STEMpowHER wasn’t a hyped event: no breaking headlines, no sudden movements. Subtlety was what made it matter.
I was out of STEM altogether for seven years. Since jumping back in last year, I didn’t expect to see some parts of my own journey reflected in a single conference room at Montgomery College.
I attended the 17th Annual Every Girl Can Conference: STEMpowHER to hear from women whose journeys into STEM didn’t follow a perfect line.
The March 22 conference brought students, professionals, and emerging voices to the HC building.
Sydney Stokes, a senior computer science major at Howard University and three-time Google intern, took the mic as the keynote speaker during the afternoon plenary, a session where all attendees gathered in the same room.
“You will always have doubts,” Stokes said. “But comparison is the thief of joy. You can’t compare your journey to anybody else’s.”
The younger attendees were still digesting what they had heard; some found the experiences a little heavy, but others, moving slowly toward the back of the room to line up, were chipper, energized by what they described as an enriching and inspiring event.
Nora White, a fifth grader, was one of the last students to exit the room, standing and spinning near the end of the line.
She spoke like she was still deciding whether her love for math was something she could keep.
“I want to be a doctor. Or maybe an artist,” White said, her voice composed but sure. “I like math and I like science, and I like drawing, too.”
She wasn’t the only one still figuring out where she might fit.
Representation in STEM doesn’t begin with a résumé; it starts with curiosity, access, and the space to envision different paths. For students still shaping their interests, words like White’s can make that exploration feel seen.
Her response resembled the fluidity I’ve felt in my own path, reminding me that interest doesn’t have to be fixed to be valid.
Stories of curiosity—tinged with apprehension—made a Saturday at the Takoma Park/Silver Spring campus feel less like a panel and more like a mirror.
Speaking to an intergenerational audience—fifth and sixth graders seated together, middle and high schoolers nodding quietly, a few parents, mostly mothers, and STEM panelists exchanging glances—Stokes’s reflections on self-doubt, skill gaps, and visibility struck a nerve amid the room’s humbling curiosity.
Stokes recalled that during her first internship, she worked alongside a senior engineer and became sharply aware of their skill gap.
Instead of backing away, she leaned in far enough to realize that some familiarity with the field, even if limited, could bridge the gap just enough to keep going.
“I don’t think you have to be in love with coding,” she said. “The love might come later, or it might not. But it’s still a good skill to have.”
Like many in the room, Stokes hadn’t always been sure where she belonged.
For her, passion isn’t always instant or obvious; it often grows quietly in the margins, if there’s room to explore.
It offered a chance to witness how women find their footing in STEM and how easy it is to lose it.
I am navigating that space as someone who once shifted away from STEM before finding my way back. I saw pieces of my own story reflected in the fifth grader’s firm conviction—the sense of questioning whether interest in STEM can be supported enough to become something lasting.
I heard that question again through the perspective of a cybersecurity contractor on the adult panel, whose words stayed with me.
Ambericent Cornett, founder and CEO of Chameleco and a cybersecurity contractor, was one of the several panelists who described herself as someone who prefers to stay in the background, wrestling with that very question: what makes someone stay when the path isn’t easy to choose?
She doesn’t seek the limelight, but when she senses someone admiring her path or needing guidance, she makes the first move, offering small pieces of advice.
“Some people don’t want to come talk,” Cornett said. “So I walk up to people because I’m not shy.”
She didn’t have much support from male colleagues early on.
“I wish that more males, more of the opposite sex, would promote opportunities for females,” she said.
Support in STEM often comes from a small circle. It can be enough to walk away for students like me who once treated my STEM journey as a side quest, missing welcome signals from those passionate about the concept.
I didn’t just step away from STEM; I veered off entirely.
I earned my applied engineering degree and interned as a junior project manager at a production engineering firm. I then realized the industry didn’t fully embrace my identity and layered strengths.
I spent a few years in exercise science, then graduated in construction management before finally landing in computer science.
My path wasn’t straightforward, and for a long time, I didn’t realize that all it took was silence—the subtle signs that said this space might not be built for everyone.
Our journey through our paths recognizes that unspoken resilience is essential—being visible matters. The reason we remain here is not about certainty but about being perceived by others.
What stayed with me were the 27 curious young girls who, during the afternoon plenary, giggled, stood, and raised their hands high, hoping a panelist would catch their movements, injecting energy into the room.
These girls not only lightened the atmosphere, but also grounded it. Their presence made STEMpowHER feel less like a lecture and more like a multigenerational conversation.
A Saturday at MC surrounded by women who formed or redeemed their positions in STEM gave me the strength to stand independently.
The path ahead remains imperfect, but admittedly, I no longer expect it to be.
I’m still learning that walking on a path in STEM doesn’t always mean pushing forward. Sometimes, it just means knowing someone’s standing with you.
