Last year, I had 68 doctor’s appointments.

I have an invisible condition, Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS), that results in defective connective tissues, the glue that holds our bodies together. Thus, everything in my body is affected; my musculoskeletal, cardiovascular, nervous, gastrointestinal, and integumentary systems all succumb to the fate of my mutation.  I experience dislocations, heart palpitations, tachycardia, loss of appetite, acid reflux, delayed wound healing, bruising, migraines, pain (a lot of pain), and so much more on a daily basis.

Despite these extensive symptoms, it took six years to receive a diagnosis. While tests like EMGs (electromyography) can be used to assess muscle function, there are currently no medical tests to understand the functional impact of connective tissue disorders; it is easy for doctors to dismiss your symptoms, when you look like a “healthy” 19-year-old. During my diagnostic odyssey, I realized that there were huge gaps in knowledge surrounding the etiology and downstream (tissue specific) consequences of mutations in genes that sustain the extracellular matrix (ECM). Curiosity and frustration from medical dismissals and lack of viable treatment options fueled by motivation and passion to dedicate my life to studying the ECM. After all, who better to study mutations in connective tissues than someone who lives with the physical, social, and economic consequences of it every day? This is precisely why I decided to pursue a PhD in Genetics.

I am now in my fourth year of graduate school, and while extremely taxing, I do not regret pursuing this path. My motivation and passion sustain my interest and dedication to science. However, motivation and dedication are meaningless without accessible, supportive environments that allow me to pursue my work. Part of creating this environment is becoming aware of the experiences of disabled scientists and supporting us by creating lab spaces, equipment, and policies that are inclusive. Disabled scientists are an asset to the scientific community. We are resilient, creative, and provide unique perspectives. Yet, there are still many obstacles to our inclusion in STEM. Inclusion and change cannot happen without first knowing how to improve the current environment and we can only learn this information by engaging with disabled scientists. I have decided to share aspects of my experiences as a physically disabled scientist with the goal of sparking conversation, challenging stereotypes, and motivating the pursuit of inclusive change in academia. Importantly, my experiences are my own and I do not speak for other disabled scientists. Below, I share what I believe are the most important aspects of the physically disabled scientist experience for all of those who work in academia to know about.

Living with an invisible disability is a privilege (and a nuance).

My physical disability is invisible. To most, I appear to be an average 26-year-old woman, but ask me to press the elevator button and my finger might dislocate. Being invisible has its advantages; I pass as an able-bodied individual, so I am not subject to overt discrimination, stereotypes, or the never-ending stares that individuals with visible disabilities endure. But my invisible disability is a double-edged sword. When I disclose my physical disability, I must always brace myself for the immediate invalidation that follows, usually to the well-intentioned tune of “but you don’t look sick”. It is emotionally and mentally exhausting to repeat this process. Ingrained societal stereotypes about what disability “looks like” means that many individuals with invisible physical disabilities are not considered “disabled enough”. In diversity-based grant applications, invisibly disabled scientists must strike a delicate balance and convince the reviewer that they are disabled enough to be worthy of the grant, but not too disabled so that confidence is not lost in their ability to pursue the proposed work. In the lab, it is easy for colleagues to forget about accessibility for individuals with invisible disabilities, perhaps because the visible reminder is not there. When accommodations are forgotten, disabled scientists must do additional work to receive their accommodations. This is often perceived as continually asking for “help” or “favors” instead of a necessary, guaranteed right. 

Living with a disability requires creativity.

Scientists with disabilities must be creative in how they adapt their environment to their needs. One avenue is to request accommodations through human resources (HR) and while this can be helpful for standard needs (i.e. accessible doors), HR cannot provide adaptive lab equipment that does not exist. It is here that the innovative nature of disabled scientists shines. I created #labdaptations (lab-adaptations) on Twitter, not only to start the conversation surrounding physical disabilities in STEM, but more importantly to share what I have done to adapt to the lab space. After a few posts went viral, it was increasingly clear that my tools were being shared by both disabled and able-bodied scientists. This is the beautiful thing about accessibility; it benefits everyone. If the standard lab bench were height adjustable, this would not only benefit individuals who use a wheelchair, but also scientists who are not of average height (i.e. if taller than average, the bench could be raised to avoid hunched posture). Ergonomic pipettes and dissection tools benefit every user, not just those with dexterity impairments. But our creativity is even broader and is present in the very essence of how we work. We must continually solve puzzles and adapt work schedules to meet our physical needs. If you have varying, unpredictable symptoms like me, the day-to-day decisions are like a game of Jenga; one wrong move and the tower collapses.

