I Never Thought I’d Be an Academic Researcher

I never thought I’d be an academic researcher.

That might sound strange coming from someone who has spent years in labs, classrooms, and research meetings, but it’s the most honest way to start this story. I loved science long before I understood it. I loved learning, patterns, and problem solving. I loved the quiet thrill of finally grasping something that once felt impossible. I also absolutely loved English and writing, which gave me a way to think deeply, tell stories, and explore ideas. What I didn’t love, or even recognize, was the idea that science could be a path for someone like me.

I did not grow up knowing what a PhD was. I did not know anyone who worked in research or academia. I did not understand how people navigated those spaces or that there was even a path to follow. Science felt important, fascinating, and far away. It belonged to other people, people with more confidence, more resources, more familiarity with how the system worked.

I grew up in a small town and came from a disadvantaged background. I learned early how to be independent and to figure things out for myself. School became my refuge. It was a place where effort mattered and curiosity was rewarded. Math and science spoke to me. They had rules and structure, and if you stuck with a problem long enough, it would eventually give up its secrets. English and writing gave me a way to connect, reflect, and make sense of the world around me.

Even in college, I was still figuring out what it meant to be a scientist. I loved chemistry, physiology, and the rhythm of the lab, but I didn’t yet understand that research was something you could devote your life to. I didn’t know graduate school was a real option. I didn’t know that uncertainty, long hours, and failed experiments were part of the process rather than signs that you didn’t belong. I was curious, but I felt like an outsider, standing at the edge and trying to make sense of the world of science.

The journey from there to where I am now has been shaped by moments of guidance, opportunity, and persistence. It has been shaped by my own resilience and by the mentors, teachers, and experiences that opened doors I didn’t even know existed.

This is the reality I carry with me into my work today. It’s why I care deeply about making science accessible. It’s why I founded The Metabolism Lab. Science is incredible, but only if people can see themselves in it, if they can understand it, and if they are given the tools and encouragement to engage with it fully. Writing, storytelling, and communication are all part of this mission. They allow me to tie together my love of English with my passion for science.

Because for so many, science doesn’t start as something you can belong to. It starts as something you hope you can reach. I want to make sure no one has to feel that distance for too long.

Why I started The Metabolism Lab

As I moved forward in my training, I began to notice something that never stopped bothering me. The hardest part of science is rarely the science itself. It is access.

Science is full of unwritten rules. So much of what determines whether someone succeeds is learned informally, in hallway conversations, over coffee, or in the moments after lab meetings when someone finally admits they are confused and a mentor takes the time to explain. These are the things that never make it into textbooks or papers, yet they shape entire careers.

Research articles are dense by necessity. Career paths are opaque. Expectations are often assumed rather than stated. If you have the right guidance, science feels challenging but navigable. You learn how to ask questions, recover from failure, and see yourself as someone who belongs in the room. Without that guidance, science can feel isolating, intimidating, and lonely. Not because you are incapable, but because no one ever showed you how to translate what you were seeing into understanding.

I know this difference intimately.

My entire career hinged on one great mentor in undergrad who took the time to slow down, explain the why behind the work, and show me that curiosity mattered more than perfection. That mentorship set my path ablaze. Without it, my life would look very different. I also know that not everyone gets that moment, or that person, at the right time.

As I advanced in academia, I kept seeing brilliant students quietly opt out of science. Not because they lacked talent or drive, but because they lacked access. They did not know how to read a paper. How to approach a professor. How to find research opportunities. How to recover from a bad exam or a rejected application. They thought these struggles meant they were not cut out for science, when in reality, they were simply missing context.

The Metabolism Lab exists because of that gap.

I created this space to make science feel less like a closed door and more like an open conversation. A place where complex physiology is explained clearly and honestly, without assuming prior knowledge. A place where questions are encouraged, not judged. A place where students, trainees, and the public can engage with research without feeling behind, out of place, or ashamed of what they do not yet know.

This is the space I wish I had when I was starting out.

The Metabolism Lab is about more than metabolism. It is about transparency, mentorship, and belonging. It is about pulling back the curtain on how science actually works, sharing not just the findings but the process, the failures, and the learning along the way. It is about giving people the tools to see themselves as capable thinkers and future scientists, whether they are in a classroom, a lab, or simply curious about how their bodies work.

