When I decided to go back to school for Information Science, I was terrified. I had spent the last 10 years working in restaurants. I had zero tech experience, zero connections in the industry, and absolutely no reason to believe I belonged in a STEM program. I was just happy to be there — grateful that someone let me in the door.
One of the first things the program required was meeting with a guidance counselor to select your course track. My advisor was a woman, and during that meeting she mentioned internships. I remember laughing a little and saying something like, "Oh, I'm sure I'll never qualify for anything like that." I wasn't being humble. I genuinely believed it. I was a career-changer with a psychology degree and a decade of restaurant experience. Who would want to hire me as a tech intern?
She stopped me immediately. She looked me in the eye and gave me a speech about imposter syndrome — about how women so often underestimate themselves in tech, how we talk ourselves out of opportunities before we even try. She told me I was enough, that I belonged here, and that I should reach out to her anytime I needed resources or encouragement. I actually teared up. It was the first time someone in this new world told me I could do it, and she meant it.
That moment stuck with me. It didn't magically cure my self-doubt, but it planted a seed that maybe — just maybe — I was selling myself short.
Fast forward about a year. I'm in my senior capstone project, and our team happens to be the only all-female group in the entire program. Four women, building a full web application from scratch for a nonprofit organization. We were a strong team, and during that project I became close friends with one of my teammates. She was the kind of person who saw potential in you before you saw it in yourself.
She pushed me to apply for an internship that I never in a million years thought I'd get. I had every excuse lined up: I wasn't experienced enough, I didn't have the right background, there were probably hundreds of better candidates. She wasn't having any of it. She encouraged me, helped me prepare, and when I got the position, she celebrated like it was her own win. That's what real support looks like.
That internship changed everything. It opened doors I didn't even know existed. Through that one opportunity, I built professional connections that led to multiple other internships. I gained real-world experience building dashboards, writing SQL, and working with business stakeholders. By the time I graduated, I had multiple job offers — something I never could have imagined when I walked into that guidance counselor's office feeling like I didn't belong.
But the story doesn't end there. A few years into my career, I found out that the same friend from my capstone project was working at the same company as me, just in a different department. When I was assigned a high-priority project outside my area of expertise but within hers, that network we'd built years ago in a college classroom became invaluable. She helped me gather the requirements I needed, and together we delivered on something that mattered.
None of this happens without women lifting each other up. My advisor who refused to let me minimize myself. My teammate who pushed me to apply for something I thought was out of reach. The network of women who showed up for me at every stage. Each one of them saw something in me that I couldn't see in myself, and they refused to let me play small.
Imposter syndrome is real, and it hits hard when you're a woman entering a male-dominated field with a non-traditional background. But here's what I've learned: you don't have to fight it alone. Build your network. Find your people. Be the woman who tells another woman she's enough — because sometimes that's all it takes to change the entire trajectory of someone's career.
Together, we are stronger. And I'm living proof.