Living with a disability is expensive.

In December of 2020, I submitted my application for the F31, a National Institutes of Health (NIH) funded pre-doctoral training fellowship. When I received the news that my F31 would be funded, I cried. Not because I was happy or proud, but because I was relieved. Government funding meant I could afford to stay in graduate school. Government fellowships cover segregated fees, which constitute ~5% of my stipend and each year I allocate roughly ~10% of my stipend to necessary medical care; I could not afford to do both. The financial expense of training disabled graduate students extends into the lab space. At my institution, graduate students in the lab are considered employees (vs students). Therefore, any accommodations that are needed must be funded by the PI. This additional expense placed in the lab creates an uncomfortable system where disabled students must not only disclose their needs to their PI, but also heavily rely on the PI to provide this equipment. Perhaps this system, unintentionally, disincentivizes PIs to mentor students with disabilities.

Living with a disability is time consuming.

I truly believe I owe my current success as a graduate student to my keen ability to manage my time efficiently. What many do not realize is that this skill is a survival mechanism. Maintaining my health is a full-time job that requires so much of my time and energy. I need additional time to execute experiments that are physically challenging for me. I need time to see my physicians and to travel to and from those appointments (not to mention re-establishing medical care after moving to a new city). Most importantly, I need time to care for my body, physically and emotionally. Unless you are a close friend of a disabled individual, these necessary time allocations may not be obvious, but are an important part of understanding the challenges associated with having a physical disability in STEM.

Living with a disability is isolating.

The history of disability in America is gruesome; eugenics, forced sterilization, and “ugly laws” made integration into academia and society difficult, if not impossible. The ADA (Americans with Disabilities Act), which prohibits discrimination against people with disabilities, was only passed in 1990. It should, therefore, not be a surprise that finding a disability community in STEM is challenging, yet essential to feel included. We see that disabled undergraduates have the same intent to major in STEM, but these degrees are not being received at the same rate as able-bodied peers. This speaks to the dire need to create and foster the scientific disability community at the undergraduate level. In an effort to build this community, a friend and I co-founded CHAMP (Chronic Health Allies Mentorship Program). In this program, undergraduate students who have chronic health, illness, or disability are matched with graduate student mentors, who share similar experiences, to create a one-on-one mentorship experience. Graduate student mentors work to instill self-advocacy skills, confidence, and promote feelings of belonging in their mentees. Nearly all the graduate student mentors in the program (~30) noted that they would have benefitted from a program and community like this during their undergraduate studies.

Living with a disability has made me a better person and scientist.

The decision to publicly identify as a physically disabled person was a risky one. Many will choose to see how I am limited by my disability, instead of seeing how it makes me a better person and scientist. My disability has made me more empathetic; young and old people alike come to me to talk about their health ailments. For young people especially, I am a sanctuary, one of the few people of similar age who understands how they feel. I work more efficiently than many of my peers, allowing me to make time for both my science and health. I am creative in how I approach scientific problems and questions, providing a plethora of new ideas and hypotheses. As I have grown more confident in my identity, I have become a stronger, more motivated, and dedicated advocate. I want to help create an accessible academic environment where scientists with disabilities not only feel included, but also feel as though they can thrive. Creating this change starts now—Reader, learn about your institution’s accommodations and disability policies, engage with the disability community, and actively start working to change discriminatory barriers. We all must work together to make this change happen.

