#lgbtqstem

When Miles Ott was in high school, he had a love-hate relationship with math. Sometimes, he enjoyed his classes. At other times, he felt confused. “I did not understand what the point was,” he says. “I just thought I wasn’t good at it.”

But that changed in college when he took a calculus class. The teacher explained the concepts very clearly. “‘Oh, this makes sense now,’” Ott recalls thinking at the time. “It was a great feeling to finally understand this thing that was so profoundly confusing to me. And I just never wanted to stop.”

He didn’t. Later, he went to graduate school and studied biostatistics. That field combines math and statistics to understand how to improve the health of large groups of people. Ott now works at Smith College in Northampton, Mass. He has done research on topics such as HIV in South Africa and alcohol use among college students.

He also has explored mental health issues in transgender people. This area has special meaning to Ott because he is a transgender man.

What does being transgender mean? Imagine that when a baby is born, the doctor looks at their body parts and proclaims, “It’s a girl!” But at some point, that person comes to realize that they don’t feel like a girl at all. In fact, they knowthey’re supposed to be a boy. Put another way, their “gender identity” is male, making that person a transgender boy or man.

This can go the other way around, too. Doctors could say that a child is a boy at birth. But that person grows up knowing they are female. This is a transgender girl or woman.

Many transgender people then go through a process called a “transition.” Often, they start wearing clothes that match their gender identity. They may change their name. A transgender man named Andrea at birth, for instance, might start going by Alexander. And they can change their pronouns. Pronouns are words such as “he,” “she”, “him” and “her.” A transgender woman would ask people to refer to her as “she” and “her.”

Some people take medications or have surgery to change their bodies. A transgender man could undergo these treatments to develop male features. A transgender woman could go through other treatments to develop female features.

For Ott, being a transgender scientist has come with challenges. He was going through his transition when he applied to graduate school. He wasn’t sure which name to use on his applications. He decided to list his old name, even though it didn’t feel right.

In grad school, some people asked him overly personal questions. He slowly learned how to deal with these situations. “It took me a while to figure out that I don’t have to answer anybody’s questions,” he says. “I get to decide what I’m comfortable with.”

Becoming a scientist takes years of hard work and dedication. Transgender scientists and engineers, though, face extra hurdles. Sometimes they feel alone because they don’t know other transgender researchers. When they transition, colleagues may treat them rudely and disrespectfully. And transgender researchers can be in greater physical danger when they travel to other countries for fieldwork.

But these scientists and engineers are gaining support. Universities and organizations are working to make them feel included in science, technology, engineering and math (STEM) fields. More researchers are talking openly about being transgender (often abbreviated as “trans”). And they are finding other trans people through meetings and social media.

“It is slowly — maybe slowly, but surely — changing for the better,” says Daniel Cruz-Ramírez de Arellano. “I genuinely feel like that is the case.” He is a chemist at the University of South Florida in Tampa. Cruz-Ramírez de Arellano also has studied transgender scientists’ experiences.

Grace Williams was 9 when her dad learned he had Alzheimer’s disease. Scientists don’t yet know what causes this incurable brain condition, which makes people more confused and forgetful. By age 12, Williams had become her father’s main caregiver. She spent hours in hospitals with him and saw how he struggled to get good care and information about his disease.

“I was in a part of Louisiana that didn’t have the best healthcare system,” she says. His sickness “devastated” the family. While dealing with her father’s disease, Williams found her future. She says the experience “sparked my interest to find out more about how the brain works, how the body works.” She became determined to help others so they wouldn’t have to go through the same ordeal.

Williams, though, had to overcome many hurdles before she could achieve her dream of being a biomedical engineer. Her career in STEM — which stands for science, technology, engineering and math — involves designing medical devices, tests and tools for patients.

Her family was poor and Williams had to stay in Louisiana to help take care of her dad. She was the only student of color in her honors program in high school, and one of only three women in her honors engineering program in college. She heard comments that questioned whether she, as a black woman, should even be in the program.

