If you met me today—as an MIT triple professor at the top of my game—you would probably assume I’ve always been confident. I speak plainly. I make decisions. I take responsibility for my ideas. I do not ask for permission. I have zero tolerance for bad behavior, and so I do not suffer fools gladly.

But confidence is not where I started.

I remember very clearly being a graduate student at Harvard University in the mid-1990s. This was before email was ubiquitous, before smartphones or texting; important messages arrived by physical mail. The graduate student mailboxes—narrow slots with names taped on—were outside the classroom, the kind you passed multiple times a day without meaning to stop. Except I always stopped. For a long time, I checked my mailbox expecting a letter telling me the department had made a mistake, that I had been admitted in error, that I would have to go home. I knew this fear was irrational. I had been accepted. I had the grades and accomplishments to be in the Harvard PhD program in astronomy. But logic had no power over it. The certainty lived somewhere deeper, quieter, and far more persistent. If that isn’t impostor syndrome, I don’t know what is.

Looking back, I can see that this didn’t start in graduate school.

During my childhood, my father pushed me constantly—often far outside my comfort zone. He pushed me to speak up, to make friends, to put myself forward, to move to the front of the line rather than hang back. At the time, it felt uncomfortable and unnecessary. In retrospect, I think he genuinely worried that I might not survive the real world if I grew up with such low confidence.

Years later, as a postdoc at the Institute for Advanced Study, in Princeton, NJ, I was called into the office of John Bahcall—the big boss, the person whose judgment carried real weight. His office had the quiet authority of someone who shaped careers: books everywhere, tall windows, a sense that serious decisions were made there. He told me I was being promoted to a long-term five-year postdoctoral fellowship. At the time, this was one of the biggest honors in my research field, a position only reserved for the cream of the crop. I remember sitting there speechless with my mouth ajar, unable to process what I was hearing. I suspiciously asked why—how could this possibly be justified? He paused, then explained. He talked about my strength in physics, my creativity, my ability to identify what actually mattered in a problem, and my ability to execute on my own great ideas. He described, in concrete terms, what makes a strong scientist. I walked out of that office stunned. Not elated. Stunned. For the first time, the thought occurred to me—tentatively, almost against my will—that maybe I was actually good at what I did. It felt strange, even improper, to let myself think that.

That realization did not transform me overnight. But it stayed with me.

Over time, with self reflection, advice from others, and professional coaching, I gained confidence. When you are no longer consumed by self-doubt, an enormous amount of cognitive energy is freed. That energy becomes available for deeper thinking, creativity, and persistence. The work improves—not because you suddenly become smarter, but because you are no longer fighting yourself.

Looking around me, it wasn’t hard to recognize the same pattern in so many others: students, postdocs, early-career professionals—often brilliant, often highly capable—but limited by their own internal thinking.

What finally pushed me to act was a single, uncomfortable question: where are all the women leaders? Where are the women shaping fields and taking up space without apology? Too often, the problem isn’t talent, ambition, or lack of childcare—it’s confidence.

I am here to teach you confidence. Keys to Confidence is the culmination of the lessons I’ve learned through my own journey and through the women I’ve taught. This course is not about inspiration or platitudes, but access—to practical tools that help you take action, think freely, and make hard decisions easier.

My team is passionate about scaling the program to democratize access, so whoever you are, wherever you are, you can learn how to rewire your brain for confidence.

I did not start confident. 

But I learned.

And so can you!