(6 votes)

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Every year, the Pasteur Institute of Paris organizes a course on Advances in Stem Cell Biology (ASCB). Directed by Professors Laure Bally-Cuif and Shahragim Tajbakhsh, this course brings together over twenty experts from around the world.

Over the course of two weeks, practical sessions and conferences follow one another, providing a comprehensive overview of various technologies and advancements in the field of stem cell biology.

Participants and instructors (S.Tajbakhsh, M.van de Wetering, B.Gayraud-Morel, L.Bideau, E.Gazave, G.Nigro, A.Martinez-Arias, M.Cohen-Tannoudji, L.Bally-Cuif, M.Huch) of the ASCB course in front of the historic building of the Institut Pasteur (Paris, France, 2023)

This year, 14 students were selected to participate in the course (master’s, PhD, and postdoctoral students). This exceptional experience allowed them to deepen their knowledge in the field of stem cells. They learned numerous techniques such as the culture of iPSCs, organoids, and gastruloids. They also became acquainted with different animal model systems, such as chicken embryos for studying early development stages or platynereis worms for regeneration studies. Grouped in pairs, participants have time to assimilate concepts and techniques, but more importantly, they share privileged moments with the rest of the group and the numerous speakers.

In addition to the concepts and techniques associated with stem cells, this course also addresses the importance of critical analysis, the limitations of using different models, and the significance of scientific integrity, communication, sharing, and exchanging current ideas.

Thanks to all the participants of this 2023 session!

The next session will take place from June 24th to July 5th, 2024, at the Pasteur Institute of Paris (France).

This two-week course combines lectures and practical sessions on leading edge technologies and questions in Stem Cell Biology.

Practical sessions:

• Stem cell strategies for organogenesis and regeneration
• Making iPS cells, organoids and gastruloids
• Leading-edge approaches in identification and analysis of stem cells
• Stem cells in distinct model organisms (Mouse, Chick, Zebrafish and Platynereis)
• Networking and discussion opportunities

Co-directors: Laure Bally-Cuif and Shahragim Tajbakhsh

Practicals: Barbara Gayraud-Morel

Application deadline: April 12th, 2024.

Information and online registration at https://vu.fr/vDHq

For any additional information, please contact marina.caillet@pasteur.fr.

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Five takeaways from #SciPEP2023

Do you think it is important to distinguish basic from applied science in science communication? How necessary is it to develop communications training approaches that are unique for basic scientists?

These were the questions the participants were asked in the poll at the beginning of an online conference I attended back in July. The conference, ‘SciPEP 2023: New Insights for Communicating Basic Science’, brought together science communication practitioners, researchers and scientists to discuss insights and generate ideas to advance communication of basic scientific research.

Thinking about science communication with my developmental biologist hat on, here are five things I learned from this conference.

(1) Process-minded vs payoff-minded approaches to science

Many of us know that science communication works best when the message reflects the interests of the audience. That’s why it’s important to understand what the different ‘publics’ think and feel about science; equally relevant are the needs and motivations of the scientists who are doing the communication.

On the first day of the conference, we heard about a series of studies conducted to look into the perception of science, motivations for people to engage with science, and how the public’s interest might vary among cultural, political, economic, and other demographics.

Chris Volpe from Science Counts presented data from surveys conducted in 2018: in America, the public doesn’t care about the difference between basic and applied science, and they mostly associate science with hope. As for scientists, their attitudes towards science seems to be more divided — basic scientists associate science with joy and excitement; applied scientists associate science with hope [report]. The report termed the people associating science with joy and excitement as process-minded, and those associating science with hope as payoff-minded. While process-minded people focus on the ‘how’, pay-off minded people focus on the ‘what’ and often the ‘why’.

According to this report, applied scientists’ attitudes towards science are more in line with the majority of the public, i.e. payoff-minded, whereas basic scientists are more process-minded and have to overcome an extra hurdle to connect with the public. These findings suggest that perhaps when we talk about basic science topics, we should move towards a more pay-off minded approach. But different ‘publics’ might have different feelings towards science — that’s why it’s important to always understand our specific audiences when engaging with them about our research.

