At UFPR, Jenifer was working on nanomaterials for cancer therapeutics. These are tiny engineered particles designed to act as vehicles that can carry drugs more precisely to tumours, with the hope of reducing the damage that treatments like chemotherapy can cause to the body. Her PhD focused on gold nanoparticles. “While most people were trying to use gold nanoparticles to deliver drugs to the tumour and kill the cancer, we discovered that the nanoparticles themselves already had intrinsic anticancer properties, and under non-toxic conditions,” she told me. In Australia, she continued studying extracellular vesicles. As Jenifer explains, these are nanoparticles naturally produced by the body.

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In 2018, and as part of a scholarship program run by the Brazilian government she went to Germany to work at the Max Planck Institute as a visiting PhD student. Under the same government program, Gustavo, her husband, chose Australia. He would later receive a three-year postdoctoral position in Brisbane.  This, together with the fact that there were already fluent in English, prompted them to consider more seriously the possibility of coming to Australia. At the time, it felt like another adventure they were keen to experience.  This was 2020, just before COVID-19.  The future seemed almost straightforward. Gustavo would leave first to join his new research team in Brisbane and organise all living arrangements before Jenifer’s arrival.  She needed two or three more months in Brazil to prepare her PhD thesis defence and complete the final requirements for her graduation. It was all meant to unfold in sequence, neatly and quickly.

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However, two weeks after Gustavo’s departure, on 11 March 2020, Jenifer was at home in Brazil watching the world slip into crisis. COVID-19 was declared a pandemic. I assume you, dear reader, have revisited this particular moment in history often, in random and not-so-random conversations so I am  going to spare you the details of what came next for all of us.  Jenifer was stuck in her  apartment in Curitiba. When I asked how she experienced the pandemic she recalls: “ I think I was just patiently waiting for the moment when all that craziness would dissipate, we would wake up from that nightmare, and everything would go back to normal. It was just an endless period of waiting, hoping, feeling frustrated and uncertain.” There was only waiting.  Waiting for things to get better tomorrow, then next week, then next month, until the waiting itself became its own kind of exhaustion.

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Jenifer followed the news mostly through television, though not too closely, as the constant tragedy was difficult to bear. By May 2023, Brazil had reported more than 37.5 million confirmed COVID-19 cases and approximately 702,700 COVID-19-related deaths.  These figures placed Brazil among the countries with the highest total COVID-19 death tolls globally, second only to the United States for much of the pandemic period.  This was a big hit for a nation long recognised internationally for its scale, universal free access and historic success in controlling vaccine-preventable diseases. A parliamentary commission established to investigate the federal government’s management of the pandemic concluded that delays in vaccine procurement, the promotion of unproven treatments, and the downplaying of scientific guidance contributed to the severity of the crisis.

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By the time Jenifer arrived in Australia in 2021, she was already worn down. “I was emotionally exhausted by the long wait, the separation, and the emotional strain of quarantine.  Then I was faced with a job search, and with it came the fear of not being good enough at an internationally competitive institution,” she said, recalling how stressful that time was.o

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For immigrants in particular, the feeling of not being enough can feel familiar. The impostor phenomenon, the persistent feeling of doubting one's abilities despite evidence of competence, may be amplified by the migration experience itself through acculturative stress, language insecurity, and a reduced sense of belonging. There is a difference between questioning your abilities and adapting to an entirely new environment. If you are going through a similar situation, try to be gentle with yourself while you learn to tell one from the other. Remember that you already bring more experience, resilience, and capability than you may realise.

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Six months after arriving on Aussie soil, Jenifer received an offer for a postdoctoral position. This was a small, new research laboratory and Jenifer was helping set it all up.  The level of responsibility would be enormous for her. Excited about this new chapter, she accepted the position. Within a year in the role, she became a supervisor, lecturer, laboratory manager and project coordinator.  Her career was flourishing and as the team expanded, responsibilities became heavier and days became longer. Rest became a luxury, and wellbeing something only others seemed able to afford.  At the same time, Jenifer was also dealing with another challenge: uterine fibroids.

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According to the NIH, it is estimated that between 20-80% of women will develop uterus fibroids by the age of 50. Among the 20-50% who experience symptoms, heavy menstrual bleedings – often causing anemia – pelvic pressure, lower back pain, and constipation are common.  Black women are disproportionately affected and also report disparities in diagnosis, treatment options and experiences of care.  Although millions live with this condition, treatments are limited and research funding is scarce.  This gap is part of a wider problem in women’s health research. The 2024 National Academies report Advancing Research on Chronic Conditions in Women explains that it is  “in large part because of  a lack of intentional research on the health of women and a historical over-representation of men in clinical research.”

