Held Together by Grace

Held Together by Grace

"True strength is not about hiding imperfections; it’s about carrying yourself with grace, even when the world feels heavy."

When I was a kid, my grandmother used to say, “Grace isn’t about standing tall when everything is easy—it’s about holding your head up when the wind is against you.”

I didn’t really understand that until now.

This morning, as I stared at my reflection in the mirror of my Toronto hotel room, I kept repeating those words to myself like a mantra. Because in exactly two hours, I’d be standing in front of five hundred women at a leadership summit, giving the biggest talk of my career.

I’ve spoken in courtrooms. I’ve argued with CEOs in boardrooms. But this—this was different. This was a room filled with women who wanted answers. Women who believed in me before I even opened my mouth.

And, if I’m being honest, part of me was terrified I wouldn’t measure up.

I smoothed the deep blue sheath dress I’d chosen days ago. It was elegant, professional, and perfect for the stage. But I could feel the familiar whisper of doubt creeping in: What if you don’t look the part? What if they see right through you?

That’s when my hand brushed against the fabric of my shapewear. It wasn’t flashy or glamorous—just a sleek, quiet layer hugging me close. For a second, I smiled. Because I realized this little thing wasn’t about hiding flaws; it was about reminding me I’m supported—even when no one sees it.

I took a deep breath. Okay, Amira, I told myself. You’ve done the work. You know your stuff. Now go out there and lead.

The event hall was buzzing when I arrived. Lights glowed softly on a massive screen flashing my name. Rows of women—executives, entrepreneurs, students—sat leaning forward, notebooks open, eyes bright with expectation.

And just like that, the doubts came rushing back. I felt the weight of every eye in the room, every hope they’d placed on me. My palms went slick. My heartbeat thudded like a drum.
Breathe, I told myself. Root your feet. Find your voice.

The host called my name. Applause filled the air like a tidal wave, and I walked onto that stage, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Then I looked out at the crowd—and something shifted.

I didn’t see five hundred critics waiting to tear me apart. I saw five hundred women who had fought battles of their own just to be in those chairs. I saw resilience and courage reflected back at me.

So I started speaking. Slowly at first, then stronger.

I told them about my early years—the nights I slept in my office because the deadlines wouldn’t wait, the moments I questioned if I belonged in the rooms I worked so hard to enter.

I told them about failure—not as an ending, but as a turning point. About how saying no to the wrong opportunities gave me space for the right ones.

And then I told them the truth: “Confidence isn’t about pretending you have all the answers. It’s about showing up, even when you’re afraid. It’s about saying, ‘I am enough,’ even when the world whispers otherwise.”

By the time I finished, the room was on its feet. Women were hugging each other. Some were crying. I felt something I hadn’t expected—not just pride, but connection.
As I stepped off the stage, one of the organizers squeezed my hand. “You held the room,” she said softly.

I smiled. Because I knew she was right.

And maybe that little layer of shapewear didn’t make the words flow or the ideas shine—but in its quiet way, it held me together when I needed it most. Like armor. Like grace.