Me and Leona. Stories of invisible voices
I never built a nuclear reactor. I never took part in a project that changed the course of history. And yet, I feel I have something in common with Leona Woods Marshall.
I first came across her name while reading La donna della bomba atomica by Gabriella Greison. Until then, I had never heard of her. A name hidden among the great fathers of physics, of discoveries, of decisions. And yet, she was there. The only woman on the team who built the first working nuclear reactor. Twenty-three years old. Precise, quiet, essential.
Her story struck me. And for different reasons, I saw myself in her. Because even in my work (in presentations, in strategic communication), there are invisible voices. Presences that hold things together, shape meaning and create connection. Without making noise.
👩🚀 The reactor under the bleachers
When Enrico Fermi led the team of physicists that triggered the first controlled nuclear chain reaction, Leona was the youngest. She had completed her PhD at just 19. She was brilliant, determined and quick-thinking. And focused. But she was also a woman. And in 1942, that was no small detail.
She was included in the project for a very simple reason: she was indispensable. They couldn’t do without her precision, her mathematical rigour, her unique ability to interpret neutron data. She was one of the few who could read the behaviour of control rods, anticipate danger, and act calmly.
During the experiment that achieved the first self-sustaining chain reaction, Leona was there. Sitting next to the instruments. Listening. Watching. Recording. She was the perfect observer. Not passive, but present. Crucial.
👂🏻 The weight of listening
What strikes me about Leona is not only her expertise, but her way of being there.
She was there, but not the protagonist. She wasn’t given a voice, but she understood everything. Her contribution wasn’t in big speeches, but in the critical details that made everything work.
Sometimes, in presentations, I feel exactly like that. I create the conditions for something to happen. I shape the visual, narrative, and strategic space so a message can shine. But I’m not the one speaking on stage. I don’t sign the slide. I don’t get the applause. And that’s okay. Because my voice is inside the structure. It’s in the connections. It’s in the flow between the parts. It's everywhere.
And in that, I believe Leona and I are alike.
After the bomb
There was, however, another moment when Leona found her voice. It was when most of her colleagues fell silent.
After the bomb, after Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Leona began to speak publicly about the trauma. She spoke of fear. Of moral consequences. She advocated for the peaceful use of nuclear energy. And she did so with clarity that still resonates.
It wasn’t a comfortable choice. It wasn’t popular. But it was necessary.
That resonates with me, too. Because when you work with words, with communication, with shaping ideas, you often face a choice: say what’s expected, or say what’s needed. Be applauded, or be heard.
Leona chose listening. She chose risk. And she left a mark.
🫥 Presentations and the Power of the Invisible
This article is part of my Quantum Presentations series. In each piece, I explore a concept from quantum physics and connect it to the world of presentations: quantum tunnelling, the observer effect, entanglement… Ideas that may seem distant, but have much to teach us about how we present, narrate, and influence.
With Leona, I want to talk about invisible contribution. The kind that holds everything together, yet goes unseen. The kind that triggers the chain reaction, but doesn’t get the credit.
An effective presentation is full of Leona Woods Marshalls. It’s full of hidden details that aren’t noticed, but are felt. A transition that lightens the pace, an image that soothes, a pause that lets us breathe. A narrative structure that feels natural, even when nothing was left to chance.
Just like in a reactor, what’s invisible is often what makes it all work.
👩🏻🦰 The only one in the wrong room
There’s something else I share with Leona. Sometimes, I find myself in the wrong room. In meetings where voices like mine aren’t expected: a creative voice among managers. In projects where my contribution is heard, precisely because it’s different. In discussions where I’m called “the designer,” I’m actually building the visual and strategic thinking behind an entire narrative.
And I think many people who work with presentations, communication, and storytelling feel this way: essential, yet out of focus. Invisible, yet vital.
And it’s a beautiful feeling, once you learn to recognize it as a strength. That’s why I tell Leona’s story. To bring that voice into focus. To say that invisibility is not absence. That contribution doesn’t need noise to be real.
✍🏻 A lesson to carry forward
Leona Woods Marshall continued working as a scientist throughout her life. She wrote books. She taught. She became a key figure in nuclear and environmental physics. But still today, on many pages, her name is at the bottom. Or missing altogether.
I want to start from there. From the margins. From voices you only hear if you choose to listen. Because presentations (especially presentations) rely on quiet balance.
And maybe true energy lies exactly in those elements we don’t show. In the invisible work that holds the scene. In the precise gesture that doesn’t seek attention, but sets the pace.
Like Leona. Like so many of us.
Epilogue: our own reactor
Maybe each of us has our own small reactor to manage. Made of words, choices, connections. Made of care, awareness, and intention.
And maybe next time we create a presentation, or listen to one, we can ask ourselves:
Where is the invisible voice holding this together? Who is building the meaning while someone else delivers the message?
Because, as in physics, even in communication, what we don’t see… always has an effect.
🤙🏻 A moment that made me smile
The other day, an old client called me. He said, “Angie, are you working with [client name]? I saw one of their presentations and… I thought of you.”
I asked him why.
He said, “Because it felt like someone was behind the scenes, pulling the strings. Nothing was random, and everything worked with a kind of natural precision.”
Who knows. Maybe I really was behind that presentation. (But I will never tell you) 😊
This article is part of Quantum Presentations: a series exploring how ideas from quantum physics can elevate storytelling, communication, and presentation design.
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