Peanut butter and strawberry jam on bread with freckled eggs—an ordinary breakfast for an ordinary girl. I was in the 9th grade, a newly-minted freshman at my school and had just joined its newly-minted math club. Math was my favourite subject, and due to the newness of the club I ended up being the only girl in the group.

    The de facto nature of my gender reduced me to plain pronouns such as statements “let her solve it” or “I think she would know”. When a new member joined the club and asked for my name, another boy jokingly blurted out, “oh we just call her the girl, because she’s the only one.” I roll my eyes. Welcome to my life. 

   We had just finished a major regional competition and our club was gathering to hear the announcement of the results. Whispers and nervous jokes echoed across the theater as the boys compared notes and answers they gave. My fingers picked at the fraying edges of the shoulder straps of my aging backpack as I tried to close my eyes to recalculate every question I could remember answering from the competition booklet, perhaps hoping to catch some casual mistake from my memory bank, so I could correct it through sheer force of will.  A flicker of movement pulled my attention back into my seat as our supervising teacher walked on stage with a stack of certificates in hand. The air tensed and for the next 18 minutes, I sat in frozen stillness as he announced the winners of various competitions: 

   “Winner of Euclid, Fermat, and Cayley.” 

     One by one, the teacher announced the names of the winners. Each one was met with thunderous applause and loud cheers from the appreciative audience. Names were chanted, like the audience of some ancient Greek coliseums celebrating the victory of heroic gladiators. 

     Finally, I heard the two most melodious words in the English language: “Elaine Li! For the Junior award!”

My heart fluttered and I rushed to the stage, receiving the curled certificate in hand, turning to the audience… and near silence. The lack of response deflated my ego like a popped balloon. I didn’t expect a grecian chant, but the polite applause from the teachers did little to soften my disappointment. I walked back to my seat, wearing my best fake smile in a weary attempt to feign nonchalance, but as I sat back down, I heard a piercing whisper:

    “Whatever. She only won that because she’s a girl.”

     And just like that, my victory was robbed right out of my grasp. Tears flooded my eyes and my face flushed in defeated embarrassment. I knew I wasn’t the only one who heard his words, like a jury handing out a verdict that denounced all my hard work. 

     That night, I took to twitter to vent, sharing my story and my consideration to quit math for good. But less than a few minutes later, notifications started to flow in. Positive affirmations, empathy, and supportive gifs followed. As I read, I was shocked at the number of responses from other girls who had also shared similar experiences. 

      One talked about being ignored not just by her classmates but even the faculty; another described entering into a competition as the Club President, only to be listed on the award as “Club Secretary''; one other talked about being kicked out by her school club, requiring for her to compete as an independent, before winning the trophy. 

    I found my confidence returning as I began to understand. I was labeled “just a girl” because those three words represented a challenge to their world view and a threat to their identity.    

        I printed out one of the tweets I received and pinned it to my wall: a quote from Eleanor Roosevelt reading, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” Pinned next to it was my certificate– a proud reminder that I need no one’s applause but my own. Now, I realize that I do not need others’ approval nor validation to keep me going.