Have you ever heard a kid say, “I want to be a science communicator or science journalist”?
Me neither.
Most kids want to be a scientist or a storyteller, but not a combination of the two. Honestly, I didn’t even know these roles existed until I finished my PhD. I had no idea that writing about science, communicating it to the public, and reporting on it were distinct paths, each with their own possibilities.
Looking back, it makes sense that I ended up here. I have always enjoyed writing and even put together my first little book in primary school. I loved drawing and crafting, and later became fascinated by science. The universe, the human body, the colors and patterns—all felt like art telling a story. That’s why I studied chemistry, specialized in biochemistry and organic chemistry, and eventually completed a PhD in chemistry and pharmacy.
During my studies, I realized I was one of the few who enjoyed both the lab work and the writing side of research. I liked preparing manuscripts, digging into papers, and exploring new ideas. But I also noticed something frustrating: I could only share my excitement about science within a small bubble.
Friends and family didn’t really understand what I was doing and often couldn’t share my enthusiasm.
This became especially clear at a family dinner when someone asked me to explain my PhD project in simple terms. You’d think it would be easy since I worked on it every day. But as soon as I began, “There’s an enzyme in the body that…,” I was stopped. What’s an enzyme? I tried, “It’s a protein.” What’s a protein?
That’s when I realized how hard it was to step outside of lab jargon.
In my academic bubble, everyone knew these terms, and I had taken it for granted. The dinner showed me that explaining science isn’t about what I know but about making it understandable to others. Struggling to explain my work also made me see why misconceptions spread. When science isn’t communicated in a way people can understand, they naturally turn to sources that are easier to follow.
It made me want to share science and tell its stories in a way people could connect with.
Exploring Career Paths in Science Writing and Outreach
After my PhD, I found myself sitting in a café wondering how to start. Knowing no one in the field, I began googling scientific writing and discovered a wide range of options: science outreach, communication, public engagement, journalism, and more.
It was overwhelming.
I felt uncertain about reaching out to people at first, but almost everyone I contacted was friendly and helpful. A friend joked that if someone in sales got the same reply rates I did, they would be the company’s top salesperson.
I don’t think it was about my messages—people in this community are genuinely welcoming and understand how hard it is to start from scratch.
Resources like the SciComm Society website were incredibly helpful too. It wasn’t a single thing, but the combination of structured materials such as guides and articles, clear explanations of different science communication fields, and links to further resources gave me a better overview and helped me feel less lost.
While these resources clarified the field, they didn’t lead to a job, and talking to people didn’t automatically create opportunities. That quickly became discouraging, and I realized there were a few things I hadn’t considered.
I had assumed the field would be remote-friendly, but most “remote” positions were location-specific. Freelance work existed, but it was often short-term and unsustainable. Many scholarships, internships, and fellowships required you to still be enrolled at university, which I wasn’t. Almost every position also asked for relevant work experience. I had thought that a PhD, years of research, publications, and international experience would be enough, but it turned out that a more directly relevant background was necessary.
Volunteering and Creating a Portfolio
There were plenty of suggestions for building a stronger background, but none felt quite right at the time. Then someone suggested volunteering. It seemed like a way to gain experience while contributing to something meaningful.
I first applied to a science writing platform with a piece I had written. Their selection process focused on the article itself: if it met their standards, it would be published. I got accepted but had to wait for the next publishing cycle because of the summer break.
While waiting, I found an NGO looking for help with grant applications. I had never considered grant writing before and wasn’t sure how it fit with my goal of working in science outreach and writing. I liked their mission to make education accessible to everyone, and since our values aligned, we decided to give it a try.
What I didn’t expect was how much this experience would teach me. I learned to build a clear storyline, link ideas between paragraphs, simplify wording, keep readers engaged, and see how even a single word can change the meaning of a sentence.
After the summer break, it was finally time to publish my article. Looking back, I could see how much grant writing had shaped my approach. Some sentences felt clumsy, and a few ideas didn’t come across as I had intended, so I revised parts of it.
Writing is a process, and it became clear how important it is to step back, reflect, and revise. Progress often only becomes visible when you look back at how far you’ve come.
While volunteering and having published the article, I still didn’t have a proper portfolio, and that gap kept coming up in conversations. I realized I couldn’t just wait for opportunities to appear and needed to create something myself.
It was a reminder of why I had started exploring this path in the first place: to make complex scientific topics accessible, helping people turn that knowledge into informed, evidence-based choices. So, I decided to create my own website, gutyou.com.
Launching it felt intimidating for a few reasons. The topics I chose—gut health, the gut microbiome, and nutrition—are deeply personal and have been part of my life for most of my adult years. I worried that mixing my own story with science might seem unprofessional, and sharing parts of myself with an audience felt vulnerable.
But in the end, I went ahead anyway.
These subjects have been in the news for years, often oversimplified or misleading, despite their huge impact on our overall health. Creating and writing about them felt meaningful, exciting, and in a way, healing.
Not Quite There, Not Starting Over
And this is where I am now. If you were expecting a happy ending, I’m not there (yet). I’m still figuring things out. I don’t have any income, and friends joke that I’m the busiest unemployed person they know.
I still feel scared and question myself regularly. But I don’t regret a single step. I love this work, and I am determined to keep going.
The path is messy, uncertain, and sometimes frustrating, but it is mine. I’m learning, experimenting, and slowly finding my place. I want to keep sharing what I discover along the way in the hope that it shows others that even without a clear roadmap, it is possible to follow your passions and make them part of your work in science.
This isn’t the happy ending, but it is not the end either. You’ll keep reading from me.
