My accumulated experiences as a master’s student would begin a transformative process that ultimately continued through to a Ph.D. in soil chemistry. As a master’s student I began collecting experiences and accomplishments that forged a greater sense of strength and capability, as well as a sense of both leadership and community. I made some highly impactful, and hopefully, long- lasting relationships with many students and professors. However, part of this journey also involved overcoming worries about how I would be perceived in a mostly male community, as well as some lingering reminders that many of our educational institutions were not designed with women in mind.

Introduction to field work

After several months of taking classes in soil chemistry and the statistics of experimental design, I finally planned to take a trip to my study sites in the bootheel of Missouri to collect soils samples. The goal of the research was to study changes in soil nutrients and microbial activity following tree harvest.

My first trip was awkward, uncomfortable, and grueling. I was making the trip with a more seasoned graduate student, Matt, and the lab’s part-time undergraduate technician, Lindsey. Matt and Lindsey had worked together for several semesters and interacted with the easy comfort of familiarity. At times, their shared history made them seem almost like siblings, except that they lacked the sense of competition that typically accompanies sibling relationships.

In the lab, I had watched Lindsey, a polite and friendly student, anticipate Matt’s needs in preparation for completion of a large set of analyses, or a sampling trip, such as the one we were on now. She would carefully lay out dozens of 100 milliliter volumetric flasks for lab work or methodically assemble and pack coolers, shovels, and acid washed containers for the field. In contrast to Lindsey’s bubbly nature, Matt had been very quiet around me and appeared uncomfortable with more than minimal eye-contact during the few brief conversations we had. He walked the halls of our building with what I interpreted to be a quiet confidence that comes from roaming the same spaces for several years. Matt had attended the university first as an undergraduate and now as a master’s student. But that confidence apparently didn’t translate well when interacting with new people even in a familiar space.

Sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the lab truck’s bench seat during the four hour trip to our study sites, the two of them discussed professors they had shared or the time they encountered a copper-head snake in one of the sampling pits Matt had constructed. I couldn’t help but feel woefully out of place. Intellectually I knew this discomfort was simply part of joining a new institution, but that didn’t do much to sooth the squirming awkwardness I was feeling. The two of them tried, I think, to get to know me, but we all struggled a little to get to know each other. One of them announced that they were surprised I didn’t have an accent. I was very confused for a moment. I wasn’t sure what kind of accent I was supposed to have.

“Oh yeah… I’m not from New York or Boston. So I guess that’s why…” I trailed off. I wasn’t quite sure how to address this comment.

I tried to explain I was from a pretty rural area. Matt asked how many students were in my high school. I told him there were about 1200 but that included 7^th and 8^th grade.

“That’s a lot compared to mine” Matt informed me.

I didn’t really want to get into a competition over who was “more rural”. I didn’t bother explaining how many towns funneled their kids to one high school or how the town I grew up in contained about 700 people. I had noticed that many people I met in the Midwest felt that the east coast was “crowded”. In comparison, they’re right, but my family was also pretty reclusive, which likely added to the sense of seclusion I felt growing up. I didn’t know any other people from my own group of high school friends who had spent their Thursday nights target-shooting as a family, or who had dads that went deer hunting in the back yard.

When we reached our study sites it was hot and humid. Hiking back and forth to the truck for each of our nine study sites, carrying equipment and bags full of soil was not an easy task. On one occasion I had to ask Matt, to wait for me to catch my breath. My head was getting foggy and my vision was closing in on me while my ears started to deafen. I could not bear to tell Matt what I was feeling.

Since my first day as a graduate student, I had been told how tough and resilient Matt was. How he single-handedly dug out and re-enforced all nine of the huge soil solution sampling pits, which were approximately 4 cubic feet in size. I simply could not expose my current state. I was certain it would be interpreted as weakness. This sick feeling had happened to me previously but rarely, and always under physical exertion in the heat. I had never passed out when this occurred, and I was silently hoping today would not be the exception.

After waiting a few minutes, the symptoms subsided but I was already berating myself for this shortcoming. I was certain Matt was annoyed by this forced pause in our hurried efforts to visit all of our sites in just a couple of days.

Once my vision cleared I never could tell for sure if Matt was irritated or not. I would soon learn that many of the people I worked with in soil science, students and professors, tended to be even more introverted than I was, and occasionally I found them difficult to read. That is not to say the people I met were unpleasant, quite the opposite in fact. But, it took a while to learn how best to communicate with them. Over the years I believe I have developed a more inquisitive style of conversation. I tend to ask for clarification or gently ask probing questions that provide more detail, as a way to prevent myself from assigning the worst possible interpretation to silent facial expressions or quiet mumblings. This has helped me work better with colleagues as well as better understand my students.

Do you work in an environment where you feel like the outlier? Do you find yourself trying to compensate or prove yourself in some way? Leave a comment below or reach out on twitter (@LabMom20). If you like this post, subscribe with your email for new posts updated weekly, delivered straight to your inbox.

* Please note, all names, other than my own, have been changed to protect the privacy of others. All accounts are based on my own experiences and memories.

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