I'm LIVE! Art Detroit Ep 2

In the summer, i had the opportunity to shoot with host, Sheila Grant from the City of Detroit's new segment called 'Art Detroit'. 

I was really nervous, but it turned out really, really good. This 9-min video will also air on Detroit Comcast Cable Network on channel 21 (if you live in the city and want the exact times just comment below). 

I encourage you to watch and comment on the video. Let the City of Detroit know that they took a step in the right direction by highlighting a Muslim artist in the city! 

Let me know what you think *Squeals*

xoxo,

Leah V

New Year, New Me?

New year, new me? Maybe. Maybe not. I can dig the saying, to an extent. Some people want to do better, be a different person, emerge from a butterfly cocoon at midnight, but a date on a calendar isn’t going to propel you into greatness. It can be a push in the right direction, though.

Trust me, I get it. 2016 has been a year of revelation. And I use the word, revelation, because I keep seeing all these posts about how much 2016 sucked. I don’t know how to feel about that. I mean, did it have sucky moments? Yeah. Which year didn’t? But with those suck-ass moments, truths were revealed. We got to see what we were really made of when these calamities struck. Ain’t that worth something? To see how that arrow flew right at you and how you soared over that bitch. The arrow might’ve hit your mom in the arm, but hey, you can’t have it all.

2016. The year of revelation. For me, personally, I had no idea, clue, whatever that the year would be the way it was.  

I remember at the end of 2015, I had a plan for the 2016 takeover. The plan was to grind with my blogging. Turn it into a business. To work on my book and get it in the best shape possible so that I could land an agent and get it published. Finally start my career. To have better opportunities for my husband and I. I was 28, and at 30, I told him I was kinda, sorta ready to be a mother. And as long as he helped me with the little rug rat, then I’d do it. Finally. Although, I never wanted kids, I was going to do it for him. He’d waited this long. He deserved it.

Life had another plan…

I relaunched my blog and that took about two months, but I was happy with the results. With the rebranding, I was going to be more real, more lifestyle. Less blogger-y. People started to dig the new layout, and I started getting a lot of publicity. The money was going to start rolling in so the financial stress would be alleviated from him. Unfortunately, no money came. I was working for free. Started working for Muslimgirl and got some more publicity. As I blew up in my creative field, attention-wise, my relationship went downhill. I found out he was dating some girl from his job. That killed me. But I kept it between family and close friends. I still blogged. Keeping up a façade of okay-ness. We got therapy. I forgave him. New beginnings, right? Wrong.  

During this time of discovery, I asked myself a question. And, it really just came out of nowhere. Would you choose your career over your relationship? I was never able to answer the question because I could do it all, I could have it all.

When he’d say weird things about my accomplishments and how I wasn’t enough, the question always came up. Still, I never answered it. I was in denial.

More shit hit the fan with his infidelity. The blaming. The yelling. The resentment.

Still, I stayed. Trying to salvage the broken pieces.

During our divorce, I went through a lot of mental abuse. He said some really nasty things to me. I threw myself more into blogging, modeling, and other creative projects. I hired an editor to help me with my indie novel. I didn’t process the divorce thoroughly. Didn’t have time to. And that was ok with me.

I had no idea that in the beginning of 2016, that I’d be single by the end of the year. That I’d have to fend for myself. That I’d lose my mother to mental illness. That I’d lose friends to jealousy. But even with those revelations, I had gains that were equally amazing. I also had no idea that I’d become stronger by going to the gym regularly, that I’d be a staff writer, that I’d have dozens of features, or that I’d publish a book, or that I’d graduate from having five years of extensive therapy or that I’d be living on my own and be blessed to pay my own damn phone bill without him (because he said that I couldn’t).

It was revealed to me this year that I was much stronger than I ever thought I was. Because failing at an nine-year marriage made me feel so weak. So low. I questioned myself at every turn. Why this and why that? If you had only done such and such then you wouldn’t be undesirable, single, divorced. So, no, I don’t agree with anyone that 2016 was shit. It was THE SHIT! Because we are still here, still standing and living. Still able to grow, be hurt, and bounce back.

Because I’m corny, I have a few things that I want to leave with you for the new year. And a few tips to make sure it kinda goes smoothly. Note: I’m also going to practice what I preach as well.  

Drop the Duds:

Stop allowing people to enter and take space in your life that have no substance or value. I see this waaaaaaay too much, especially with girls. Got a fuck boy that’s been hanging on by the pinky cuticle? Drop him. Got a frenemy who always got some smack to talk when you’ve “blessed up”? Drop her. Got an evil cat that scratches and hisses at you even though you feed it premium cat food? Drop it off at the Humane Society. Just kidding. Or am I?

The point is, we don’t want to make people angry or uncomfortable. We don’t want to burn bridges. Right? Fuck those bridges. They have no problem with draining your energy, making you feel low, creating issues for you. So, if the bad outweighs the good then you may have to drop em. Sorry. You are the weakest link. Buh bye.

Stop Lying to Yourself… And Others

Are you the Facebook friend who boasts about who they are cutting off in 2017? The one who says they are going to hit the gym but then falls off once spring hits? Stop lying. Little secret here, everyone knows your full of it so just don’t. If you have no intention of doing something for yourself or others keep your mouth shut. Be truthful. You know your capabilities for the most part. If your goal is to save money, then you actually have to have a plan and implement it. Out of each check, I’m going to save 50 bucks. Boom! I call this the plan and do method. Too many people talk but don’t back it up. Write it down. Consult with others about how you should go about your goal. Research. Do it. If it fails, go through all the steps again and tweak where necessary.

