“Do you have children? Are you planning to have any soon?”
The interviewer’s voice was casual, like she was asking about my preferred programming language.
My pulse quickened. That was the third interview that week where my reproductive plans had somehow become relevant to system architecture. Each time, the question was wrapped in friendliness, tucked between inquiries about enterprise patterns and distributed design.
It was 2003. The market was recovering from the dot-com collapse, and competition was brutal. I had eight years of software engineering experience and a résumé filled with high-impact projects. That should have been enough.
I took a breath and kept my voice steady. “I’d prefer to focus on my qualifications for this position.”
His smile tightened. “Of course. It’s just that this role requires significant on-call rotations and production deployments at odd hours. We want to make sure candidates understand the commitment.”
He meant: Motherhood and technical excellence don’t mix.
I didn’t get the job. I wasn’t surprised.
From model engineer to problem
In my first years as a software engineer, I was the ideal female employee. I debugged code until midnight, volunteered for legacy migrations no one wanted, and built my schedule around production deployments. Performance reviews praised my “technical acumen” and “dedication.” Code for prioritizing work above all else.
When I turned 32, something shifted. Interviewers started asking about my marital status and family plans with increasing frequency.
The wording varied.
“Our release cycles often require weekend work — would that be a problem with your home life?”
“This team has unpredictable support calls. Do you have flexibility at home to accommodate that?”
“We’ve had women leave for maternity leave just as projects reach critical phases. How do you see your next five years?”
They wanted to know if I would get pregnant and disrupt their sprint velocity.
At first, I answered politely, reassuring them that my personal life wouldn’t interfere with my code quality or availability. I smiled, I redirected, I took care not to offend.
Then came the interview with Martin, a CTO at a mid-sized enterprise software company.
“Between us,” he said, lowering his voice like he was letting me in on an unfortunate truth. “I’ve hired women engineers your age before who didn’t disclose their family plans. Six months later, they were on maternity leave in the middle of a major implementation, and I was left scrambling. I can’t afford that kind of risk again.”
Something snapped.
Maybe it was the exhaustion of constantly defending my worth against hypothetical children. Maybe it was the realization that no matter how elegant my code, my uterus would always be factored into my professional evaluation.
A line in the sand
That night, I drafted a new interview strategy on the same IBM ThinkPad where I sketched database schemas. I wouldn’t deflect. I wouldn’t reassure. I wouldn’t smile politely and pretend the question was appropriate.
When the next interviewer asked if I had kids or planned to, I responded: “That question isn’t relevant to my qualifications. I’d be happy to discuss my experience implementing distributed transaction processing systems instead.”
His eyebrows shot up. “I was just making conversation.”
“Then let’s talk about something professional.”
The air in the room changed.
I had violated an unspoken rule: Women engineers should be accommodating. Agreeable. Easy to work with. By drawing a boundary, I had marked myself as difficult. And in tech, that label sticks harder to women than to men.
Over the next three months, I interviewed with eleven companies. Eight asked about my family plans. I refused to answer each time. Six of those interviews ended with rejection notices or silence.
Recruiters filtered the feedback. “Not a culture fit.” “Concerns about team dynamics.”
The cost of boundaries
My savings dwindled as my job search stretched from weeks into months. Friends suggested I soften my approach.
“Just tell them what they want to hear,” one advised. “You need a job more than you need to make a point.”
She wasn’t wrong about my bank account.
Family questioned my priorities. My mother, who balanced motherhood and career in an era with even fewer protections, couldn’t understand my stance.
“Men won’t change,” she said. “Learn to work around them.”
I wavered. Was this principle worth financial ruin? Was I naïve to expect professional treatment in an industry that didn’t see the problem?
Then I remembered the CTO’s casual dismissal of women as potential disruptions. That kept me from giving in.
Unexpected allies
Six months in, I interviewed with a boutique consulting company building enterprise integration solutions. Their architecture team was 40% women — unheard of in 2003.
When the senior architect asked about my family plans, I gave my standard response.
She nodded. “I apologize. That was inappropriate and illegal. Thank you for calling me on it.”
Later, she explained. She had been testing my boundaries — not to see if I would accommodate inappropriate questions, but to see if I would stand my ground in high-pressure technical situations.
“We need architects who push back when necessary,” she said. “Your refusal told me more about your ability to maintain clear boundaries than any answer could have.”
This reminded me that not all tech teams were the same. Some valued technical integrity over accommodation and pleasantries.
Through a former colleague, I connected with women engineers who had faced similar questions. Many played along to secure jobs, only to be sidelined after maternity leave. Others pushed back and were labeled “not a team player.” A few found companies where the question never came up.
Answering the question wouldn’t have protected me from future discrimination. If a company was willing to violate employment law in an interview, they wouldn’t hesitate to discriminate later.
Turning point
Eight months after my first refusal, I interviewed with a mid-sized enterprise software company. Three hours in, after diagramming system architectures and debating database trade-offs, the VP of Engineering asked, “Do you have kids or plan to start a family?”
I gave my standard response.
He paused. Then nodded. “You’re absolutely right. That was inappropriate. I apologize.”
The interview continued without awkwardness. Two days later, they offered me the position. The salary was 15% higher than my previous role, with a clear path to the architecture team.
In my first week, I learned why the question hadn’t disqualified me. The company had recently settled a pregnancy discrimination lawsuit.
My refusal hadn’t made me difficult. It had demonstrated the integrity and clear boundaries necessary for both system architecture and leadership.
Against the current
Twenty years have passed since I first refused to answer. I’ve risen from senior developer to Technical Architect Director. I’ve interviewed dozens of candidates for my teams, never once asking about their reproductive choices.
Last month, at a leadership summit, a managing director mentioned how he asks female engineers about family plans “to gauge their commitment during critical deployment phases.”
“That’s illegal,” I said flatly.
The room went silent. Then another woman architect spoke. “She’s right. We shouldn’t be asking that.”
A male colleague added, “My wife’s a developer. She faced those questions for years. It’s demeaning and has nothing to do with technical ability.”
One by one, others agreed. The managing director who made the comment looked increasingly isolated.
Change in tech happens slowly. Then all at once.
Refusing to play along
My decision to push back didn’t transform the industry overnight. Women still face these questions. Companies still equate motherhood with a loss of productivity.
But change builds over time. A former colleague called last week. She had refused to answer family planning questions in an interview, citing me as her inspiration. She got the job.
The cost of my stand was real — months of unemployment, financial stress, a reputation for being difficult.
The alternative? Accepting their terms. And that was never an option.
