Hi everyone, I’m Dr. Kiers, a Professor of evolutionary biology at Vrije Universiteit in Amsterdam and the executive director of SPUN. When I started my career seventeen years ago, just after earning my PhD, I was immediately confronted with a harsh reality many female scientists face: the supposed choice between pursuing a career and starting a family. During a department meeting, a senior colleague openly criticized pregnant women as financial liabilities to the department. There I was, sitting in the front row, visibly pregnant, and not a single colleague spoke up. It was a stark introduction to the biases that still permeated the scientific community. The birth of my daughter marked the beginning of a challenging journey. I took a brief leave, but when my son arrived unexpectedly two years later, I feared that another break might derail my career permanently. Determined to keep my scientific aspirations alive, I strapped my three-week-old son to my chest and flew nine hours to a conference. I joked about my "brain fog" before my presentation, trying to lighten the mood, but was later reprimanded by an older female scientist who thought I was undermining the image of women in science. This tension between professional expectations and personal life is a pervasive issue. In 2019, a study highlighted that over 40% of female scientists in the U.S. left full-time scientific work after having their first child. The global picture isn't much brighter, with men holding approximately 70% of all research positions. For those of us who need to conduct fieldwork in remote or challenging locations, the demands of motherhood can seem directly at odds with our career goals. Refusing to accept this dichotomy, I began bringing my children with me on field expeditions. Our first major trip as a family was to the base of Mount Kenya, where we studied how fungi help trees defend against herbivores like elephants and giraffes. My husband, a poet, supported us by staying at the base camp with the kids while I conducted research. This setup wasn't just about logistical necessity; it was a form of protest against the outdated norms that hinder female scientists. Over the years, these trips became more than just a workaround—they transformed my approach to science. My children's curiosity led us to new discoveries. They asked questions that challenged my assumptions and pushed my research in new directions. They helped me see the value in integrating my roles as a scientist and a mother, rather than choosing one over the other. After seeing my kids eat dirt I started tasting soils in the field — a technique I now use to notice subtle differences across ecosystems. The presence of my children on these trips also challenged stereotypes within the scientific community. Initially, fellow researchers assumed my husband was leading the expeditions. Over time, as we corrected these misconceptions, the scientific community's support grew, and many colleagues became advocates for more inclusive practices. Our journey has not been without its trials. During one expedition in Lesotho, a planned collection of fungal samples was interrupted when my daughter fell ill, forcing us to stay in a remote village. This setback, however, led to an unexpected discovery of a unique soil type and its resident fungi, which would have remained unexplored had we stuck to the original plan. What particularly resonates with me each time we visit Africa is the profound connection and mutual respect I've developed for the diverse cultures and communities we interact with. Their resilience, wisdom, and warm hospitality profoundly impact our experiences and research. These interactions have enriched our lives, reminding us that science is a global, collaborative endeavor that thrives on diverse perspectives and shared humanity. In sharing our story, I hope to highlight that the integration of family and science is not only possible but can enrich both. It's about redefining what professional conduct means and advocating for a more humane approach to scientific work. This journey has shown me that embracing our full selves—challenges, children, and all—can transform not just personal lives but the very essence of how science is practiced.