Dr Shamara Lawrence is a proud Jamaican who left the island at 18 years old with $20 and a dream. Ten years later, she has become the first person in her family to earn a Doctor of Philosophy (PhD) degree, delivered her university’s graduate commencement address, and now works in the United States as a medical science liaison. For her undergraduate degree, she graduated top of her class with a 4.0, straight As. She maintained a full ride scholarship throughout and participated in four research internships to get the experience needed for graduate school. For her graduate degree, she defended one year earlier than her institution and the national standard.

Below she shares her journey in the hope that it may inspire young Jamaicans who may not see themselves reflected in spaces like science, research, and biotechnology.

ON January 29, 2016, I left my home in Jamaica with $20 in my pocket. I was 18 years old. I didn’t know exactly how things would work out. I just knew I had to try.

Four years later, on December 13, 2019, I walked across a stage as the first person in my family to earn a college degree. I remember scanning the audience. My aunt was there. A few close friends were there. It wasn’t a stadium full of family, but it was enough. I felt proud, grateful, and aware that this moment was bigger than me.

Two months later, I got the news: I was headed to grad school. I stepped into that chapter with humility and determination, unaware of just how much it would challenge me. Graduate school gave me some of my highest highs and my lowest lows. I excelled academically and found my groove as an independent scientist. Then tragedy struck. Within nine months, I lost my father and then my sister. Grief became a quiet companion while deadlines and expectations continued as if nothing had changed. Somehow, I kept going.

In between the heartbreak, there were moments that felt surreal. I was invited to present my research at the National Institutes of Health and won Best PhD Thesis Talk. I received a Young Investigator Award that funded my travel to present my work to some of the world’s leading scientists in Barcelona. I was interviewed by
Cell to share my journey as a scientist, one of the most prestigious journals in our field.

But near the end, the walls started closing in. My advisor left the university, and things became increasingly complex. One member of my committee attempted to block my defence approval. It was a painful reminder that excellence doesn’t always shield you from opposition. Thankfully, other committee members stepped in and advocated for me when I needed it most. I also lost my graduate assistantship due to employment authorisation processing timelines that were out of my control and had to pay out of pocket for the remainder of the semester.

Nonetheless, on February 17, 2025, I defended my dissertation and became a first-generation PhD. I defended in pink. My outfit was pink. My slides were pink. I asked my family and friends to show up in pink, and they did. Because months earlier, I was told by a committee member that pink was “unprofessional”. I wanted to show them that femininity and sisterhood have a place in science. It is no longer just an old boys’ club. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the first or last instance of racism and sexism I would endure in my career.

On May 10, 2025, I stood at the podium and delivered the graduate commencement address as one of the two black women graduating from my programme. I told the audience to keep dreaming, even when the dream gets heavy.

Soon after, I accepted a post-doctoral position at one of the most prestigious Ivy institutions in the country. Almost immediately, a non-black male lab member told me he was “more deserving” and that things “came easy” to me, dismissing years of hard work. As if resilience is ease. As if surviving academia as a black woman is effortless.

On paper, this opportunity looked like the reward for everything I had endured. But prestige and peace are not the same thing. Very quickly, I found myself in a toxic lab environment. I was expected to function as a grant writer, doing the intellectual labour while someone else attached their name to it. I was encouraged to use AI to draft scientific grants in ways that felt ethically misaligned with my training. When I voiced concerns, they were dismissed. When I asked to actually conduct research, the job I was hired to do, I was told I needed to “prove” myself. He told a black woman with a doctorate that she needed to prove herself to him, a man without formal scientific training.

The expectations were relentless: six days a week in lab, available at all hours. The pay was barely sustainable, and I began accumulating debt just to live. Slowly, I slipped into depression. I isolated myself. I felt stuck between gratitude for the opportunity and the reality that it was breaking me. Then I decided I was done feeling sorry for myself. If I couldn’t control my environment, I could control my effort.

LinkedIn became my “5-to-9” after my “9-to-5.” I scoured job boards and customised messages to strangers. I listened to podcasts to learn about industries I didn’t even know existed. I asked for informational interviews. I collected rejection e-mails like badges of persistence. Each “no” became insight or an opportunity to improve. Then, over time, something shifted. Within weeks, I had four second-round interviews. I narrowed it down to the two roles I felt most aligned with and prepared relentlessly, even turning down a strong opportunity from a company willing to sponsor my green card in order to focus on roles that offered better work-life balance and prioritised my mental health for the first time in my career.

For one role, I was flown in for the final round with an amazing team. Less than 12 hours after leaving, an unofficial offer landed in my inbox. At the same time, I advanced to the final round of my dream job. Everything I had been praying for seemed to converge at once.

For my dream role, I gave everything. One night my computer stopped working, so I stayed in the university library until 2:00 am finishing my presentation. I walked home alone at night, only to wake up at 6:00 am and do it again. When I delivered that final presentation, I wasn’t just presenting skills, I was presenting survival.

On August 25, 2025, I received the official offer. I turned down the other role. I wrote my resignation letter. Leaving the lab was bittersweet. I had built real friendships there. But once I announced I was leaving, people quietly admitted they were unhappy too, and I encouraged them to start planning their own way out.

After resigning on September 12, I had three days to pack my life and move. I called leasing offices every 30 minutes until someone processed my application. I moved with only what I needed. I wanted a clean slate. I slept on an air mattress for a month. And I have never felt more at peace.

Today, five months into the job, I have a luxury apartment, strong relationships with my family and friends, and for the first time since grad school, I am debt-free. My company approved my sponsorship request for the H-1B work visa, positioning me for long-term stability. I finally have space to think beyond survival. Now, my energy goes into building savings, travelling, and prioritising my physical and mental health.

Ten years ago, I left home with $20. I didn’t know how much I would lose. I didn’t know how much I would fight. I didn’t know how many times I would have to bet on myself. But I did.

And this is my love letter to the girl who left with nothing but faith. And somehow, that was enough.

Dr Lawrence wants to inspire young Jamaicans who may not see themselves reflected in spaces like science, research, and biotechnology. .

Dr Lawrence is the first person in her family to earn a Doctor of Philosophy (PhD) degree.