A Voice Without Apology

"We need the voices and influence of healthy, empowered women to make an impact on our world for the common good." - Jo Saxton

Here are my personal experiences when I first stepped into a space where women who don't look like me haven't dared to go, but I won't limit it to just women who look me, because I have gone to enough spaces and heard women's stories, and realised, it's a shared struggle.

"Grace, it's going to be hard to be the first." My friend Karen, former PR to the American embassy to Iceland told me. I remember pausing, puzzled, and asking, "What do you mean?" I had walked in naively, heart full of hope, believing in the goodness of people and the power of pure intentions. What followed over the last two years has been the most challenging and transformative season of my life. I didn’t think for a second it would be hard. I laugh now looking back.

The first day in that new space, I was overwhelmed. No—I was scared. Terrified.

"What have I walked into?" I wondered.

Would I represent the "others" well? Or would my presence only deepen the judgment toward those still knocking on the door? I made a conscious choice: be nice. Be gentle. Don’t rock the boat.

Year 1: I wasn’t given any mainstream project.

I was handed the one considered "for the others." When I asked for more opportunities, the response was, "Aren’t you still doing that 'other' one?" followed by a smile that never reached the eyes. I smiled back and moved on. That was the unspoken rule—be quiet, be grateful.

One of my contributions was publicly credited to someone else. I quietly stepped back. "It’s fine," I told myself.

At an event where everyone had defined roles, I showed up and felt like a guest. I ran around pretending I belonged. But when were these roles assigned? Was there a group chat I wasn’t in? The next day, I called and asked, "Why was I excluded? Does my presence feel uncomfortable?" Playing different scenarios in my mind.

At an out-of-town Christmas event, I saw the camera roll past my head repeatedly. The next day, I asked, "Why?" The reply: "Let others shine too." But I wasn’t trying to take anything from anyone. I was just... present. Like everyone else. That day, I stopped going to events.

Someone I deeply respected, and still do, someone I highly recommended to take on a major international project, removed me from the project, signed documents without my knowledge, and dismissed my contributions. I asked for help to fix it, but was ignored. I wonder if they think I don’t have the capacity to feel pain.

I was asked to cover someone’s project, as a favor, I did so. Be a team player. Yet again, the camera avoided me. I didn’t need to be there.

Earlier this year, I encouraged someone leading a major project to consider including another immigrant, not just one, to avoid the appearance of tokenism. Their response caught me off guard: "They haven't taken the time to learn our language." It was a painful moment. As someone who actively champions Icelandic language inclusion and speaks openly about the systemic barriers that hinder learning, this cut deep. To protect my peace, and due to unrelated personal challenges, I stepped back from some meetings.

Later, I was asked to remove another woman from a project because she didn’t speak Icelandic. Despite my discomfort, I complied. It’s a decision I’ve reflected on often and one that weighs heavily on me, as it stands against the very principles of inclusion I strive to uphold.

After two major disappointments, I finally spoke up. I said clearly that I felt I stood alone, yet still did my best to contribute meaningfully, for the trust I received when I was voted into this space, with a majority vote, and especially to represent the voices of women of foreign origin, and other unrepresented voices missing in that space. Not to simply occupy a seat; I came to help drive real change. Shortly after, I was given a major project. My heart lifted. I was hopeful again.

Year 2: This was the year I came fully into myself. I decided: Speak up. Stand tall.

United Nations Headquarters - New York

I gave everything to big tasks and small. My commitment paid off. The year before, I was invited to speak at an event. The latter panel, three immigrant women, given a safe space to share their experiences—safe. Yes. There were tears, vulnerability, and hand-holding because that day, it was safe to show that, to break down. I don’t know how I held it together. Someone had to be strong. Looking at the organizers, young women navigating their own challenges. I knew we didn't stand alone. They want this change for us too. That´s why young people belong in every space, and intergenerational collaboration should be encouraged to establish formal channels for youth participation in policy-making and decision-making processes. They carry perspectives that others might miss. And that's the beauty of diversity.

They connected me to a journalist. What followed was a domino effect of news coverage for me. The article shade highlighted How Vogue discovered me, the former First Lady wore my design, but the labor market stayed shut. Then a feature on The Guardian, yes the British one. There, I talked about how women have the power to be each other’s greatest support—but from an immigrant perspective, that solidarity isn’t always extended.

A partnership with the French Film Festival led to an unexpected opportunity: an interview that landed me on the front page of the weekend newspaper. I was stunned.

