If you told me twenty years ago that I’d be leading teams in aircraft maintenance hangars, elbows deep in jet engines and fielding engineering calls, I might’ve laughed—and then gotten right back to work. I didn’t set out to be a trailblazer. I just wanted to fix planes. But over the years, I’ve realized that holding the wrench—literally and figuratively—means more than turning bolts. It’s meant finding my voice, proving my worth, and helping pave the way for the women coming behind me.

The First Day is Always the Hardest

I still remember my first day on the job. I walked into the hangar wearing the same uniform as everyone else, carrying the same tools, but it was like I had a spotlight on me. I was the only woman on the team. No one said anything rude outright, but the looks, the second-guessing, the way people assumed I was lost or in the wrong department—it was all there.

At first, I tried to ignore it. I kept my head down and focused on learning. I asked questions when I didn’t know something, studied manuals after hours, and volunteered for the tough jobs no one else wanted. Slowly, my coworkers started to realize I wasn’t going anywhere—and I wasn’t here to prove anything except that I could do the job just as well as anyone else.

Earning Respect One Job at a Time

Respect in aviation maintenance isn’t handed out with a paycheck. You earn it job by job, checklist by checklist. For me, that meant staying late to troubleshoot a stubborn avionics issue, crawling into tight spots to do inspections, and owning my mistakes when I made them.

It wasn’t always smooth sailing. I had tools “go missing,” sarcastic comments thrown my way, and more than a few eye rolls when I offered an opinion. But over time, I learned not to take it personally. Sometimes people just don’t know how to react when their assumptions get challenged. I let my work speak for itself, and slowly the dynamic started to shift.

Finding My Leadership Style

Stepping into leadership was a new kind of challenge. Being good with tools doesn’t automatically prepare you for managing people, especially when some of those people are still unsure whether you belong in the role. I had to learn how to be both assertive and approachable, technical and empathetic.

I didn’t want to mimic the tough-as-nails stereotype or try to out-macho anyone. I led with collaboration, clarity, and consistency. I earned trust by listening, backing my team up, and never asking them to do something I wouldn’t do myself. And I stayed committed to learning—not just about aircraft systems, but about people, processes, and how to grow a culture where everyone feels seen.

Building a New Kind of Legacy

One of the most fulfilling parts of my career has been mentoring younger women coming into the field. When I started out, I didn’t have a female mentor or a roadmap. Now, I get to be that person for someone else.

I make it a point to tell them the truth—it’s not always easy, and there will be times when it feels like you’re carrying more than just your toolbox. But I also remind them that their perspective, their presence, and their persistence are needed in this industry.

Diversity isn’t just a buzzword. In aviation maintenance, it’s essential. Different backgrounds, different ways of thinking, and different lived experiences make teams stronger, safer, and more innovative. Women bring all of that to the table.

Lessons from the Hangar

If I’ve learned anything from years on the hangar floor, it’s this: grit matters. Show up. Keep learning. Own your space. Some days you’ll feel like you’re flying high, and other days you’ll feel like you’re dragging yourself across the tarmac. But every one of those days counts.

I’ve also learned that leadership doesn’t have to look a certain way. It’s not about barking orders or knowing everything—it’s about being real, being accountable, and helping others do their best work. That’s true whether you’re managing a team of techs or tightening bolts on a hydraulic line.

Still Holding the Wrench

Even now, in a more senior role, I still love getting hands-on when I can. There’s something about the sound of torque wrenches, the smell of jet fuel, and the rhythm of the hangar that feels like home. And when a young tech—especially a young woman—sees me doing the work, I hope it shows her that there’s space for her here too.

There’s still work to be done. Women are still underrepresented in aviation maintenance, and we still deal with stereotypes and barriers. But we’re also making progress—one apprentice, one leader, one wrench-turn at a time.

If you’re a woman considering this field, let me say this loud and clear: you belong here. You have what it takes. And there’s a growing crew of us who’ve got your back.