My name is Lauryn Mwale, and I’m 26 years old. I became a trustee with The Young Women’s Movement when I was 21, after first hearing about Young Women Lead through a group chat. I was a Maths undergraduate, an immigrant and university student who didn’t know I could stake a claim to Scottish politics.

That opportunity showed me that my voice had value, that I could be politically engaged here too, and that I could claim a seat at the table.

Every November, when the board away-weekend rolls around, I find myself brimming with anticipation. I know I’m about to become smarter, more grounded and more daring. Those two days equal parts strategy, rest, reflection, and laughter—have become a kind of annual pilgrimage. It’s where the theory of feminist governance meets the beautiful, messy, hopeful reality.

I first heard about Young Women Lead through a group chat. I’ve always been a serial volunteer, someone who finds meaning in showing up. I clicked the link, read about the opportunity, and was captivated by its ambition. As an immigrant and university student, I didn’t know I could stake a claim to Scottish politics. I was a Maths undergraduate and while my politics were and are liberal, I only allowed myself to spectate, not participate.

At the time, my feminism was shaped by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s We Should All Be Feminists—a framing of gendered exclusion rooted in her lived experience as an African woman. Young Women Lead showed me that I could be politically engaged here too. That my voice had value and should join the collective. That I could claim a seat at the table

I stayed involved. I volunteered. And, eventually, I applied to join the board. I had no governance experience, no idea what a trustee actually did. I was sure I’d fail the application or worse, embarrass myself at the interview. But I was in an era of seeking rejection: applying for things just to make the next “no” less daunting.

I doubted my CV, my cover letter, my interview performance. But I told myself: You’re 21. It doesn’t matter. This is a learning opportunity.

What I enjoy most about being a trustee is the annual away weekend, which isn’t just another meeting. It’s two days that stretch you in ways you don’t expect.

● Day One is with staff: brainstorming annual strategy, fundraising ideas, and sharing updates on their incredible work.

● Day Two brings the heavier lifting—budgets, pay decisions, and the difficult questions that test our values.

But what makes the weekend so special isn’t only the governance. It’s the social alchemy. Talking books with trustees. Playing bonding games hosted by Pauline, another board member with the most epic sense of humour. Once, I even got dressed up as a Christmas tree for one of the challenges. Leaving each conversation a little smarter, a little braver.

I was nervous before my first one, convinced I’d have to prove myself. Instead, I found the safest, most joyful place on earth, if you’re willing to lean in. That’s the magic of a room full of feminists.

As a young Black woman in Scotland, being on a majority-white board could have been isolating. Instead, I’ve found safety and solidarity. My intersectional perspective is valued, not demanded. My colleagues are aware of bias and committed to inclusion, not as performance, but as daily work.

Through this experience, I’ve become an unapologetic advocate for lived expertise. I’ve learned that saying “I don’t know” is an act of courage, not weakness. It’s made me a kinder, more grounded leader in every space I occupy including the corporate one.

Each Away Weekend nourishes me. It reminds me that feminism isn’t abstract, it’s in how we govern, how we care, how we fight for fairness. The conversations span everything from breastfeeding to burnout, ethics to pleasure, non-binary inclusion to budgeting with justice in mind.

When I return home, I carry a quiet defiance. I work in the private sector and feel blessed to have this community and these weekends which tether me to activism. They remind me not to fold myself into patriarchal professionalism. They teach me that feminist leadership, the kind that is tender, rigorous, and self-questioning is possible anywhere.

I became a trustee at 21. I’m now 26, and the experience has shaped every part of who I am, how I lead, how I question, how I dream.

So here’s my message to you, especially if you’re young and unsure whether you’re “qualified” enough to sit on a board: apply anyway.

You don’t need to have perfect answers. You need curiosity, courage, and care. You need to believe that your lived experience, whatever it looks like is expertise.

Be bold enough to take up space. To ask questions that make the room pause. To bring your full, complicated self to governance. Because if more of us do that—if more young people, more women, more people of colour, more queer and disabled voices claim those seats—the tables themselves will change.

And that’s the kind of feminist governance worth building.