International Day of Women and Girls in Science

When I was an undergraduate student, I never quite understood why women and girls in science needed a dedicated day of visibility. In Spain, my classes were evenly split, half women and half men. It didn’t feel like something that required special attention. Then I moved to Utrecht. Suddenly, my presence in lectures became noticeable. I was fortunate to share that experience with another woman, an excellent scientist and close friend, which made it easier to navigate. Later, at Brown University, there were fewer women, but they were still present.

In Leiden, I was the only woman doing cosmology from the Physics side. I had female astronomer colleagues nearby, and again, it didn’t feel particularly strange. During my PhD, I was supervised by two outstanding female cosmologists. Excellence had a familiar face, and nothing felt out of place.

That changed with Euclid.

There, the imbalance became impossible to ignore, not only in numbers, but in influence and authority. Meetings where contributions went unheard. Ideas repeated later by others. Being frequently explained my own work. Having to meet a higher bar to be perceived as equally competent. Being patronised. Occasionally mistaken for administrative staff. Seeing surprise when people realised I was, in fact, knowledgeable.

All while knowing that losing my composure was never an option. Because anger in women is remembered differently and often permanently. I felt it. At the beginning, I was genuinely confused. I searched for explanations, trying to make sense of behaviours I couldn’t reconcile with the intelligence and professionalism of my colleagues. I remember my psychologist telling me I was experiencing extreme sexism at work and my disbelief. Surely, I thought, highly educated environments had moved beyond this.

They hadn’t.

I’ve witnessed more than I ever expected. Women colleagues crying quietly in conference bathrooms. Junior women asking, in private, why I stayed. The honest answer is difficult but real. Because leaving often means the end of a career.

At some point, something shifted. I realised that staying wasn’t only about me. It was about visibility. About not becoming another silent data point in the leaky pipeline. About being present so that younger women might see someone who understands, who listens, who stays. How do I handle it? Imperfectly. I’ve tried not caring. I’ve cared too much. I’ve experimented with different strategies, trying to blend in, trying to disappear, and later choosing to show up fully, unapologetically myself.

And I also want to be clear about something important. I have seen change.

Within Euclid, and especially in my immediate environment, things are improving. Awareness is higher. Conversations are more open. Behaviours that once went unquestioned are increasingly being challenged. I have wonderful male collagues that simply do what they have to do: treat me equally. And for the generations coming just after mine, I can already see that navigating these spaces is slowly, but genuinely, becoming easier.

That progress didn’t happen by accident. It happened because people spoke up, because allies stepped in, and because women stayed, supported each other, and refused to disappear.

There is still work to do. But there is also momentum. And that matters.