Building Bridges in a Biased World: My Reflections on Challenging the Invisible Barriers
“You can have everything—just not everything at the same time.”
That line, shared during a recent conversation, captured the tension that has defined so much of my journey: the constant striving to excel, to lead, to belong, and to carve space for myself across dimensions that the traditional world of work still struggles to understand. If there’s one thing engineering and advocacy for inclusion have taught me, it’s this: The strongest bridges are built not in isolation, but through candid dialogue—especially in a biased world that still has blind spots the size of oil rigs.
I recently had the opportunity to unpack this truth with Joanne Lockwood on her Inclusion Bites Podcast. Our dialogue was a mosaic of lived experience—mine as a woman, an immigrant, a neurodivergent mother and leader in the energy sector; hers as a renowned advocate for authentic inclusion and societal transformation.
Why share this story now? Because after years spent navigating the labyrinth of STEM and leadership as a single mother with a late-discovered neurodivergence, I've found that power comes from converting experience to action—and from nurturing the “villages” that support us. Many of the barriers I faced were invisible, but their effects were all too real. The good news? They can be named, challenged, and—collectively—dismantled.
If you’re wrestling with similar tensions, questioning what it actually means to belong or thrive at work, I invite you to join me as I walk you through this conversation. Spoiler: The answers aren’t tidy. But they are human, honest, and more urgent than ever.
About Inclusion Bites and Joanne Lockwood
The Inclusion Bites Podcast stands apart in a crowded field. Hosted by Joanne Lockwood—herself a pioneer in championing inclusion, belonging, and equity—this series is a mainstay for bold, actionable conversations. Joanne brings a rare blend of lived wisdom and executive rigour, having scaled both business and impact as the founder of SEE Change Happen. If you care about moving beyond lip-service on EDI (Equality, Diversity, and Inclusion) and want real tools for disruption, this is the room to be in.
More than [INSERT_VIEW_COUNT] people have already watched our interview on YouTube, with many more tuning in via Spotify and Apple Podcasts.
If this conversation sparks something for you—questions, pushback, or agreement—I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below. I read every one.
Engineering Identity and the Power of Intersectionality
Looking back, my route into diversity, equity, and inclusion was anything but planned. It was, ironically, the kind of “off-specification” journey an engineer isn’t supposed to take. Years deep in mechanical engineering—often the only woman, and later, the only single mother, in the room—I’d compartmentalised my professional, personal, and cultural identities with the clinical precision my field demanded. But life has a way of rerouting us.
Motherhood was a pivotal event. Suddenly, the lines that had kept “work” and “life” in check dissolved. My daughter’s early childhood raised the first flags of neurodivergence—a mirror I initially resisted, then began to recognise in myself. The real kicker was learning, well into adulthood, that not only did she process the world differently, but so did I. As Joanne prompted me, “How has your own lived experience, your identity, the intersectionality of it all, shaped your leadership?”
The honesty: Everything changed. Engineering had taught me to value rigour, but lived experience forced me to value the messy complexity of human difference. I became attuned to the biases that lurk in “the way we do things here”—whether it’s the expectation that women should “dumb down” to minimise male defensiveness, or the subtle xenophobia lurking behind “go back home” remarks.
While my background as a Spanish immigrant didn’t always manifest as overt disadvantage, the jokes (“lazy, siesta-loving Spaniard”) and name-blindness meant I was never fully “of” the culture I worked in. What surprised me was how often people preferred to see differences as decorative—appreciating my “tan,” but glossing over my accent or heritage as inconsequential. That duality—visible yet invisible difference—crystallised the key lesson: Bias doesn’t require malice; it often hides behind banality.
Adapting to a Male-Dominated STEM World
From day one in the engineering sector, the gender imbalance was obvious—even if its effects took time to surface. “I’ve always been either the only woman in the room or one of the very few,” I reflected to Joanne. At first, I tried to assimilate, adopting the behaviours of my male colleagues, laughing along with sexist jokes. Only in hindsight did I see how inauthentic that was. The mental toll of “masking”—modulating my personality, my intelligence, my leadership style to suit men’s expectations—was invisible but profound.
Joanne captured it perfectly: “You’re appeasing people to ensure success, not creating waves. You have to hide who you are—intelligent, capable—by dumbing it down.” That wasn’t hyperbole. I learnt to phrase challenges as questions (“I might be wrong, but…”) rather than direct assertions, knowing that assertive women are quickly labelled arrogant. I watched male colleagues get away with confidence I could only perform in whispers.
How did I still advance? Two things: my competence, and the support of a “village”—peers and allies, both women and men, who recognised what I brought to the table and made it possible for me to thrive, even if I had to pick my moments. It was only with their backing that I could stop performing and start leading authentically. Still, success felt fragile—too often contingent on being in the right room at the right time with the right people.
What advice would I give my daughter as she starts her own journey? Build her village early, find those who celebrate her difference, and never let systemic bias become internalised. “There will always be those who want to see you fail, for reasons that have nothing to do with you personally,” I told Joanne. “But there will also always be a network cheering for you. Lean into that.”
Navigating Neurodiversity and Unmasking
Nothing prepared me for the discovery that much of my life had been experienced through a lens of undiagnosed neurodivergence. When my daughter displayed “behavioural outliers” as a toddler, I began seeking answers; what started as a search for her turned into an exploration of myself. Eventually, adult diagnosis confirmed I was both ADHD and “gifted”—labels that are poorly understood, especially in women, and that bring both strengths and distinct hurdles.