(2) Relevance of science should go beyond utility

Many of us are trained to, and easily default to, talking about the utility of our research. In moving towards a more pay-off minded approach and making our communications relevant to non-scientific audiences, does that mean we have to always talk about our research with some eventual utility?    

To open the session ‘Relevance or Connection?’, we listened to a thought-provoking talk from Mónica Feliú Mójer on ‘What does relevance mean for basic science?’. Monica posed the following questions, “What makes you feel connected to science? What makes science relevant to you?”

Monica argued that the ‘relevance equals utility’ framework is limiting and can be counter-productive — making basic science relevant has to go beyond talking about its utility. Instead, Monica suggested that we should center on connection, find common ground with our audiences, and communicate with them in their own language. We have to connect our research to people’s everyday lives, who they are, and what they care about. Relevance is about connecting with audiences in ways that are meaningful and pertinent to their culture. Thinking about relevance in terms of connection can help us engage a more diverse audiences across differences and be more effective in our communications.

Thinking back to communicating about developmental biology, how do we connect with our audiences beyond talking about the utility of our research? Is curiosity and awe enough to make development biology relevant to people?

(3) Is it helpful to distinguish between basic and applied science?

What do the public think about the term ‘basic science’? What do scientists themselves think about the term? Is it counter-productive to distinguish between basic and applied science communications? In a recent report on why and how to engage in effective and meaningful science communication on basic science topics, many interviewees (consisting of basic scientists, scicomm practitioners and researchers) were unsure about whether and when ‘basic science’ is a helpful focal point. There are many factors that motivate scientists to communicate, not just the nature of their research. The discussions throughout the conference kept circling back to the process versus payoff-minded approaches. Perhaps the distinction between pay-off/ process-mindedness can be more useful that basic/ applied when it comes to science communication? Are ‘discovery’ or ‘fundamental’ science better terms than basic science?

(4) It’s not easy to articulate goals and set concrete actions

In the final session of the conference, the organizers created a collaborative Miro board for conference participants to get together and discuss opportunities and priorities for basic scicomm training, research, and practice. The board was very lively with all the ‘Visiting inventors’ ‘Visiting builders’ and ‘Visiting pioneers’ (you’ll understand if you’ve ever used a Miro board!).

Many ideas put down on the Miro board were more conceptual ideas than concrete actions. The few concrete ideas on the Miro board were actual examples that people have tried to do. Instead of starting from scratch, we should probably do a better job at sharing and showcasing brilliant scicomm examples, so that others can learn from and build on them. Check out the existing long-term science communication and public engagement initiatives in fundamental biomedical research in this special issue.

(5) Listening is the first step to effective communication

Communication works best when we listen. Listening is a skill that can be developed, and it’s vital that as scientists, we bring humility and empathy when trying to connect with people about our research. It is also important that scientists, scicomm researchers and practitioners listen and talk to each other to come up with creative ideas and approaches to science communication.

So now, let’s listen to your views and experiences — what are your motivations for talking about your research to non-scientists? Do you have any examples of effective communications about developmental and stem cell biology?

(1 votes)

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I would like to draw your attention on a future research topic that
my colleague Anupama Prakash (University of Sheffield) and myself
are organizing with Frontiers in Ecology and Evolution. This
is a research topic on “Biological and Physical Basis of
the Development of Integumentary Nanostructures”. You
can find more details on the following website:
https://www.frontiersin.org/research-topics/54743/biological-and-physical-basis-of-the-development-of-integumentary-nanostructures

We welcome research studies, reviews, but also preliminary data and/or
unpublished data that accompany a recent published article. The call
for contributors is now open, and authors can submit an abstract and/or
directly a manuscript for consideration. Please feel free to forward
this email to colleagues who might also be interested in contributing
to this special issue.