Then, a magazine reached out asking to do a cover interview. I couldn’t believe it. I read the message over and over. Eventually, I pasted it into Google Translate—just to make sure I hadn’t misunderstood.

No. It was real. A cover interview.

I replied with a resounding yes!

That feature came out in April.

All of these difficulties also led to a project close to my heart: the launch of the Gracelandic Echo Conference, last year. A trailblazing event designed to promote inclusion and diversity in entrepreneurship and innovation, and a platform for amplifying the voices of those who are often unheard, aligning with Gracelandic’s core values of justice and human rights to foster a sustainable and innovative future for Iceland.

It felt like God was clapping for me, celebrating me through the silent battles.

The battle continued.

There were instructions to wait with social media posts until media coverage was made. It never came. So I posted my own reflections after returning from abroad.

There were attempts to take the big project away from me, but the person they had in mind said, "No, I’m going on vacation." It wasn't uncommon. Fortunately, the project stayed with me. I had invested so much. I planned ahead, sought guidance, and had a dynamic team. We got this!

When I presented our plans, I was glowing. But the room was silent. You could feel it. Someone mentioned I was doing something new, but another dismissed it: "No, it's been done before." Why the comparison? Weren’t we a team?

Another banged the table, demanding stage time. Confusing. I later realized that during my absence from meetings to protect my peace, it had been discussed that a certain project should be included. It was the same person who made the language statement. We had gone far in planning, media had been created. I adjusted the program to give them time, I gave more time than was asked for. Answered numerous questions to make sure they were heard, happy? I tried. It wasn't enough.

Then I learned they had gone behind my back to reconfirm logistics I had already given them, and in a panic mode. This broke my trust. I said nothing. On the day of the event, this person went overtime and still complained. Nothing would have been enough.

Early morning after the event, I was so full of joy. But a phone call came: screaming. "How dare you forget this?" Forget what? I hadn’t been told to add that. "This day wasn't about you". About me? They failed to do their job and blamed me for it. A person who created a whole sustainability group and excluded me, lecturing (or screaming at) me about the space belonging to everyone. That’s when it hit me:

I wasn’t one of them. I wasn't supposed to be good at my projects. At times, I have felt that my success was not anticipated, and when it did occur, the expectations placed upon me became disproportionately high. Nevertheless, I take great pride in what I have been able to achieve.

At the next meeting, conversations flowed around me. I said, "I know these contacts. I see them every day. I can help, I said. Silence. It was like I wasn't in the room.

When I raised what had happened, being screamed at and undermined, around the event, and how gravely my trust was broken, I was told not to speak of the event anymore.

They tried to take my voice. No. It ends here. I had to speak. I wanted to share how proud I was of what we had achieved. I wanted to say how proud I was of my team. A group of women had come together to do something amazing in record time, alot of new innovative ideas that they were happy to borrow from, but not give credit to, like QR codes as conversation starters, great bargaining skills that cut the budget at a record low, and we still had even bigger plans, just last minute unpredictable changes, you name it. I rushed my words, just in case I’d be shut down. No compliments came. Just criticisms. Still, I was proud.

They made really heartbreaking meeting notes about me that day. Being screamed at, going behind my back became my fault. Oh, yes, and I refused to let my voice be taken; it wasn't just my voice, there was a team.

"Approved!" One said.

They later adjusted the meeting notes.

Pride, however, is often mistaken for arrogance, especially when a woman owns her voice. And this woman was on the margin.

When content from the event wasn’t shared, a week later, I asked why. "I forgot," she said. But I had the email. I knew she hadn’t forgotten.

When I asked, she cried, left the meeting, and flooded the media overnight. "Let’s check on her," others said. "Poor her."

What about me? I have feelings too.

She called later, apologizing. It was my mistake. "Do you believe me? Please believe me, I swear I forgot." For peace, I said yes. But it hurt, lies are like an itch you can't scratch, they say. So I called her back afew days later. "Here are four things you haven’t been honest about. I can’t keep nodding just to make you feel better." She spent nearly an hour revising her story multiple times, ultimately disclosing numerous actions she had taken against me, an unintended consequence of deception, where inconsistencies arise because it's difficult to recall what was previously said.

This month, I became aware that she had made arrangements to reassign an event that was initially listed under my name. A woman of many words, a strategist, behind a friendly demeanor, eloquent, with a talent for using impressive language to mask intent. I was smart, independent, and secure with who I am. Not the hand holding some needed.

I had asked for a neutral third party to mediate, we needed to talk as a team. Find a solution, move forward. I believe not everyone is comfortable with how things are, but I wasn't going to meet with them alone. Pointless.