Science should not be gatekept by jargon, silence, or access to the right people. It should be something we can enter, question, and grow with.

Why metabolism and physiology?

Metabolism is often reduced to headlines, trends, or something we are told to “optimize.” It gets flattened into calories, weight, or quick fixes, stripped of its complexity and humanity. But that version of metabolism has never resonated with me.

To me, metabolism is a story of communication. It is the quiet, constant conversation happening inside the body every second of every day. It is how the liver listens to the pancreas. How muscle responds to a meal. How hormones rise, fall, and adapt to keep us alive, functioning, and resilient. Metabolism is not static. It is dynamic, responsive, and deeply contextual. It changes with time of day, stress, sleep, movement, illness, and health.

Physiology is where that story comes alive.

I was drawn to physiology because it forces you to zoom out. You cannot understand one tissue in isolation without asking what the rest of the body is doing. Every answer leads to another question. Why does this signal change here but not there? Why does the same hormone produce different outcomes in different contexts? Physiology teaches you that the body is not a collection of parts, but a coordinated system constantly negotiating balance.

That way of thinking changed how I see science and how I see people.

My research focuses on metabolic physiology and diabetes, particularly how hormones like insulin and glucagon work together across tissues to regulate glucose. These hormones are often taught as opposites, simplified into good versus bad, anabolic versus catabolic. But biology is rarely that clean. What fascinates me is how these signals integrate, overlap, and adapt depending on metabolic demand. The same molecule can play different roles depending on timing, context, and physiological state.

Diabetes, in this way, is not just a disease of “too much” or “too little.” It is a disruption of communication. Signals that once coordinated become mistimed. Responses that once adapted begin to falter. Understanding those breakdowns requires looking at the whole system, not just a single pathway or cell type.

What continues to motivate me is not only uncovering new mechanisms, but helping others understand why they matter.

I have seen how quickly science can become inaccessible. How complex figures, dense language, and unexplained assumptions can push people away, even those who are deeply curious. I have also seen what happens when physiology is explained clearly. When people understand how their bodies work, science stops feeling abstract or intimidating. It becomes relevant. It becomes personal.

Clear science empowers people to ask better questions. It helps students see themselves as capable learners. It allows the public to engage with research without fear or shame. It builds bridges between discovery and real life. Clear science builds trust.

And trust matters deeply in a field that touches people’s health, bodies, and lived experiences. When trust is missing, misinformation fills the gap. When trust is built, curiosity and understanding can take root.

That is why metabolism and physiology matter to me. Not just as scientific disciplines, but as tools for connection. They offer a way to understand the body with nuance, respect, and humility. And they remind us that biology, like people, is rarely simple, but always worth understanding.

What I hope this space becomes

The Metabolism Lab is meant to feel like an open door. Here, I write about science in a way that feels human. I break down complex research without assuming prior expertise. I talk openly about training in science, including the uncertainty, self doubt, and growth that happens along the way. I share tools that have helped me navigate studying, time management, and career decisions. I tell stories from students, trainees, and scientists who are still figuring things out in real time.

You do not need to know exactly where you are going to belong here. Curiosity is enough.

Why mentorship and representation matter

I would not be here without mentors. End of sentence.

Seeing people who believed in me changed how I saw myself. Seeing scientists who were thoughtful, generous, and human changed how I understood science. I also know how powerful it is to see someone who feels familiar doing work you once thought was out of reach.

Emerging scientists, especially women and those from underrepresented backgrounds, are still missing from many public-facing science spaces. I believe that visibility matters. Not as a performance, but as an invitation. When people can see themselves reflected in science, new paths quietly open.

This platform is one way I try to be that person for someone else.

What’s coming next

This is just the beginning.

In future posts, I will share clear explanations of metabolism and physiology, reflections on research and training, practical guidance for students and early-career scientists, and conversations with people across the scientific community. Some posts will teach. Some will reflect. Some will simply sit with uncertainty.

If you have ever felt drawn to science but unsure where you fit, I hope this space makes things feel a little clearer and a little more possible.

I am really glad you are here.