are also more likely than men to perceive both genders as equally competent.
I didn’t have to worry about my looks or work contributions being calculated by my peers. My new group members were far more understanding when mistakes were made, so I didn’t have to be scared about making mistakes. I didn’t dread going into a meeting, and all of this led to me feeling much more mentally safer than I had before. I didn’t feel stressed or panicked going into team meetings and finally, my hands didn’t shake when I spoke out. At last, I was making decisions during our meetings and leading conversations and it all came naturally to me.
The result of working in a mentally safe space? I faced lower levels of anxiety than I ever had, which enabled me to share ideas regularly, instead of having to wait weeks to build up the courage. I stopped caring so much about what the men in my class would think about me or the way I looked or behaved. And everytime I shared my thoughts, I became even more confident in my abilities. As I got used to being very vocal in meetings, my fears lessened and my heart didn’t beat as fast. My group and I achieved higher grades than our previous semesters, giving me the self-esteem boost to realize my contributions were truly meaningful. I not only walked away with a stronger understanding of my classes, but a fresh sense of trust and belief in myself.
Working with other women showed me that in order to thrive, women need to feel safe. But safety and security cannot be established in an academic setting where we continue to ridicule women for their mistakes and allow men to normalize harassment and sexual remarks.
I had to remove myself from male-dominated spaces to get to a healthy headspace after being around men who excelled at the expenses of the women they sexualized. It took me a long time to arrive at these realizations. I worked through so much internalized misogyny, thinking I was the problem when really it was the unsafe environments I had been subjected to.
And I’m proud of myself for making it this far. I’m hungry for more success and excited to figure myself out—I’m just worried I may find myself in another position where my capabilities aren’t recognized because I am a woman. But I know that society can’t effectively support women if women aren’t offered equal opportunities to reach for success the same way their male counterparts are. This is a change I’d love to see.