Best wishes,

Cédric & Anupama

————-

Cédric Finet, PhD
National University of Singapore

Anupama Prakash, PhD
University of Sheffield

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Dates: October 11-13, 2023

Location: Stowers Institute for Medical Research, Kansas City, MO

Website URL: https://www.stowers.org/events/stem-and-regenerative-biology

Contact information: conferences@stowers.org

Registration Deadline: October 6, 2023

Abstract Submission Deadline: September 1, 2023

Organizers: Alejandro Sánchez Alvarado, Ph.D., Tatjana Piotrowski, Ph.D., Linheng Li, Ph.D.

Meeting Description: Stowers Research Conferences are biennial meetings that employ an innovative trainee-centered approach to inspire creative thought and collaboration in the biological sciences. Drawing on a diversity of experimental systems, the 2023 Stem and Regenerative Biology meeting will feature a broad range of perspectives on stem cell dynamics in development, homeostasis, and regeneration. We are excited to bring together thought leaders in this fascinating area of research to share new ideas, discover common themes, and forge new relationships.

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When are you stepping down from the Harvard Medical Postdoc Association (HMPA) Chair position to focus on your science? This recurring question posed by a few colleagues over the last two years of my term has led me to introspect what I consider to be science. For some, it may be a fair question, as postdoc is crunch time to make or break in competitive academia, so engaging in academic community activities can be considered a futile distraction, no matter the purpose. While solely focusing on the research and getting published might be the pragmatic and effective strategy to secure a faculty position and reinforce what it means to be a successful postdoc, I see a larger disconnect with the purpose and practice of science–the dichotomy of academic culture. 

Engaging in community service during my postdoc is neither my first involvement nor the first time when doctrinaire questions are posed to me. I am passionate about social justice and have been an active community member in leadership roles since high school. However, at every academic stage–B.S., M.S., PhD, and Postdoc–I have been made to feel I am not doing enough scientifically. I have been told community engagement is an extracurricular, a hobby, and an interference. I have been told to focus on my science because it is a rare opportunity that I have gotten to better my life. I have been told I am just a social butterfly. I have been told I could do ‘all this stuff’ once I have a faculty position. No wonder I feel trained to experience guilt and remorse for engaging in the community. I have constantly struggled with the expectation to fit in the academic binary–choosing academic scholarship for career progression over social justice in the academic community. I have felt the quality of my scientific work is in question because of my involvement in the scientific community. I must work harder to prove my scientific interests or let community work go. Some of my friends and colleagues feel similarly. A Black friend who is also a postdoc and actively involved in the community was recently told by their postdoc mentor that their academic excellence is not enough, meaning they are not good scientifically. It makes me think, what do we value in science? What does success mean in science? While some may argue about the extent of engagement or time management during postdoc or any other academic stage, I posit what it means to be a postdoc or rather a scientist today. 

The practice of science is not just the human pursuit of knowledge and truth with rational analysis in isolation. It is a social enterprise–with diverse ideas, identities, and experiences–embedded in larger social and historical contexts, thus providing direction, substance, and meaning to our discoveries. The leaps and quests to understanding the natural world, such as cancer or water on Mars, are immersed into humanity. Therefore, the purpose of science is dynamically linked to society and its people. But what exactly is the role of scientists, then? Is it only conducting objective research and sharing the findings with the scientific community? Is it also engaging with the scientific community, policy, decision-makers, and the public? It reminds me of popular debates such as ‘Should scientists be activists?’ and ‘Should scientists be value-driven and opinionated?’. To me and many other people, science has inherent political dimensions. Indeed, science and technology studies argue that such epistemological boundaries of science and activism are problematic. Like any other social organisation, we are embedded in orderly structures of power and inequities irrespective of our rationale and logic. For example, the decisions of who gets to be an author on a research paper or which lab member goes to a conference may have influences of relative hierarchies or wealth like any social organisation. We have decades of data to support that hierarchies and biases exist in the academic system. We understand that systemic discriminatory policies and practices exist that perpetuate imperial legacies and need change. However, we let Western epistemological boundaries and frameworks shape practices, policies, and behaviours discouraging scientists from engaging in community activism. Such systemic dissociation between scientists and community members inhibits effective accountability, transparency, and responsibility in our academic system. In my understanding, cultivating, and propagating a system where we systemically continue to set the narrative for students and early career researchers (ECRs) that scholarship matters and not the community is flawed. Unuttered narratives of research priority over shared responsibilities to decolonise academic structures are flawed. The definition of scientific success is flawed.

