Sondra’s story
Sondra’s life is a mix of cultures, communities, and the constant negotiation between being seen and being heard. Born in Cardiff to parents who were part of the Windrush generation, her journey through identity, resilience, and advocacy reveals a powerful narrative of what it means to belong and why having a seat at the table truly matters.
“My parents were from a little island called St Kitts, you could walk across it in a day. My mother was a teacher there, and when she came to the UK, she trained as a nurse. My father joined the army. They were part of the Windrush generation, invited over, as many were at the time.”
Growing up in Cardiff, she was part of a tight-knit family and one of the few black children in her school. “We were unusual, black twins in a classroom. There were maybe two or three other children of colour in the whole school.” While Cardiff was more multicultural than other parts of Wales, the undercurrents of racism were unmistakable. “Kids sang songs with the N-word, told us we were dirty, that God made a mistake when he made us, and you believe those things when you’re a child.”
Inside her home though her mother made sure the family was grounded, strong, and educated. “She was strict. We were more afraid of her than we were of anyone else, she always said, educate yourself, know your history, understand your world.”
That lesson stuck. She became a nurse, and later retrained as a psychologist, one of the few black community psychologists in Wales. Her academic path led her to a PhD, which focused on the quality of life of those living with rare conditions, inspired by her own family’s experience with multiple hereditary and chronic health issues.
Through her doctoral research, she founded RareQoL, a Social Enterprise with the aim of advocating for individuals with rare diseases, particularly those in under-resourced, rural communities. “We were just talking over the garden fence during COVID, lamenting how poor the services were for people like us and RareQoL was born.”
Despite creating platforms for others, she found that truly having a voice at the table was often elusive. “I get invited to meetings, to consultations, but I’m not always allowed to speak. I remember putting my hand up, asking questions but my request to contribute were not acknowledge. The report that came out later claimed they had consulted with me. That is ‘the illusion of inclusion’. That’s tokenism. There’s a difference between being present and being heard. Often people want your name, your face, your attendance, but they don’t want your voice. They don’t want to credit your ideas.”
Despite issues with being used as a token person of colour, she continues to show up. “You put on your big girl pants and get out there.”
Community is both deeply personal and conceptually complex for her and her community has given her strength finding that community changes and develops throughout life “There’s my family, forty of us together at small family gatherings of four generations. That’s a safe community. Then there was the area where I grew up in Cardiff, and the street we grew up on, with neighbours from Chinese, Polish, Italian, and Caribbean backgrounds. We were all first-generation ‘descendants’ there was more that united us than divided us. As I gained qualifications, my communities expanded into professional communities of, academic, health service, business. But the higher up I go, the fewer people there are who look like me. Occasionally, I walk into professional spaces where I get stared at. You can almost hear them wondering, does she belong here? ‘Is she the cleaner?’”
Navigating these spaces has required what she calls “code-switching.” “I behave differently depending on the community, family, academic, social. Each one has its own code and language: you must learn to adapt.”
Despite this adaptability, she is clear about where she feels she truly belongs. “I live in a rural Welsh-speaking village, and I love it. I’ve been welcomed into that community. Every year there’s a carnival that’s hundreds of years old, nothing’s written down, everyone just knows what to do because it’s passed down orally. That reminds me of the Afro-Caribbean tradition too, stories and knowledge passed through generations.”
Her experience throughout life drives her passion for being truly involved. “A seat at the table should mean being asked to speak, being credited for your ideas, being involved in decisions. Right now, it often means just being a name in the minutes.”
Diversity is something needed, even with her work in health equity and research participation and it highlights a wider issue. “White people make up a minority globally but dominate clinical trials. For the future of medicine, especially genetics, we need diversity. But to get people like me involved, you have to build trust. And that trust has been eroded by history people’s: due to incidents such as blood taken and used without consent.”
To truly address this, she believes institutions must do more than extend an invitation. “They need to seek out people like me, not just ethnic minorities, but people with lived experience and professional expertise. Not either-or. Let us speak. Let us shape policy. Let us be doers, not just names on paper.”
As she is a fierce advocate for inclusion, she’s also an unwavering believer in hope. “I’ve got a lovely house; a loving husband and my children are thriving. They’re confident, accomplished, ambitious. I see a bright future for them.”
These hopes are despite negative experiences that she has experienced. “I have been spat at in the street and called ‘N…r’. People like me had death threats online for doing good work. The way I see it is that people like this need me to feel bad about myself so they can feel good or superior…I refuse. My husband, who’s white, worries every time I go out. He’s had to learn what it means to walk through the world without privilege through me and we educate each other.”
She continues to work, build, and advocate. “Belonging is essential. Isolation is punishment, we’re social beings. I’ve left jobs where I didn’t feel I belonged. Because when you’re not seen, when you’re not valued, what’s the point? The world is small now, we all belong to it. I believe in the power of connection, of shared experience, of being part of something bigger than yourself. I believe everyone deserves a seat at the table, not just to sit there quietly, but to be heard.”
Stori Sonya
Sondra is a community psychologist from Cardiff and the founder of RareQol, a Social Enterprise with the aim of advocating for individuals with rare diseases. As a Black Welsh woman, she’s spent her life navigating systems that weren’t designed for her.
Raised in a predominantly white neighbourhood as the daughter of Windrush immigrants, she was made to feel different from a young age. “You believe the things about yourself that people tell you… you grow up with a sense of being less than.”
Despite creating platforms for others, she found that truly having a voice at the table was often elusive.
“I get invited to meetings, to consultations, I remember putting my hand up, asking questions but my request to contribute were not acknowledge. The report that came out later claimed they had consulted with me. That is the illusion of inclusion. That’s tokenism. There’s a difference between being present and being heard.”
Yet her outlook remains hopeful. “People like me… from an ethnic background but also with professional backgrounds… should have seats at the table. We all belong to the world… and I choose to look forward positively.”
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