STEM careers are often described as logical, structured, and precise. What people rarely talk about is the invisible weight that many carry alongside their research, deadlines, and lab results. For women in STEM, that weight can feel even heavier, shaped by cultural expectations, uneven workloads, and the quiet demand to prove themselves over and over again.
In a recent episode of Across STEM with YSI, I had the chance to talk about my own winding path with Abeer Iftikhar. From plant molecular biology to medical devices, and now to creative wellness coaching, my story reflects both the challenges and the possibilities that women in STEM face today.
My path into STEM began traditionally enough: a bachelor’s, a master’s, a PhD, and a postdoc in plant molecular biology. I loved the applications, but I also saw how often science felt like filling a leaky bucket. No matter how much energy you poured into an experiment, it might fail, forcing you to start again.
After years in the lab, I pivoted to new opportunities: working with a not-for-profit that connected graduate students to industry, reviewing grants for the federal government, and eventually stepping into the medical device world. Each step drew on skills I already had, like technical writing and proposal development, even if the environment was completely different.
But with each transition came new demands. During the pandemic, those demands escalated. My company was contracted to produce emergency ventilators, which meant long days, high stakes, and no real separation between home and work. With kids learning from home and deadlines that never stopped, I burned out.
Burnout is more than stress. Stress keeps you alert. Burnout leaves you numb.
At my lowest point, even painting felt impossible. My art studio, which had always been my refuge, was silent. That absence of creativity told me just how far I had fallen from myself.
What eventually helped me rebuild was not a grand change, but small creative practices. I discovered art therapy-inspired activities designed not to create masterpieces, but to provide space. Five minutes of colour, a simple sketch, or a word-filled mandala. These tiny acts were quick wins. Each one replenished the well a little more.
I realized then that what had helped me could help others. That’s when I stepped into my work as a creative wellness coach.
STEM trains us to be rigorous and exact. Variables must be defined. Experiments must be repeated. The space for play can feel nonexistent.
Yet, it is precisely this lack of play that makes burnout more likely. Without creative outlets, women in STEM often live only in their left brain. They are rewarded for their logic and detail, but discouraged from bringing their full selves to the work. Add to this the invisible burdens many women carry—household labour, caregiving for children or parents, and the pressure to prove themselves—and the system becomes unsustainable.
Creativity provides a counterbalance. It is not about making art for galleries. It is about creating space to breathe, reflect, and see problems from new perspectives.
Cultural expectations shape this experience too. I shared on the podcast how, years ago, I lined up an industrial postdoc. Housing and childcare were arranged. Everything was ready—until the company called me back to say they were concerned I would take maternity leave.
That assumption, made purely because I was a woman of childbearing age, closed that door. It was a painful reminder that the playing field is not level. Thankfully, I found another opportunity, this time with a supportive female mentor, but the sting of that moment has never left me.
Stories like these are far too common, and they highlight why we need not only creativity, but also equity, in STEM workplaces worldwide.
One thread that has run through my career, from grants to regulatory submissions, is storytelling. At first, it may seem out of place in technical fields. But every successful proposal, funding application, or client pitch depends on it.
Storytelling makes complex ideas human. It explains why the work matters. Whether you are asking for a grant or designing a new device, you must answer: how will this benefit people? That clarity only comes from narrative.
For me, storytelling is also what connects science and art. Both are ways of making sense of the world, of giving form to something unseen.
The Creative Reset Program I now lead is a 12-week coaching experience that blends reflection and art therapy-inspired activities. Each week has a theme—such as boundaries, perfectionism, or values—and includes journaling, worksheets, and two short creative exercises.
One favourite is the Bridge Drawing. Clients sketch what they want to leave behind on one side, what they want to move toward on the other, and the bridge that connects them. The imagery reveals subconscious truths. For one woman, the bridge had gaps so wide she realized she had made her goals impossible to cross. For another, the bridge spanned turbulent water even though she admitted she could not swim. Seeing those obstacles on paper shifted how they thought about their own challenges.
Another exercise is Favourite Day, where clients draw not what is happening now, but what would bring them joy. From a charcuterie board in the garden to a long-overdue beach walk, the drawings remind them that pleasure and play belong in their lives too.
These moments are not trivial. They are catalysts. Clients begin to look forward to the weekly practices, not as another task on their to-do list, but as a gift to themselves.
Listen to the Full Conversation
To hear more about my journey and the role of creativity in STEM careers, you can listen to the full interview on Across STEM with YSI.
A Creative Practice for You
Here is a practice you can try today:
You might be surprised by what surfaces. Creativity offers a snapshot of what you are carrying, even if you have not put it into words.
Burnout in STEM is not inevitable. But ignoring creativity, ignoring equity, and ignoring our own needs makes it much more likely.
What I have learned is this: resilience is not built by pushing harder. It is built by creating space to reset, reflect, and play. Whether through a sketch, a song, or a mindful walk, these small acts are what rebuild the well.
And if more women in STEM had the support to refill their wells before they ran dry, we might see not only healthier individuals, but also more innovative science, stronger teams, and workplaces that finally reflect the equity they aspire to.
If you would like to explore this more, I invite you to:
You do not need to wait until burnout arrives. You can begin now, with one drawing, one word, or one moment of presence.