In the constellation Aquarius, invisible to the naked eye, lies a star that might change history. Home to seven mysterious planets—each around the size of our own Earth—the TRAPPIST-1 system is regarded by some as the crown jewel of astronomy’s efforts to find life in the Milky Way. With not one, but three worlds orbiting in the so-called habitable zone, where water can flow and life can thrive, TRAPPIST-1 is one of humanity’s best and brightest opportunities to chase the discovery of a lifetime.

Growing up, I asked a lot of questions. Many of them foretold my future in astronomy: Why is the Sun yellow? Why do the constellations look like that? Why does Jupiter have a spot? My parents answered what they could, and bought me books to answer the rest. But my most frequent question, starting when I was about 5 years old, was why am I a girl? And for that, my parents had no answer. In fact, in the 1990s, in the foothills of the Appalachians, no one did. It was my first encounter with a question that has no simple answer.

Academic science was not built for marginalized people. People of color (especially Black and Indigenous scientists), people of marginalized genders (including women, nonbinary and transgender folks), queer scientists, disabled people, and those coming from a socioeconomically disadvantaged background have historically been excluded from research by those with power and privilege. This particularly applies to scientists who occupy the intersection of two or more of these identities—like me. I am a queer and nonbinary astrophysicist, a victim of workplace bullying and abuse, and, like so many before me, am making the heart-breaking decision to leave academia.