Who created the rules for how we teach science? I have often found myself asking this question while sitting in STEM classrooms, both as a student and as a scientist. Whether in biology, physiology, chemistry or physics, science instruction often feels rigid and predetermined. Learning objectives, timelines, assessments and outcomes are usually set in advance, leaving little room for the questions students bring from their own lives. Learning is framed primarily as the acquisition of information rather than as a process of transformation.

Yet learning, especially about physiology, does not happen in a vacuum. This is particularly true in classrooms that teach about bodies, hormones, reproduction and health. These topics are scientific, but students encounter them through their own bodies, families, communities, medical experiences and future roles as caregivers or health professionals.

This became clear to me while observing a context-driven reproductive physiology course. The class covered topics such as male and female reproductive systems, sexual differentiation and development, pregnancy and birth, and internal and external genital formation etc., all framed within the context of reproductive physiology and health.

Despite the technical rigor of the material, the questions students asked were rarely about specific pathways or mechanisms. Instead, they asked:

• Why is this happening in my body?
• If I’m already on birth control, why am I still experiencing these symptoms? Why would I be told to use another form of hormonal treatment too?
• If my partner has irregular periods, what is happening hormonally? How can I understand what they are experiencing??

These questions were not off topic. They were relevant—and asked about embodiment, agency and trust in medical and scientific knowledge. The students were actively trying to connect physiological concepts to their lived realities.

In that same class discussion, what fascinated me most was how the instructors responded. They did not abandon the science. They did not treat students’ personal questions as distractions. Instead, they acknowledged the questions with care and used them as bridges back to physiology and evidence-based practice. At times, the instructors also acknowledged uncertainty, recognizing that science does not always provide immediate or complete answers to every lived experience.

That balance mattered because these questions show that people want more than just information. They want to understand how reproductive physiology matters beyond the exam. People want to know “What does this mean for me and for others like me?”

When students ask questions that do not neatly align with the syllabus, it’s not being disruptive. They signal a need, a gap, an invitation. If educators make room for those moments, we do more than teach physiology. We help people understand how scientific knowledge connects to their lives, their health and the care they may one day give to others.