Recently, Holden Thorp, in his remarkable editor’s blog on ‘It Matters Who Does Science’ brought up an important fact which resonated so much–scientists are conspicuously humans and we, as scientists, should embrace our humanity. Thus, instead of waiting for community engagement and conversations of bettering academia when we reach tenure, shouldn’t we set the narratives that research and scholarship are important at any academic stage, but so is community engagement–who and how do we do science? Shouldn’t we create conditions for more conducive work in meeting the needs of our people who drive science and limiting disparities that hinder the inclusion of marginalised scholars?

One of my colleagues, friends, and mentor, Akankshi Munjal, a faculty member now, supported me once during a guilt trip. She said, you should not see your postdoc as just biological research. Addressing important issues of equity and inclusion in our academic spaces is difficult work that is long ignored. You should see it as a part of your holistic postdoc experience. With shifts in academia, we are starting to see the light, where we have started to consider community work, for example, during faculty recruitment. This conversation helped me redefine my postdoc and restructure my expectations as I was constantly feeling guilty before and was considering myself a failure for not working hard during my postdoc while I was. Although I have always thought, support from Akankshi and my introspection helped me register that being a scientist is more than science itself. 

Finding a mentor and community who identifies you as human and then kindly supplements you with scientific direction, community engagement, professional space, and other unique needs to be the best version of yourself can be life changing. I am fortunate to have Sean Megason as my mentor and, among others in other departments, a champion of my community work. I now take pride in doing community work in academia along with research–what I call science–and resist obstinate notions of science. I am vocal about compensation and incentives to normalise such work, so it is not disproportionately carried out, especially by marginalised identities. I do not know if I will pursue a tenure-track faculty job, but I am happy with where I am now and what I perceive of science. To be honest, I would love to teach, mentor, and conduct research. But I am finding it hard to navigate a faculty position that values my skills, expertise, and experiences, not just my academic scholarship.

(11 votes)

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Perspectives of a Transgender Scientist

Imposter syndrome is something I think all graduate students can relate to. While I’ve had my fair share of struggles with imposter syndrome in my academic career, I want to talk about a different kind of imposter syndrome, the one I felt for 25 years of my life.

Being born a woman, something always felt off. I never felt comfortable in my own skin and any attempt to appear feminine felt like wearing a mask or putting on an act. I was blessed with loving, adoring parents who always told me they just wanted me to be happy in life. I excelled in school and enjoyed learning. I played softball throughout childhood and high school and I loved the friends I made through it who became like family to me. Despite all the reasons to be happy in my life, I always felt like true happiness was just out of my grasp.

Since I was young, I had wanted to be a boy, but it was never something I thought was really possible. I was born a girl. It was the role I was cast into, so it was the role I had to play for everyone. I didn’t have the resources or the representation to understand that I was transgender or that I could live life as the man I wanted to be. By the time I had the knowledge and life experience to accept I was trans, I still wasn’t ready to make this giant change and come out to everyone as such. I had played the role of woman for so long that I was afraid there was no way to stop now. Even if I did, would the people I love accept my truth? I had so much fear, so I just held it in. I let the truth sit and eat at me, secretly knowing I’d be much happier if everyone just saw me as a man.

It wasn’t until I was 25, halfway through my second year pursuing a PhD in Genetics and Epigenetics, that I was finally ready to live for my own happiness. There isn’t one defining moment or experience that I can point to that made me finally ready to come out, I just wanted to be happy. After my now-fiancée, my PhD mentor, Dr. Swathi Arur, was actually the first person I came out to as a man. It felt far less daunting than the task of coming out to my parents, and I wanted my lab, who I saw and worked with every day, to know my truth. Swathi was supportive from the start, which if I’m being honest, I knew she would be. My lab was the same. I was absolutely terrified to tell them, but they were so happy for me. They accepted my truth and felt honored that I felt safe to share it with them. And lucky for me, I’ve received immense support from my immediate community and in graduate school since coming out. It’s not lost on me how many transgender people do not receive this same support, so I want my friends and family to know how much their love and acceptance means to me.