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Jenifer first sought medical help because she was experiencing general weakness and excessive fatigue, generally associated to low iron levels.  She had been struggling with excruciating pain and debilitating blood loss for the last two years but assumed this was due to ageing and stress.  Her general practitioner didn’t ask many questions either. She was quickly out of the consultation room with a prescription for vitamins the unsolicited advice to have children as soon as possible because she was getting old (she was 33 at the time). Ageing, fertility and motherhood entered that consultation room before her symptoms had been properly understood. So now I wonder: how many of us have been in a version of this situation?

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It is a familiar distortion in women’s healthcare that the body in pain becomes secondary, while reproduction moves to the foreground. A large U.S. survey found women waited an average of 3.6 years before seeking treatment for fibroid symptoms, and 41% saw two or more providers before diagnosis. Heavy bleeding and pain are treated as something women should simply endure. Jenifer had been diagnosed only months before the severe bleeding episode that would take her to the emergency department on that July morning in 2023.

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The days in hospital offered Jenifer permission to stop. As is the case for many of us, it takes something like illness to make that pause feel legitimate.  To stop and say out loud and without shame or guilt “I cannot carry everything right now”. In that mandatory stillness, Jenifer found clarity. She realised she needed to speak honestly about what was happening at work - her own strain, the pressure on her team, and the relentless demand to keep producing outputs. She remembers that conversation without bitterness. If anything, she describes it as helpful, eye-opening, and deeply honest. Her message was received with understanding, but also with the familiar response “it is what it is”.

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There is a wider pattern here that goes beyond Jenifer’s story. Author Lynne Twist describes one of the great lies of scarcity as the belief that "that’s just the way it is". In academia, this idea can settle so deeply that we start seeing overwork as commitment, and exhaustion as proof that one belongs. Tiredness and relentless hustle become a badge of honour that we wear with pride.  This attitude might explain away harm,  but it also narrows our view of what work should look like.  Once as a collective we accept conditions of overwork and exhaustion as natural, it becomes much harder to question or change them.   Modern experiments with shorter working weeks are interesting precisely because they ask how work can be redesigned to fit within healthier limits. They remind us that there are some other ways to live and to work.  

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Jenifer knew that living as she had before wasn’t going to work for her anymore so she resigned from her job as a postdoctoral researcher and spent a year away from work. “I forgot about everything and didn’t think,” she told me. Instead of rushing into a new direction, she allowed herself to rest, learn new things, and care for her body. Then, almost a year later, the idea for The Empath Advisor appeared unexpectedly.

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The words others have written about her suggest that this path was a return to who she really is.  On her website, former students and colleagues describe the same qualities I came to recognise in her: intelligence, patience, and care. “Her patience and clarity in dealing with a student who had just started their undergraduate studies made a strong impression on me.” “You have always been an example of excellence, and many times, I jokingly said that when I ‘grew up,’ I wanted to be like you. Your dedication and expertise are truly inspiring.”

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If you visit the Empath Advisor’s website, you will be met with bright colours, funny stories and an impressive list of achievements from Jenifer's scientific career. She runs The Empath Advisor from a small studio she built in her own home, where she records videos, creates resources and provides one-on-one mentoring sessions in scientific writing for PhD candidates and early-career researchers.  Her approach goes beyond teaching a technical skill; it is also about developing habits around writing and scientific production that allow these skills to be learned with greater ease, confidence and self-respect.

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“I certainly know that leaving academia is not a pleasant situation, but I love the idea of allowing something to die, so it can decompose and become raw material to finally grow something new,” Jenifer told me when I asked what she would say to those standing at a crossroads, unsure of what comes next. Jenifer speaks about academia with gratitude. For all its demands and contradictions, it gave her knowledge, discipline, friendships, and a sense of purpose that still lives on in the work she does now. Her commitment to helping others find their way through research is not new; it began early in her academic life and has simply taken on a different form.

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There is a deep optimism in Jenifer that lives alongside groundedness, discipline, and care. She is funny and light, yet deeply committed to her work. Her passion is contagious. She feels like the kind of person one wants to keep close  — an ally. As she learns the language of online business and marketing, what remains at the centre is simple: she wants to make science easier, kinder, and more human for those coming after her. She wants to support the people who will go on to lead teams, shape projects, analyse data, teach others, and carry research into many different corners of the world. Jenifer chose not to hold on to one path forever. She allowed one stage of life to become nourishment for the next, changing the form while keeping the roots: her love of teaching, learning, and the curiosity that keeps drawing her towards the meaningful.  She chose new soil to flourish again.   ​​

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Huge thanks to Jenifer for opening up so generously about her journey, and for responding  promptly and openly to my many requests to expand on her thoughts, opinions and experiences. I am deeply grateful for the amazing human being she is, and for the friendship that grew in the making of this piece. Astrid R.