Nothing happened. So I met with the professional I had suggested for us, to get a different perspective, a space to get things off my chest, professionally. It had all become too much to carry alone. So I met with the neutral third-party.

Eventually, I made the decision to see a therapist, not just for this, but to deal with my past. This affected me not only on a professional level but personal, dare I say, psychological level. I told her I didn’t feel safe, as someone who’d faced hostility from my past, who’d been detained before and physically attacked by a group of women.. I didn’t comprehend how this would be intertwined with an event decades ago, as a teenager.

I wanted to deal with my past so it doesn’t show up in my future, to continue the healthy path I’ve worked so hard to achieve. I knew that as I grew, not everyone was going to be happy. I’m sure this is not an isolated experience.

We’ve heard these stories. I had to get ready for what comes up in the future.

I wasn’t going to give up. Like an eagle, I use the storm to navigate new heights.

I needed to be prepared for the next level of leadership and any new challenges.

I’ve always used adversity as fuel. To grow. To rise. To catapult forward. This time, I found courage—not just for me, but for others too.

Some people received an email about me, and a social post, so I learnt. From the people I was trying to protect, despite everything, I didn’t feel it was right to air what had been happening. People were involved, people I care about, despite everything, families involved indirectly, tainting anyone’s reputation isn’t what I wanted from this. I wanted the scratch to be addressed, but they let it fester into a wound.

That email and social post; How do we characterize a dynamic in which the perpetrator of mistreatment deflects accountability by blaming the individual they have targeted? It doesn't depict even a fraction of what I’ve endured these past two years. There is always something new. I'm not surprised anymore. I just wonder often, what next?

I’ve been consistent with who I am. I’m not afraid when someone tries to tarnish my reputation. Don’t let anyone define you out of their own fears. The only thing, my voice grew stronger! How dare I.

"The success of every woman should be the inspiration of another.

We should raise each other up. Make sure you are very courageous:

be strong, be extremely kind, and above all be humble." Serena Williams.

They questioned my work ethic: Be less.

I wasn't trying to outdo anyone. Here’s why I have a strong work ethic. Growing up, I didn’t have the privilege to push a button and have coffee in my cup, nor pour cereal into a bowl and have instant breakfast. I first had to make the fire, literally. It would take on a bad day up to 30 minutes. Charcoal smoke stinging my eyes. Using all the energy I had to fan the "jiko" stove to sustain the fire, only then could I proceed to make breakfast.

Also, I couldn’t eat breakfast without finishing chores first, and these were manual labor. Without running water at home, it meant sometimes I had to go push 80kg of water on a wheelbarrow. Gosh, how I hated those days. Not knowing it was preparing me for life.

Today, I have a new appreciation for all the hardships I faced as a child. They built me into the woman I am today. That’s where my work ethic comes from, and it’s never a dull day in the office because I don’t take on what I’m not passionate about.

I’ve seen this system hurt women. I’ve seen women give up, the ones who had big plans for the space we share, they left, and it hurt to see them go. I felt so helpless. So I decided I would not go, that I would stay. I will speak for the voiceless. I would give women the courage to stand up for themselves. To be courageous and go to the front! To own their successes even if no one is applauding!

©Vikan

To the women responsible for my recent magazine cover shoot and interview, thank you for noticing I was trying to hold back, to not be fully seen. Thank you for telling me that "I could be beautiful, fabulous and a friggin’ genius and to own it." You did not know my silent battles! But you pushed me up, and I needed it. So I won't let you down.

Through all of these, I’ve had silent prayers for these women, I forgave even without an apology. My church group sometimes helped me pray, the closest people have seen my tears, because I’m human, it does hurt, but you don’t dry where you bathe.

You get up, you learn from it, and you continue growing. Because the plan of the enemy, through people we care about, is to derail your progress.

I am a woman of God. He’s the one who’s sustained me through it all. He tells me in the Book of James 1

“Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of

many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces

perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature

and complete, not lacking anything.”

So I have leaped with joy. That’s the extra light you've seen in me.

Now I also believe in the power of standing tall, speaking up, and taking your place.

"After all, our voices are more than just mere words. Our voices are our God-given identity and purpose in action," Jo Saxton.

To all women, whatever race, size, identity, or ability. The future doesn’t belong to you. The present does.

Rise up and take your space in this vast world! There's enough space for all of us.

#GraceUnfiltered #StandTallSpeakLoud #ImmigrantVoicesMatter #RiseInThePresent

#UnshakableFaith #GracelandicEcho #WomenLead #TruthOverSilence #ResilienceAndGrace