As I shared with Joanne, the most overwhelming revelation wasn’t the diagnosis itself, but the retrospective clarity it provided. Suddenly, my entire career—my oscillations between hyperfocus and boredom, my impatience with illogical authority, my empathy-driven leadership—made sense. Yet the costs of years spent “masking” were laid bare. I’d learnt to assimilate so well I no longer recognised where I ended and the performance began.
Joanne understood this well: “It’s a huge cognitive load, isn’t it? Fitting into other people’s expectations all the time, masking who you are.” The emotional relief of recognising myself—in all my difference—was immense, but so too was the grief for lost time, lost potential. Only now am I learning to unmask more freely, with the support of friends, family, and a few enlightened colleagues.
For those who see themselves in these words, let me say: there is power in understanding how your brain works, and there is no substitute for the psychological safety that comes when you are truly seen. My advice to leaders? Make it safe for the mask to slip.
The Messy Intersection of Mental Health, Gender, and Expectation
One theme that demands more daylight is the fraught relationship between gender, neurodiversity, and mental health. The industry likes to talk about “role models” and “resilience,” but rarely about the everyday realities underpinning leadership in a biased system. For me, food and body image were battlegrounds as much as boardrooms. I’ve grappled with eating disorders—never diagnosed, but ever-present—a coping mechanism fuelled by the intersection of perfectionism, emotional isolation, and the desire to fit in.
The statistics bear this out: neurodivergent women are significantly more likely to develop unhealthy relationships with food, whether it’s restrictive rigidity or compulsive bingeing. I see it now in the way I “hyperfocus” even on my own habits, or the way impulsivity shapes my choices. Joanne recognised the link: “If I see a buffet, I don’t have a stop button. I rely on someone else to fill my plate.” There’s solace in naming these patterns—and in the recognition that they are symptoms of a broader system that fails, still, to understand how women’s minds and bodies process stress, difference, and expectation.
Yet what is often omitted from public discourse is the sense of persistent, gnawing isolation that comes from never quite fitting. Even in the close embrace of family and friends, that fundamental sense of “belongingness” can feel elusive. For me, learning to manage these waves—with professional help, with community, with relentless self-education—has been as central to leadership as any technical skill.
From Professional Achievement to Personal Fulfilment
For years, like many women in high-pressure sectors, I internalised a linear script: education, achievement, family, more achievement—happiness will follow. Over time, I’ve come to see the error in that thinking. Professional ambitions do not always align neatly with personal fulfilment; sometimes, they exist in outright tension.
Motherhood brought this reality into sharp relief. For a time, I worked onshore and offshore; led teams; wrote technical papers; managed risk in the high-stakes world of oil and gas. Becoming a single parent recalibrated everything. The traditional model—men choose work, women choose family—never matched my aspirations, nor, I suspect, those of most men or women in my network. Still, the structures remain. Parental leave policies lag behind cultural shifts. Invisible expectations still assign women the majority of domestic labour, even as we lead in the boardroom.
As I shared with Joanne, “We are all sacrificing something. Men often sacrifice family time. Women, career. You can have everything—just not at the same time. Life is long. There are seasons. There will be more chapters.”
Perhaps the most profound realisation has been the importance of nurturing identities—and passions—that exist outside work or family. For me, creative writing has become both a refuge and a point of pride. With two and a half novels penned and two master’s degrees—one in engineering, one in creative writing—I’ve learnt that a well-lived life is rarely tidy, linear, or singular. My writing may never be published, but it is essential. It’s how I process, make sense, and sometimes, heal.
The Role of “Villages”: Community, Networks, and the Path Forward
Looking back, I attribute much of my resilience and advancement to the intentional cultivation of “villages”—networks built within and beyond the workplace. These have included women’s groups, neurodiversity resource networks, and broader industry organisations. Not every room has been welcoming, but the right platforms have offered safety, support, and—crucially—space to challenge convention.
Joanne’s summation was apt: “If you’re the smartest person in the room, you’re in the wrong room.” I’d add: If you’re the only person in the room who looks, sounds, or thinks like you, build the next room. Sometimes the most radical act of leadership is convening the spaces others claim are unnecessary.
So, are we making progress? Incrementally, yes. The very existence of conversations like this—public, unapologetic, deeply personal—is evidence of change stirring. Twenty years ago, terms like “neurodiversity” and “psychological safety” weren’t even in the workplace vernacular. Today, more people than ever are refusing to defer their authenticity for comfort or advancement.
Still, the work is unfinished. Systems lag behind stories. Progress is uneven—dependent on geography, industry, and the presence of a critical mass willing to speak and listen.
A Final Thought: Claiming Space in a Biased World
If there’s a lesson I hope endures, it’s that belonging isn’t gifted by benevolent systems—it’s built through struggle, laughter, vulnerability, and relentless truth-telling. The strongest bridges are constructed from the stories we dare to share, not from blueprints or best practice documents. We lead not by impersonating the gatekeepers, but by demonstrating the value of every facet of our lived experience.
“You are really good just the way you are.” That’s what I tell my daughter, and what I wish someone had told me far earlier—a reminder that “taking space” is itself a revolutionary act in organisations built on conformity.
Am I done building bridges? Not by any stretch. Every day presents new biases to navigate, new “villages” to nurture, new identities to claim. But what I know now is that I am not alone, and neither are you.
If this resonates, if it provokes or comforts or irritates, then let’s keep talking. Share your reflections below. These are the conversations that ignite inclusion—and, bit by bit, change the world we are all trying to build.