I’ve often been the youngest person in the room. In meetings, at conferences, in negotiations, even in my circle of friends. And when you’re also a woman, “youngest” sometimes quietly translates into “least experienced,” “least serious,” or “not ready yet.”

Being the youngest in the room can mean your ideas are double-checked more, your confidence is tested more, and your competence is questioned before it’s even demonstrated. Sometimes people assume you’re there to take notes, not to make decisions. Or they compliment your “potential” instead of acknowledging your actual results.

But being young is not a weakness. It means adaptability. It means fresh perspective. It means you’re building experience fast, because you have to prove yourself early. When you consistently deliver results, age becomes background noise.

Being the youngest in the room taught me something powerful: respect isn’t granted by age or gender — it’s earned through competence, accountability, and confidence.

I often got looked down upon because I'm a woman. I remember how one of my colleagues said “by this time you’ve already had a brilliant career if you were a man, if our director didn’t treat women as second-class and promote men just because they’re men”.
And that was true, I had to present a project and had a man beside me even if he technically had a lower position than I just because apparently I can not be trusted with the technical aspects.

That man was a designer btw not a software developer and his only advantage was being a man. Somehow I made myself trustworthy in the eyes of higher management and didn’t require a man beside me at the meetings afterwards, but did I get a raise? No.

“Women have men who earn money, they don’t need it”. I don’t have anyone but myself to cover my expenses so eventually I just quit.

At one expo build-up, the stand contractor kept repeating:

That’s impossible.

All we needed was a simple adjustment: repaint part of the structure and reduce the gaps between panels. Nothing technically complex.

Still, every time I asked, the explanations came quickly and confidently:

“Material doesn’t allow it.”

“Silicone won’t hold.”

“It’s not done that way.”

It was explained with that calm, technical tone often used when people assume the person in front of them won’t go deeper.

Because the event manager was a woman.

I asked a simple question:

— Show me exactly what makes it impossible.

A pause.

A different tone.

And then a more honest answer:

“Well… it takes extra time.”

“We’d need to stay longer.”

“We just don’t usually go into that level of detail.”

We stayed on site together.

A few hours later everything was done: repainted, adjusted, sealed perfectly.

The silicone held. The gaps disappeared. The “impossible” became routine.

Nothing about it was technically impossible.

It was just assumed it wouldn’t be questioned if men said so.

After that project, the word impossible was no longer used so casually around me.

In my work, I often face a dismissive attitude simply because I am a woman. There have been moments when I had to become stricter and colder just to ensure my comments were taken seriously. On what I once heard, “You need to be softer and smile more. A man can be strict, but a woman must radiate joy.” Another time, someone asked me why I was attending a business event. “Is it for the beauty?” It was not really a question; it was an assumption, as before we hadn't even spoken. Also, I remember a time when I was asked about my job responsibilities on what I heard “Wow, you sound smart, not like other women.” And so on, and so on.

When you constantly face double standards, when professionalism is mixed with subtle undertones and quiet tests of how far someone can push you, you build armor. And then they ask why you are not smiling.

For me, it often feels like women work two shifts every day: the first at the office, and the second at home.

Something inside still tells me that I have to cook, clean, and keep everything perfectly in order.

The strangest part is that the pressure is completely internal. My partner would never expect that from me — he sees our home as a shared responsibility.

And yet, it feels like our brain is trained to feel guilty if the house isn’t spotless or there isn’t a home-cooked meal every day. It’s not something anyone explicitly says — it’s just been in the air for so long.

When I started freelancing as a graphic designer, I realized that sometimes my age and gender often spoke louder than my portfolio.

On calls, I was asked how long I’d been “actually” doing design, as if being young automatically meant being inexperienced. Some clients, usually male business owners, assumed they knew better simply because they owned the company. My strategic decisions were often replaced with personal preferences. My professional comments were politely heard and then ignored.

It wasn’t disagreement that frustrated me. As if my expertise needed extra validation just because I was a young woman.

During one conversation at an industry event, a discussion about work suddenly turned into: “Let’s finish this discussion in my room.”

There were also comments about my appearance. Once someone asked, “Why are you dressed like that? Are you trying to find a husband?”
For context: I was wearing a black suit and heels. A completely normal business outfit.

Unfortunately, this kind of behavior still exists. Over the years I’ve had team members come to me after expos or networking events to say they experienced similar things.

Most of the time people laugh it off or ignore it. But it’s a reminder that professional spaces don’t always feel equally professional for everyone.

One of the first challenges in my career was simply being taken seriously. I was a young woman in a leadership role, and sometimes the reactions were… telling. I remember hearing things like, “What could you, a young girl, possibly tell me that I don’t already know?”. At industry expos it could get even stranger. I would walk into meetings where I was the decision-maker, but people would automatically start talking to my male colleague instead. Some would even turn their bodies toward him during the conversation, completely ignoring me.

It took a lot of effort not to let moments like that make me feel small or question myself.