The Seat I Almost Didn’t Take

Breakfast, Badges, and a Quiet Fear

On 12 February 2026, London felt like it was holding its breath—grey sky, quick footsteps, the kind of winter morning that makes you second-guess leaving your room. I hesitated outside the Inclusion in STEM 2026: In-Person Networking Event hosted by Onvero in partnership with the Royal Society of Chemistry. My coffee had gone lukewarm in my hands, and my badge felt too bright against my coat.

I told myself I didn’t really belong here. Not because the invitation wasn’t open—it was free and open to all—but because I’d spent years training myself to shrink in technical spaces. As a student balancing a STEM pathway with the invisible weight of being “new” to certain rooms—new to the culture of networking, new to assumptions, new to the subtle question behind polite smiles (“How did you get here?”)—I had learned to treat opportunity like something fragile I might break.

Inside, the breakfast and networking area hummed. Cups clinked; voices overlapped; name tags flashed like tiny declarations of identity. I stood at the edge of it all, practicing confidence the way you practice a presentation: silently, imperfectly.

A Fireside Chat That Felt Uncomfortably Honest

The first moment that disarmed me was the Fireside Chat: The Evolution of DEI. It wasn’t a lecture wrapped in corporate polish. It was candid—like someone finally named the tension I’d been swallowing. Listening to CEO Sandi Wassmer speak about how diversity, equality, and inclusion have shaped STEM, I felt both seen and unsettled. Seen, because DEI wasn’t treated as a decorative add-on. Unsettled, because I recognized how often I’d accepted “that’s just how it is” as a rule of science, rather than a rule of systems.

My conflict wasn’t with STEM itself. I loved the elegance of problem-solving, the quiet thrill of a concept clicking into place. My conflict was with the unspoken barriers: the casual gatekeeping, the inaccessible assumptions, the idea that the best people are the ones who already know how to enter the room.

Accessibility as More Than a Ramp

Later, the Accessibility Talk shifted my perspective. I’d always pictured accessibility as physical—ramps, elevators, captions. But the speaker’s focus on practical steps and innovations broadened the word until it included confidence, mentorship, and the design of opportunity itself.

Then the roundtable began: Accessibility in STEM. At my table, people spoke about tools and policies, yes—but also about exhaustion. About being the “only one” in a lab. About the emotional calculus of deciding whether to correct someone, again. I realized accessibility isn’t just about making space. It’s about making staying possible.

Widening Access, Widening Breath

The panel on Widening Access to STEM felt like someone opened a window. Strategies were discussed—removing barriers, creating pathways, building support earlier than the job interview stage. One speaker described access as a pipeline that leaks talent at every joint unless care is built into the structure.

When Steve Fuller, an Equity and STEM Consultant, spoke about collaborating with underrepresented communities “from education through to executive leadership,” it landed like permission. Not permission to be exceptional—permission to be present, unfinished, still learning, and still deserving of a future in this field.

The Moment I Chose to Speak

The second roundtable—Widening Access to STEM—became my turning point. My voice shook when I shared a small truth: that sometimes I avoided networking events because I feared being exposed as an outsider. A woman across from me nodded so quickly it startled me. Someone else added, “I thought I was the only one.”

In that instant, my private insecurity became a shared human experience. The room didn’t judge it; it held it.

Leaving With a Different Kind of Confidence

I didn’t leave with a job offer or a grand solution. I left with something better: a map. Not a perfect one, but one drawn by people who refuse to treat exclusion as inevitable.

My resolution was quiet. Before I walked out, I exchanged contacts with two attendees. I wrote one sentence in my notes: Inclusion is not charity—it’s engineering. It’s building systems where talent isn’t lost to silence.

That day, I took the seat I almost didn’t take. And in doing so, I learned that belonging in STEM isn’t something you wait to feel; it’s something you practice—together—until it becomes real.

Source Link: https://www.onvero.org.uk/event/inclusion-in-stem-2026-in-person-networking-event/