Since coming out, I feel like I’ve been able to thrive, despite the obvious challenges of being in graduate school and pursuing a PhD. For one, I no longer feel like I am wearing a mask around people, trying to be someone I’m not. I held so much anxiety inside me from trying to pretend to be a woman, that I didn’t even realize it was possible to live without that constant anxiety until coming out. Simply put, I feel so much more at ease with myself and in my body. That’s not to say there haven’t been stressful or awkward moments during my transition. There’s been the occasional accidental misgendering from colleagues. There was navigating doctor’s appointments and learning how to inject myself with testosterone. And there were bureaucratic piles of paperwork to get my name legally changed. So. Much. Paperwork. But it really was the best thing I could have ever done for myself. Transitioning has brought so much joy to my everyday life, and at the risk of sounding corny, it’s helped me to see that life truly is a blessing.

(3 votes)

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“It is clearly obvious that had they worked together, had that magic gone okay, then we would not talk about Watson and Crick at all. We would talk about the Franklin-Wilkins or Wilkins-Franklin structure.”
Professor Matthew Cobb, University of Manchester

In the latest episode of the Genetics Unzipped podcast, Kat Arney chats with Professor Matthew Cobb about what really happened between James Watson, Francis Crick and Rosalind Franklin during the discovery of the double helix structure of DNA.

Genetics Unzipped is the podcast from The Genetics Society. Full transcript, links and references available online at GeneticsUnzipped.com.

Subscribe from Apple podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you get your podcasts.

Head over to GeneticsUnzipped.com to catch up on our extensive back catalogue.If you enjoy the show, please do rate and review on Apple podcasts and help to spread the word on social media. And you can always send feedback and suggestions for future episodes and guests to podcast@geneticsunzipped.com Follow us on Twitter – @geneticsunzip

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Anyone who has spent time doing research knows that being a scientist is not always sunshine and rainbows. It is great to see people announcing on Twitter that they published a new paper, or that they received a new grant, but what is less talked about are those darker days of frustrations that many researchers encounter, or the various barriers that many have to overcome.

That is why the Node has created a new blog series called ‘Honest conversations’. The aim is for people to write about the ups and downs in their academic journey and create frank conversations around less-discussed topics on the Node, such as unconventional career paths, mental health, and equity, diversity and inclusion in science.

Some of you may wonder, why does the Node think it’s important to create such a blog series? That’s because scientific research doesn’t just happen on its own; it is made possible by scientists, who are “conspicuously and magnificently human—with all the assets and flaws that humans possess”, as Holden Thorp has eloquently expressed in his Editorial ‘It matters who does science’, “…and that means that who those individuals are, and the backgrounds they bring to their work, have a profound influence on the quality of the end result.” We hope by talking more about these less-discussed topics, upcoming and established scientists alike can find reassurance and flourish in this profoundly rewarding career.  

There is no strict format or word limit for these posts, but we particularly encourage posts about:

• Navigating an academic career: were there moments of self-doubt of whether you’re cut out for academia? Do you have an unconventional ‘squiggly’ career path?
• Mental health issues in the scientific community
• Equality, diversity and inclusion in science
• Troubleshooting: you can write about a tricky problem that you or your lab have been trying to troubleshoot for ages. Maybe someone from the other side of the world can help

To kick off this blog series, we have commissioned a few posts from the community.

Do you have an idea for a ‘Honest conversation’ post? Get in touch by emailing us!

(1 votes)

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Our August webinar was chaired by Development Editor Cassandra Extavour (Harvard University) and featured talks from three early-career researchers studying evo-devo. Below are the recordings of the talks.

Hannah Gruner (Swarthmore College)

Seth Donoughe (University of Chicago)

Allan Carrillo-Baltodano (Queen Mary University)

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