Overcoming Self-Doubt
I asked myself, “Am I too late? Did I wait too long to start this plan or this journey?”
A thought immediately came to my mind:
“Girl, how are going to be late to your own life?”
“You Should Write a Book!”
If God granted me $5 every time someone told me I should write a book about my journey through breast cancer, I’d be able to buy a new pair of retro Nike Jordan 4’s by now. How do you write about a journey that is not over?
Allow Me to Reintroduce Myself!
My name is Farah Lolade Aduke Iyabode Harris. Most people know me as Farah Lawal Harris, a name I love because it identifies some of my intersections. Farah means "joy" in Arabic--My Muslim father and Christian mother gave me that name because I shifted the energy of grief…
Impulse Decisions
Have you ever made an impulse decision that you immediately regretted? The last time I did this was when I was on a staycation with my family this past June. My son and I went to a horse and car show where there were different vendors selling their wares. I didn’t plan to shop—we were there to see the cool, classic cars. But a jewelry stand caught my eye.
Stop Hoarding Information!
OK, picture this...
You are very accomplished in your career. You invested time and money to learn how to do what you do as well as you do it. You made some embarrassing mistakes when you were just an amateur, but you learned from them and improved your skillsets. You experienced rejection, lack of interest from gatekeepers, and underpayment for your time and services. You've failed many times--privately and publicly. But now…
The Support Struggle
Until more recently than I would like to admit, I used to count the empty seats at my theatre performances. The empty seats were a visual representation of the people I expected to support me who did not show up. I kept a tally because, in my mind, my closest friends and family were not meeting my expectations of what it meant to support me. Then I would spiral:
Beauty Head-to-Toe
I was pole-thin until I hit puberty in the 6th grade. At 11 years old, I was oblivious to the pace at which my straight lines were becoming curves. Then one day, a couple of frenemies pulled me aside to tell me there was a rumor going around school that I stuffed my bra. I felt embarrassed and ashamed.
On that day, my body became a prison. I was hyper-aware of my figure—the way it was looked at, spoken about, and touched. I noticed how with each change, people treated me differently.