I recently attended a Society of Women Engineers event with Hoboken mayoral candidate Emily Jabbour. What struck me wasn’t just her political experience, but the honesty in how she described navigating spaces where women are constantly underestimated. She talked about staying true to herself, keeping her head above water, and never losing sight of the greater good she wanted to achieve.
As she spoke, I realized that so many of us in the room had lived versions of her stories. For me, it hit especially close to home. I’ve had those moments in both my classes and in leadership roles, where I felt out of place in spaces dominated by men. I joined with the philosophy that “we” mattered more than “I,” and I always believed in giving others the benefit of the doubt. Even when people wronged me, I held onto the idea that they were still good at their core.
But looking back, I can’t help but think how much it would have meant if another woman had spoken out sooner. Just to hear that I was doing a good job, to get positive feedback while I was still in the thick of it, instead of only finding out I was valued after I left. At the time, I felt vilified and let it happen because I thought that’s what the team needed. What still stings is how the people who were supposed to support me stayed silent, leaving me to shoulder the criticism alone.
Emily admitted that she, too, struggles with using “I.” Women often hesitate to claim credit, spreading recognition around even when we’ve done the heavy lifting, while men rarely hesitate to say, “I did that.” It made me wonder why we shrink ourselves when we’ve earned the spotlight.
She also shared how she re-centered herself by remembering she was working toward the greater good. She could grit her teeth through the occasional council meeting, but when you’re surrounded by the same people every day, the constant scrutiny cuts deeper. That difference resonated with me — I didn’t get to walk away after a vote; I lived inside the tension daily.
She spoke about those moments when anger makes her cry and her voice shake. I’ve been there too. I still remember being dismissed as “an emotional bitch” when it happened to me. But Emily reframed it: Yes, my voice shakes because I care so deeply that it makes me physically angry. What’s so often labeled as weakness is actually proof of passion.
Her story feels especially relevant to women at Stevens, because we face this every single day. The number of times an engineering group has automatically handed me the “note-taking” role instead of letting me build is ridiculous. For context: I’m a Makerspace Supervisor. I fix 3D printers in my free time. I know AutoCAD. I worked in HVAC for eight months — long enough to prove every contractor wrong until they finally stopped calling me “sweetie” or “honey.” And honestly? Even they were easier to win over than some of the men I’ve encountered in leadership spaces.
And that’s what makes Emily’s message so powerful: if women who know the struggle can’t have each other’s backs, who will? If we don’t speak up for each other, who will?
She reminded me that sparks matter — those moments when something lights inside you and you know you can’t ignore it. Listening to her, I felt that spark return. The spark to stand up, to speak out, and to face the little men who tried to drive me out.
Because the truth is, none of us should have to shrink ourselves just to fit into a “man’s world.”