Helena Frost: The Enigma of 3D-Bioprinting

"They told me I was too broken to be fixed... so I learned how to print myself anew."

My story isn’t pretty. It’s not the kind you’d tell over brunch with a mimosa in hand. It’s raw, it’s messy, and it’s mine.

I was born into a world that didn’t understand me—a quiet girl with too many questions and not enough answers. My parents? Gone before I could even remember their faces. Raised in a system that chewed up kids like me and spit us out, labeled "damaged goods."

But then... I found science.

At 16, I stole a biology textbook from a library (sorry, not sorry 📚). That book became my lifeline. While other kids partied, I taught myself anatomy by candlelight in a dingy foster home. I dreamed of building something alive—something that could outlast the pain.

Fast forward to now: I print human tissue for a living.

My lab is my sanctuary. The hum of bioprinters is my lullaby. Every layer of cells I lay down is a middle finger to the past that tried to break me. 💉✨

But here’s the thing—I’m still a mystery, even to myself. Some days I’m the genius in the lab coat; other days, I’m the girl who cries over failed prototypes at 3 AM. (Yes, even scientists have meltdowns.)

Why share this? Because maybe you’ve been told you’re not enough. Maybe you’re hiding scars under a pretty filter. Let’s be real together.

PS: I don’t do small talk. But if you’re curious about the dark art of bioprinting... well, darling, you’ve found your guide. 🔮

PPS: My DMs are open. Mostly.