HELLO
Shevann Steuben
She/Her
Meet the Leader
Shevann Steuben is the reigning Miss Black International Ambassador 2025, a global advocate for leadership, service, and equity. She currently serves on the NAACP National Board of Directors and Generation Vote C4 National Board, where she leads and supports initiatives that empower young people to become change-makers in their communities. As a consultant, speaker, and community leader, she uses her voice and crown to champion inclusivity, inspire action, and create lasting impact.
Restorative Leadership Interview Questions:
Question 1: What helps you stay creatively courageous when the world feels threatened/like it’s on fire?
When the world feels like it's unraveling, I stay creatively courageous by remembering that I come from people who survived the fire. I draw strength from the legacy of those who didn’t just imagine freedom—they built it, step by step. Community grounds me. Whether it's the NAACP boardroom or a grassroots townhall in Houston, I’m reminded that transformation isn’t a solo act. My creativity is fueled by the belief that advocacy is an art form—one that requires vision and faith.
Question 2: Describe a time when your imagination helped you move from fear into action.
Stepping into the pageant world was an act of faith. I didn’t grow up seeing myself in crowns or sashes. But I imagined a stage that wasn’t just about beauty—it was about purpose. Three years later, that vision became reality when I was crowned Miss Black International Ambassador 2025. That same imagination led me to create Yet to Be: The Leadership Incubator—a space where emerging changemakers could be trained, affirmed, and activated. Hosting our inaugural cohort reminded me: every bold step I take invites others to step forward too. Imagination didn’t just help me overcome fear—it helped me build the very spaces I once searched for.
Question 3: What does growth and holding space look like for you after a loss or rupture?
For me, growth after a rupture begins with embracing the why, even when I don’t fully understand it yet. I move forward with a grave understanding that everything happens for a reason—even the disappointments, detours, and delays. I let myself feel the loss, but I don’t live there. I reflect, I pray, I journal, and I ask: What did this teach me? What is it preparing me for? My guiding belief has always been, “A dream is only as good as the plan to achieve it and the faith to believe.” So after loss, I give myself space to grieve—but I also go back to the dream, revise the plan, and strengthen my faith. Holding space means honoring what was and still choosing to believe in what can be.
Question 4: How do you protect space for imagination in your team or community?
In every space I lead—whether it's a youth summit, a leadership incubator, or a strategy session—I make it clear: Imagination is not extra; it’s essential. I protect space for it by encouraging curiosity and asking the most important question: why? Asking why challenges the status quo and creates room for bold ideas, for visions that don’t yet exist. It invites us to rethink old systems and design something better. I build in dreaming time during meetings, open with storytelling instead of just agendas, and make room for “what if” thinking. I model vulnerability, celebrate innovation, and ensure our culture values vision just as much as execution. Because when imagination is protected, transformation becomes possible.
Question 5: What rituals or practices help you (and/or your team/community) name what hurts while still holding on to what’s possible?
One of the practices I value most is creating space for duality—knowing when to leave the personal at the door to focus on the mission, and when to pick it back up to tend to the people behind the work. In the spaces I lead, especially in advocacy and organizing, I set a clear tone: we have a purpose to fulfill, and we approach it with focus, care, and accountability. But I never forget that our lived experiences shape how we show up.
After the business is handled, I make space to circle back to the personal. That might look like staying on Zoom longer just to talk things out, catching up one-on-one when I sense someone needs extra support, or grabbing dinner after a meeting to create space for what didn’t fit in the agenda. That’s where the deeper community is built—not in the official minutes, but in the margins. It’s a quiet ritual of care that reminds people they’re not just contributors to a cause—they’re human beings, and they matter here.