Photo by Maxime Bhm on Unsplash

How much influence do we have over our own destinies? How much does the world around us, and the people who surround us, our families, teachers, idols, and the media/YouTube. How much do they play a role in the choices we take? If I was to give advice to my younger self about career choices, I would tell myself to ignore my inhibitions, and not to allow my perceived lack of anything get in the way of participating in things I believed to be amazing. This is my story, how I came to choose technology, some of the people who opened doors, and those who wanted to close them. 

At the age of six, I remember sitting in school working on multiplication cards. Simple sums, based on our existing knowledge of times tables. A competition broke out between me and the kid sitting opposite me. I don’t know how it began, and I have no recollection of his name, but I have a strong memory of “I will not be beaten!” Most days, I’m not aware of possessing a competition devil, but it seems to kick in, when I need it. Traditionally, girls are not always encouraged to embrace their competitive edge. But, I was fortunate. Family games of cards were about winner takes all, and my liberal first teacher, Mrs. Wright, praised effort irrespective of gender.

Recently, my mentor from University paid me a visit. We spent a few hours walking and talking, catching up. We discussed Computer Science, and how he was extremely happy to have achieved a life-long goal: to include this subject in the high-school curriculum in Ireland. And even if I no longer code for a living, we talked about how the skills needed to write an algorithm — planning, understanding problems, logical thinking, testing, and refining — can be applied to many disciplines. Ireland has understood that technology is fundamental to achieving its long-term economic goals. A future that should include everyone — not just the alpha males.

NASA’s revelation of the Trappist-1 planetary system brought me back to my childhood fascination with space. My parents talked a lot about the moon landings, but the science lesson I remember the most took place at our kitchen table. My Dad sketched the entire solar system on a large piece of paper. I watched, fascinated by his ability to pull exciting facts about planets, orbits, and the effects of axis tilt on our seasons, all straight out of his head.

The NASA discovery also made me think about one of my art teachers, Mr. Jenkins. As a lanky teenager, I never believed I possessed any artistic skills, but under this man’s guidance I painted a sci-fi poster, complete with alien space ship, bright landing lights, Martians, and a sense of foreboding. His teaching skills made us kids work hard, but his greatest gift was his belief in us. He worked on our minds to make us believe that we could master the paintbrush.

In 1976, we moved to a new town, which meant a new school, and an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. My Mom accompanied me on the first day, when I was interviewed by the headmaster. When asked what my favorite subject was, I replied that it was maths. I didn’t need to think about it, that’s just the way my world was. I remember this tall, gangling old man peering down at me through his half-moon spectacles. And then he uttered the following words “that’s highly unusual for a girl.” I was nine, living in a foreign country, and educated not to talk back to people in positions of authority. But a thought bubble immediately popped into my head. One that I have carried it with me since. It went something like this “what an exceedingly odd man you are.” I attributed his comment to his apparent age. Yet, I am saddened to hear people continue to utter such lunacy.

Four years later, we moved again. This time, it was back to my native Dublin, which in my head at least was a matriarchal society. Before she passed away, my paternal grandmother ran our family, mostly men, with kind, yet unquestionable leadership. I find myself yet again being interviewed by yet another male headmaster — this time in the presence of both of my parents. I was asked to pick two topics from a list of non-compulsory ones. I chose woodwork and music. To which the headmaster responded, “girls are not allowed to take woodwork or metalwork.” I was outraged — yet again. But this time, I didn’t keep my opinions to myself.

My geography teacher, almost as a casual comment to me after class one day told me that I was university potential. College wasn’t on the cards for me, at least not in my head. But that day, someone outside my immediate family showed interest in me, showed me that I had potential. He opened a door that I’d never thought about.

Sometime around the time I was 14 our science teacher assigned us with one of those classic projects: what do you want to be when you grow up. Looking back, I realize the point of this exercise was to get us kids to focus on something outside of our own egos. This was an era without the internet, without mobile phones, and with only a few state-run (censored) TV channels for entertainment. We made discoveries by talking to people, by going to the local library, and by reading. After countless hours wading through printed pamphlets published by the local universities and colleges, I honed in on Computer Science. It sounded so exotic. It sounded like the future – and I wanted to be part of that.

Sometimes serendipity plays its part. One lunchtime Sandra, my friend, and I were discussing our science projects. She was going to study law — I thought that was cool. We just happened to be sitting beside a bunch of girls from another year, and one of them turned to me and told me that her Dad was a Computer Scientist. A week later, I found myself in this girl’s kitchen, interviewing her father about computers, the air was heavy with smoke from a deep-fryer that had caught fire.

I learnt two things that day: I had no idea what a computer was, and the value of a fire blanket in the kitchen.

All the way through high school I was on track. But with a year to go before my final exams, I faced a massive setback. I wasn’t getting the grades I needed in my beloved maths, and physics was just too hard. At the time, I blamed my teachers. Any attention I received from my math teacher was generally in the form of a reprimand or a disapproving comment. And our physics teacher was useless. He spent most of the classes looking for his book, or pieces of the experiments. What I needed was a catalyst. Some sort of a boost.

That need brought me into the classroom of the most inspiring teacher I have ever met. He was affectionately referred to by the kids in Dublin as Titch Brown. A small man with a massive mind who captivated hundreds of teenagers with his love of solving problems. He taught us to think. Not to rote learn and be graded, but to use our minds, to apply what we learned. Every Saturday morning throughout my final year, I reluctantly embarked on the hour-long bus ride to the other side of city for three hours of extra tuition in maths and physics. I’d come home starving, but full to the brim with smart new ways to solve mathematical problems. The laws of harmonic motion, however, remain a mystery to this day.

My advice to young girls faced with choices today is simple: don’t be afraid. Ignore the people and things that make you feel insufficient, and hold tight to the moments of inspiration. You’ll recognize them by the way they make you feel. In tech, we talk a lot about failing fast, we put our ideas to the test, we work together, and we always aim to push the barriers of what is possible.

Over the past couple of years, I have watched the growing number of initiatives encouraging girls to take an interest in technology from the sidelines. But I wanted to be part of that movement. I wanted to contribute to closing the gender gap in tech. More than three decades have passed since I was accepted into Computer Science, and during that time, the percentage of women graduating from this subject has dropped from 37% to 4%. So now it is time for me to give back. I am thrilled to be part of IGEday (in Swedish) at Snow Software, and hope that this day will be the first of many which allow me to inspire the next generation of engineers.