Then in graduate school, she came across a new type of discrimination. An older student told her that LGBTQ+ students shouldn’t be trained in the same place as other students. (LGBTQ stands for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer. The “+” sign refers to people with sexual or gender identities who don’t fit in the other categories.) That older student said he would refuse to train or work with LGBTQ+ students if he found out about them.

Williams is bisexual and was only out to her friends at the time. (“Out” means being open and honest about your sexual orientation, or who you’re attracted to.) That older student’s comments left her hurt and discouraged.

Unfortunately, Williams’ experience is not uncommon. LGBTQ+ individuals experience discrimination in many areas of life. And that includes in STEM.

Bryce Hughes is an assistant professor of education at Montana State University in Bozeman. He is studying why some LGBTQ+ students decide to quit their STEM careers. Students can get discouraged if other people exclude them or question why they’re in STEM, he’s found. “It’s usually a factor that we don’t think about with majority students — this idea of, ‘Do I belong?’”

In a 2018 study in Science Advances, Hughes found that students who identify as sexual minorities (LGBQ) were less likely than straight students to make it to the fourth year of a STEM program. For every 100 straight college students who made it, in fact, only 90 LGBQ students did.

Why? Feeling alone, unwelcome or unsupported may be one reason. Another, he says, may be due to gender stereotypes. These are beliefs about how men and women should dress or act. Many people view gay and bisexual men as more feminine than straight men. Because of that, some people may discourage them from working in fields seen as more masculine, such as engineering.

But to help solve some of our biggest problems, the world needs the best and brightest people — regardless of their gender identities or presentation, he and other experts say. If some of these people quit because they feel excluded or are told they don’t belong, science and engineering will never benefit from their talents.

Hi, I’m Sam (she/they), and I created this blog because science can feel really overwhelming and inaccessible.

I’m really interested in how genes affect the brain, behavior, and mental health, especially when it comes to neurodevelopmental and psychiatric disorders. But I’ve also noticed that a lot of people don’t get exposed to this kind of science early on, or don’t feel like they belong in it.

This space is for:

- Breaking down neurogenetics in a way that actually makes sense

- Sharing opportunities, resources, and programs for students

- Highlighting people in STEM who don’t always get recognized

- Talking about what it’s like trying to pursue science when it feels intimidating or out of reach

I’m not an expert; I’m a high school student learning in real time. But I care a lot about making science more accessible and showing that you don’t have to have everything figured out to start.

If you’ve ever felt like STEM wasn’t meant for you, or you’re just curious about how the brain and genetics work, you’re in the right place.

Want to learn about the science of love? Make sure to listen to my pride episode!  Now on stitcher! - http://bit.ly/2EZgfsl

Apple Podcast: https://apple.co/2Z7jUMp 

Podbean: http://bit.ly/2HXjyCc 

Bethany and I have been friends since we were six, when her knotted brown hair reminded me of the knots in my stomach as I told her “I love you”

When we were eight Bethany would slit the bodies of worms peeling back their skin to examine a world that seemed so small, but was as vast as the cosmos that surrounded her. I sat and watched, envious enthralled exalted of the world that my friend was allowing me to be a part of.

At sixteen, Bethany told me she didn’t feel like other girls our age. Her mind was full of numbers figures and graphs, while the other girls thought of clothes drama and boys. I told her it would all be okay, and no matter what, I still loved her. That year, Bethany won the state science fair, and flew to DC to show the nation her mind.

By age eighteen Bethany had been accepted into every science program that she applied to. She chose Cornell. I would sit back in the audience, as she gave her valedictory address and as she traveled across the country to begin the life she knew she needed.

On the eve of her twenty-sixth birthday Bethany was called a “Dyke” as a large man slashed her tires outside of the laboratory. The sentiment was not new but now she worried that it would affect her position at the lab. I wanted to tell her it would all be okay, but my own fear and unknowing showed in my voice as it quavered when I told her I loved her.