The United Nations’ Gender Snapshot 2025 is out, and the numbers are grim: Women have broken barriers in education but remain sidelined in leadership, holding only 27.2% of parliamentary seats, 30% of managerial posts, and just a handful of head-of-state positions worldwide. At this pace, parity in management is still a century away.
Over the past few decades, we have made undeniable progress toward gender equality. Legal reforms, changing cultural narratives, and expanding opportunities have opened doors that were once closed for women. We celebrate the right to vote, the right to work, the right to lead. And yet, despite these victories, one of the most persistent barriers to women’s full participation in society is not external, but internal.
It is the voice in our heads that tells us we are not ready, not enough, that we should not speak too loudly or step forward, even when the door is open. These doubts are not mere insecurities; they are the residue of a culture that has taught women from early childhood to self-monitor and self-silence.
I have seen this dynamic play out throughout my own academic career and in the students I mentor. As a young PhD student in Cosmology, I often felt unqualified to join the spontaneous blackboard debates physicists love, discussions that reward quick interruptions over deep reflection. I was not unqualified; I had ranked first in one of France’s most competitive master’s programs. But as I learned the hard way, confidence does not automatically come with credentials.
The same pattern continues to play out among the students who join my lab. At the start of their careers, male and female students are equally highly qualified, smart, ambitious, and driven. Yet while men often step forward, sometimes before they are ready, women hold back, waiting to be invited. I have seen brilliant young women hesitate to ask questions, revise an email five times before sending it, apologize for speaking in meetings, or downplay their goals. These are not isolated cases. They reflect a broader pattern of self-silencing.
The effects are visible and measurable. A survey study across 20 different countries showed that women ask significantly fewer questions than men in academic seminars, and they are about 28% less likely to promote their research on social media, even when equally or more productive. This leads to reduced visibility, fewer opportunities for recognition, and diminished dissemination of their work.
There remains a persistent gender gap in advancement despite parity in education. Women now account for nearly half of doctorates (48%) but hold only 30% of full professorships, and just 20% in science and engineering. Part of this gap is undoubtedly structural: bias in hiring, evaluation, and promotion continues to limit women’s progress. But external barriers fuel internal doubt, breeding hesitation, self-surveillance, and self-silencing.
The roots of the problem run deep. When women show confidence and assertiveness, they are often seen as competent but unlikeable, a tradeoff known as the “likability penalty.” Meanwhile, those who conform to traditional expectations of humility and modesty may be socially rewarded, but they are less likely to be recognized or promoted professionally. External dynamics, interruptions, dismissed contributions, or condescending explanations further erode women’s voices. The final frontier of gender equality may not lie in law or policy, but in these subtle, corrosive habits that continue to hold us back.
This is not a flaw of individual character; it is the cumulative effect of biased socialization. From an early age, girls are often praised for being polite, agreeable, and well-behaved, while boys are praised for being strong, active, and independent. Research shows that girls often develop verbal skills earlier than boys, and well-meaning parents and teachers may steer them toward language-based careers, while boys are channeled into math and science.
To be clear, this is not an argument against those paths. If a girl is passionate about literature, then by all means, she should be encouraged to pursue that path. But some women do want to lead in technical fields. They do have the skill and the drive. But they hold back out of fear or doubt, talking themselves out of their own potential. Nor is this an argument against external action to address gender bias. We still need inclusive policies, strong mentorship, and institutional accountability. We must continue to address bias in hiring, harassment in the workplace, and inequities in pay.
But we must also be willing to name the ways in which we undermine ourselves, and to do something about it. We can start by normalizing confidence in women the same way we normalize it in men. That means celebrating ambition and leadership from an early age. It means teaching our daughters not just to be nice, but to be bold, and teaching our sons to value and respect that boldness in others, regardless of gender. Second, and perhaps more importantly, we must stop waiting until we feel 100% ready. Men rarely do. The path to excellence is not through perfection, but through trial and error. Finally, we must learn to trust ourselves. There is a quiet power in intuition, an inner voice that knows when it is time to leap. The world needs more women willing to follow that voice, wherever it leads.
The barriers that remain are not just about glass ceilings. They are also about glass cages, transparent, invisible, and self-constructed. It is time we break those, too.
About the Author: María Rodríguez Martínez is an Associate Professor of Biomedical Informatics and Data Science at Yale School of Medicine and a Public Voices Fellow with The OpEd Project in partnership with Yale University.
