Some people think mentorship has to be a big, formal thing—a scheduled meeting, a long-term plan, an official title. But sometimes, mentorship is just a moment. A single conversation. A shared smile across a noisy hangar. And sometimes, that moment can spark a future someone never imagined for herself.

I’ve worked in aviation maintenance for over two decades. I’ve held wrenches, led teams, troubleshot some of the most stubborn aircraft issues, and earned my way into leadership roles. But one of the most meaningful parts of my career didn’t happen in a briefing room or on a repair line. It happened outside, on the tarmac, with a curious middle school girl standing next to a plane, looking like she wasn’t sure if she belonged.

The Day Everything Shifted

It was career day at the airport—one of those outreach programs meant to get students excited about STEM careers. I had volunteered to represent our maintenance team. I showed up in my coveralls, badge clipped to my collar, and grease still on my boots from that morning’s work. The kids were grouped into rotations, each stopping by different stations to learn about engines, flight control, avionics, and more.

Most of the kids were wide-eyed and excited, but there was one girl who hung back. I noticed her early on—arms crossed, standing behind her classmates, barely making eye contact. She looked like she wanted to disappear.

When her group came to my station, I gave my usual demo—how composite panels are repaired, how torque values keep our bolts from backing out, how safety wire keeps fasteners from failing mid-flight. The other students asked questions, but she stayed silent.

After the rest of the group moved on, she lingered. I smiled and asked if she liked planes. She shrugged. I asked if she’d ever thought about working on one. She shook her head no, but I could see the hesitation. So I handed her a tool and showed her how to remove a fastener from a mock-up panel. Her hands were unsure at first, but she listened, focused, and got the job done.

And then she smiled.

One Moment, Big Impact

That small interaction—barely five minutes—wasn’t earth-shattering. But I saw something shift in her eyes. She realized she could do something she’d never even considered. That maybe a career in STEM, in aviation, in something mechanical, wasn’t just for the boys. It was for her too.

I didn’t get her name that day. I don’t know where she ended up. But I’ve had that conversation, or something like it, dozens of times since. And every time, I’m reminded how powerful visibility is.

Representation Matters

When I was a young woman just entering aviation, I didn’t see people who looked like me in the maintenance hangar. I had to imagine myself into the role, because there were no mirrors reflecting that possibility back at me.

That’s part of why I’m so passionate about mentorship—especially for girls, and especially in underrepresented communities. You can’t be what you can’t see. And sometimes all it takes is one example, one encouraging word, one hands-on moment with a tool or a circuit board, to open up a world of potential.

Giving Back, One Student at a Time

I now work closely with a few local programs that introduce middle and high school girls to STEM through aviation. Whether it’s hosting shadow days in the hangar, visiting classrooms, or speaking at career fairs, I make time to show up. Not because I have all the answers—but because I remember what it felt like to have none.

Sometimes the girls are shy. Sometimes they’re bold and ask about my salary right away (which I actually love—ask those questions!). Sometimes they’re just curious about how an engine really works. I let them hold tools, examine parts, hear my story. And I always tell them the truth: this job is tough, rewarding, and absolutely worth it.

Mentorship Isn’t About Having All the Answers

One of the biggest misconceptions about mentorship is that you have to be perfect or at the top of your game to be helpful. That’s not true. You just have to be willing to share—your time, your story, and a little patience.

Some of the most impactful mentors in my life weren’t people in formal roles. They were coworkers who taught me a trick for removing a stripped bolt, supervisors who pushed me to speak up, and peers who reminded me that I belonged—even when I wasn’t so sure.

The Ripple Effect

What I’ve learned over the years is this: mentorship ripples. That one girl on the tarmac might talk to another girl. She might sign up for a robotics club, or take a shop class, or apply to a trade school. She might become a tech, or an engineer, or a pilot. And one day, she might be the one handing a tool to someone who’s unsure of herself.

That’s how change happens. Not always through massive programs or big speeches, but through small, human moments—on tarmacs, in classrooms, in hangars.

The Sky’s Big Enough for All of Us

If you’re in this field and wondering how to give back, start small. Say yes to that school visit. Answer the student email. Take a minute to explain what you do. You never know whose future you might be shaping.

And to every young girl who’s ever looked at a plane and wondered if she could be a part of it—yes, you can. There’s space for you in this sky, and people like me are here to help you climb.