You were right.

To the boy who thought that playing against me at the Oregon State Chess Championship was a joke, you were right.

Though you’ll never know that the punchline wasn’t my pink hairclips, gel pen, or the “ditsy” sound of my nine-year-old chatter. The real punchline is that, without any words, I convinced you to underestimate me. You attempted the four-move checkmate, a weak chess opening reserved for quick wins against uneducated players. An opening I studied extensively to beat opponents like you.

I only wish I had?known how quickly this joke would get old. That over twenty years later its continued relevance would make me feel sick instead of triumphant.

. . .

To the boy on my middle school wrestling team who said I only wanted attention, you were right.

More than anything, I wanted acknowledgment from you, our teammates, and coach as a fellow athlete and wrestler. I wanted you to notice that I work hard. That I love the sport of wrestling. That I am a strong teammate. So, yes, I wanted your attention.

But, I never asked for you or anyone else to inspect and judge how my 13-year-old body looked in spandex. I was too young to realize that I was becoming a woman and, therefore, an object. And that it wasn’t my fault.

. . .

To the boys on my freshman project who said I was difficult to work with, you were right.

When you took credit for my ideas, I complained and refused to let meetings progress until we addressed the unfairness. I took up space and time. When I wasn’t heard, I spoke louder. I admit that the constant confrontation made things difficult. However, I’m not sorry. I’m only sorry that I evaluated you all positively — partially out of guilt but mostly out of naivety. I was shocked and hurt when I later learned I received a lower grade due to your negative evaluations of me.

I didn’t know that as a woman I was choosing between being perceived as likable and competent. I didn’t know that I’d not only be disliked but punished for standing up for myself.

. . .

To the college professor who thought I didn’t belong?in your research program, you were right.

Though I understood the intricacies of gas separation, medical oxygen concentrators, and zeolites, I did not understand how inadequate and powerless your discrimination would make me feel. As one of the top ten students in my school’s chemical engineering program, I was invited to do an honors research project in your lab. Yet, you didn’t shake my hand or make eye contact with me when I entered the room. You only did that with the boys. Instead of listening to my questions, you tuned me out and impatiently re-explained basic concepts, concepts I didn’t ask about and deeply understood. It was humiliating.

I didn’t understand that there wasn’t something inherently wrong with me. That I wasn’t an imposter. I wish I had stood up to you and quit instead of letting you erode my self-esteem for a year. If only I had known, my self-worth was worth more than the distinction of working in your lab.

. . .

You were right. All of you.

However, I hope you understand that being right is not enough. You acknowledged you understand an institutional and/or societal bias that limits women’s ability to succeed in our world. And, in your “rightness”, you perpetuated it.

You each taught me invaluable lessons that I’ve never wanted to learn or need. But they’re lessons I use every day.?Lessons I’m using to help change the way the world perceives women so that one day you’re wrong.