My Story |

By Dr. Anaiya Reliford

I am Dr. Anaiya Reliford, a three-time Howard University graduate, chemical engineer, atmospheric scientist, and aspiring astronaut. But I am also the little girl who still stares into the sky for answers.

I would watch the clouds move for hours. I stared at the stars and talked to the night sky. I did not have imaginary friends because I had the Sun, the Moon, and a plethora of questions that felt bigger than me. I was always taught to shatter the glass ceiling, and to me that meant reaching for the stars. Most people meant it figuratively. I meant it literally.

“Aim for the moon and you may land among the stars,” they say. So, I kept my sights on the Moon.

I believed I could be an astronaut because Dr. Mae Jemison was. She was a chemical engineer, so I decided that was what I needed to become. She was my motivation to believe in something so audacious.

At sixteen, I left home to attend Howard University on an academic scholarship. I applied undecided, but when it came time to choose a major, I chose chemical engineering with nothing but faith and an example. I had never met an engineer. I had never met an astronaut. I did not fully understand the field. But Dr. Jemison did it. So why not me?

That belief carried me into rooms where I was often the only one — the only Black woman, the only person who looked like me, the only one navigating both excellence and isolation at the same time.

Being the only one is heavy, but you represent more than yourself. You may second-guess whether you belong. You will work twice as hard to prove that you do because the enemy of great is good. You learn to be excellent because average and failure are not options.

Howard prepared me for that reality. I was surrounded by brilliance. Black women were leading laboratories, publishing research, dominating in industry. They showed me what power looks like when it is unapologetic. But even they shared stories of walking into rooms where they were the only one. That visibility and vulnerability mattered. Their courage to endeavor and be visible inspired me to keep pushing to change the dynamic of the field.

Currently, I serve as a Senior Research Scientist at the Research Institute for Tactical Autonomy, where I lead applied research at the cutting edge of AI/ML-powered tactical autonomy. I advance intelligent decision-making and adaptive mission execution in real-world air and space operations.

But achievement alone is not the point. My life trajectory was heavily influenced by who and what was made visible to me. I stand on the shoulders of giants as I endeavor to be part of the change I wished to see, to be the person I needed growing up. As I make technical strides in my field, it is just as important for the youth to see me and understand what’s possible for them. Howard teaches you to embody the pillars of leadership, excellence, truth, and service. My mentors poured heavily into me, and it is my responsibility to pay it forward.

Recently, I was invited to Patterson Elementary in Southeast DC for their Career Exploration Series. The theme of the day was “To the Moon… A Journey to Becoming an Astronaut.” I was asked to wear my flight suit from one of the trainings I completed along my journey.

When I walked into that gymnasium, I saw something I never had at their age. I saw children looking at someone who looked like them and realizing space was not impossible.

From the moment I began speaking, the room was alive. Hands shot up. Questions came quickly: How do rockets launch? How do astronauts get clean water? Is space scary? What happens to your body? How would we do our hair? What is the hardest part? They were curious and imagining themselves there.

When I was their age, I had curiosity too, but I did not have the opportunity to ask those thought-provoking questions. No one who looked like me had ever stood in front of my class and said, “I am preparing to become an astronaut.”
Representation is about visibility and access. When students see someone who looks like them in a flight suit talking about space missions, satellites, and preparing to become an astronaut, something shifts internally. It was very evident in that room. That internal shift is powerful because the dream now feels attainable for them.

I want the next generation to see themselves doing the impossible. When I looked at those students, I saw raw potential and excitement. I saw bold ideas unfiltered by doubt. I can confidently say that a few aspiring astronauts were in that room.
Dreams do not become realistic until someone makes them visible. Visibility means more than standing on a stage. It means excelling in my field so that representation is paired with credibility. It means publishing research, leading projects, mentoring students, and building organizations that widen the pipeline.

I built a STEM organization called Orbit of Opportunity (O²) because I recognized the gap between inspiration and access. Our motto is inhale knowledge, exhale greatness. O² exists to democratize access to high-impact, hands-on STEM education by transforming curiosity into technical capability, credentials, and opportunity, especially for innovators from historically underrepresented communities. Students do not walk away from STEM because they lack ability. They walk away because they lack sustained exposure. So I created something that provides it, because seeing is believing.

I am still on my journey to becoming an astronaut. That dream is alive and intentional. And as I pursue it, I will continue to stand in classrooms and communities, making it visible. The path is demanding. It requires technical excellence, resilience, discipline, leadership, physical preparation, and mental fortitude. But it also requires belief — belief that you belong in rooms that historically did not include you.

We must walk back into elementary, middle, and high schools as living evidence. We must stand in those rooms so that the youth can see themselves belonging in aerospace, medicine, law, technology, or leadership. Don’t wait until you’ve made it to return, because they deserve to see the journey too. And sometimes, all it takes to change a trajectory is one alumna walking back through the door.