I Knew I Was Enough – Even When He Tried to Convince Me Otherwise

Eleven years ago today, I found myself halfway across the world, on the island of Samoa, representing the Caribbean at the 3rd International Conference on Small Island Developing States.

It was a two-week work trip that marked a turning point in my leadership journey. I was the only Barbadian in my delegation, and one of only two English-speaking Caribbean natives among a group of about seven SIDS focal points from across the globe, from Mauritius to Fiji to the Dominican Republic and more.

I had just returned home from the UK less than a year before, after living abroad for seven years. My fields of study, a Law degree and a Master’s in International Relations, finally felt like they were converging in a role that made sense, one that positioned me to shape conversations at a global level.

And that’s exactly what I did. I sat in multiple delegate meetings, was a panelist for many pertinent discussions on Education, Climate Justice, Food Security, Economic Instability and Gender Disparities for small islands, delivered a presentation during the youth forum, and aided in drafting the global youth report presented to the Heads of Governments in attendance, which eventually contributed to the formation of the current 2030 Sustainable Development Goals as we know them today.

I rubbed shoulders with government leaders, UN representatives, youth delegates, and multilateral stakeholders. It was intense. It was affirming. It was, in every sense of the word, mine.

But there was a moment that echoed quite loudly, and it did not happen on that world stage. It happened just three (3) days before I boarded the plane, on what would be a 48-hour journey.

The Meeting That Shifted Mindsets

In preparing to represent the region well, I took the initiative. I met with various stakeholders, some virtually, others in person, to ensure that I was stepping into that space informed and aligned with regional perspectives.

One such meeting was with a prominent figure in the local non-profit space, a mature Barbadian man in his late 50s, who sat at the head of a regional youth organization.

Honestly, it was my first time in my working life where I learned that sometimes gatekeeping doesn’t come from those outside of your community, but rather from those within it.

In the first 10 minutes of meeting a man I had never met, he attempted to tear me down. He shouted, questioned my credibility, and suggested I had no right to represent the Caribbean. His student youth representatives, he claimed, were more suited for the role.

But I didn’t respond. I think this took him aback because his volume kept going up, the more my silence filled the room.

Now, to be clear, I didn’t lack words. Remember, I just returned from living in the UK, less than a year before. Shouting was nothing compared to some of the things I had seen and experienced in my time there.

My lived experiences there more than prepared me for individuals like this, because I understood that sometimes, silence is the loudest statement you can make.

I let him shout. I let him belittle. I stared at him right in the eye, not in submission, but in power, because I knew who I was.

And more importantly, I knew what I was being called to do in my role. A role he didn’t give me, I earned on my own merit, and therefore, he had no power to control.

Once he was done, at about the 20-minute mark, I left, praying I would never be that as a leader, and I was confident that if he was this upset, it was clearly huge.

When You Know You Belong, You Don’t Have to Beg for Permission

Here’s what I’ve learned since that moment:

People will always try to disqualify you from spaces they think they own, especially when they’ve gotten used to being the loudest voice in the room.
Not everyone needs a response. If what’s being said about you isn’t true, silence is often the most strategic reply.
You don’t need everyone to believe in you. You just need to believe in yourself enough to keep showing up.

Looking back, I realise that moment was a test, not of my competence, but of my clarity.

Had I allowed his voice to become louder than my own, in my head, I might have missed one of the most defining experiences of my life.

The trip to get there was hard. It took just about 48 hours and four layovers to get to Apia, Samoa, from Bridgetown, Barbados. But the journey was worth every second.

In the photo from that conference, you’ll see me sitting among my global peers that I had worked with virtually for months before, head held high.

What you don’t see is the fire inside me… the knowing, the trust, the absolute certainty that I was placed there for a reason.

I was part of history. A history that lives on in multiple conversations, policy shifts over the years, metrics that governments are still trying to meet, global media campaigns, and the list goes on.