Get the ‘F’ Out of Your Comfort Zone

Growth is necessary, and it’s uncomfortable. You can try to avoid if you want, but you will always be thrown a curveball. Facts. So, why not semi-prepare yourself. The more fluid you are the less force the hit will have.

For example, I hated going to events by myself because I didn’t like being the awkward girl standing alone watching other people mingle. What if I said something stupid? What if I got rejected? I had to ask myself: what’s the point of going to events anyway? Well, I want to connect with others and build my brand. If no one knows about you then how will you grow your brand? Know what I did? I forced myself to go to events. Alone. Although very painful and awkward, I set a goal. Talk to five people and then you can leave. Once, I got to talking and figuring out that it wasn’t as bad as I thought it got easier each time.   

In conclusion, what I want for all of you (the fantastic readers) is the feeling of rejuvenation for the new year. You don’t have to make a complete 180, but start thinking about it. Think about some goals you didn’t get to start or finish last year. Think about the relationships you keep and how that affects you: good or bad. Think about leaping into some shit that’s super cool, that you never thought of doing before. We don’t know when our last day is up. So, let’s go into 2017 making the most of our 364 days. 

xoxo

Leah V. 

A Look Into How We View Mental Illness

It’s cold in Michigan. Dreary. Things are dying. Morale is at an all-time low for a lot of individuals during the fall/winter months. Lack of sunlight. Holiday woes. It’s super brisk and your usual cuddle buddy is being a fuckboy and not answering your texts. Yeah, I get it. It’s not the most wonderful time of the year so says the holiday songs on the radio. 

I’ve been in my ‘mood’ lately. When, I say ‘mood’ it’s code for mental lapses, anxiety, depression, or all three. Depends on the day or days. And I really hate when I get into these ‘moods’ because I know that I’m feeling these emotions or I’m being a certain way and for the most part, I have no idea why. It can strike at any moment. Even when life seems to be ok or running smoothly. Then I begin to feel ‘ungrateful’ because I’m feeling like shit when life dictates that it could be a lot worse.

Oh, isn’t life full of contradictions.

I understand that these ‘moods’ are either triggered by some kind of hormonal imbalance, or a word, a face, or even a song which jolts you back into some repressed traumatic moment which leads to these negative emotions.

But meanwhile, while people are telling you how ‘crazy’ you are for even showing any signs of distress in life, you are feeling like a trapped bat ramming its little bat face into a glass window.

If you were a better Muslim, you wouldn’t have those sorts of problems. Take it to the rug. Oh, you’ll be ok, just remind yourself of the people who have it way worse than you. Yes, when someone reaches out to you about not being right in the head or not feeling well mentally, please continue to pour icing over shit and not deal with the issues head on.

Do you know how many times I’ve reached out just to be called crazy or told to suck it up? Do you know how many times I’ve been made out to be a jerk because of misplaced emotions? Do you know how it feels to have the outside not match the inside, how confusing that is?

I’ve always had ‘issues’ growing up but was too afraid to tell anyone. When I got to college, the emotions started bubbling over. I was aggressive, sporadic, and in denial. I’d have these breakdowns, privately, and withdrew from other humans. I didn’t have drugs or alcohol to soothe my problems so my outlet became fighting.

I graduated college at twenty years old with a business degree. I got married two weeks after that. More mental issues came to play. Aggression on top of aggression. The police were even called on me a few times. I didn’t go to jail. Not yet anyway. I hit rock bottom. I had no one. No family support. My ex had left. And my friends wanted nothing to do with me or didn’t know how to assist. I was alone.

I remember lying on the beach, tears streaming down my face on the phone with my mother. “I’m going to admit myself to the hospital,” I said. “I can’t live like this anymore.”

She tried to console me. Tell me what I should do. She apologized for not catching my issues earlier. But it was a little too late. I was floating beneath the clouds. Watching my life unfold in a painful, slow motion.

I decided that before I admitted myself, that I deserved at least one more chance. I was going to seek out a therapist. I found one at this little Muslim family services place in Detroit. The female counselor was a hijabi. She was Somali. She was the hand that pulled me out of the darkness. That’s all I needed at the time. I went in twice a week. I cried. We talked. I wasn’t eating. She told me to eat colorful fruits and vegetables. She told me to make small goals for myself. She even gave me her personal number when I felt down. To this day, I see her around the mosque sometimes. I don’t think she understands how much I needed her. How much she helped me.

To talk about mental illness in Islam or to even admit it, I think are very hush-hush. Like a lot of issues in our communities. I see some strides being made to make it more accessible, less judgy, but we have some ways to go.

After five years of extensive therapy, and after hiding it for so long, I am very much so open about it. Why should I keep it quiet? Because I’m Muslim? Because I’m a black superhero? Because I’m a blogger that posts cute pics on Instagram and my life is so fuckin perfect?

When, I go through my ‘moods’, I sometimes share it on Facebook. Not to get pity or to get likes. I share it because of the Muslim girls and women who inbox me, secretly, telling me that they too have the same issues and can’t admit it in fear that their community ‘wouldn’t understand’ or they’d experience ‘backlash or jeers’. But even though they are not at the point where they can openly seek help or be honest about it, they have me. Someone they know who has and is going through the same outbursts. The same feeling of worthlessness. The same anxiety attacks.

Just like the Somali counselor reached her hand out and pulled me back into some light, by sharing my life, my triumphs, and downfalls, I want to do the same for others. I want to be that hand that reaches out. And I want others to do the same. If you see it, you have a duty to help. Listen. Provide a safe space for them to breathe. A hug. Giving non-judgmental advice. It’s the little things that count. Those little acts of kindness that could make someone’s day and be the difference between them stepping into the light or withdrawing into the darkness.

xoxo

Leah V.  

Identity: I Wanted to be a White Girl

It’s embarrassing to admit that I wanted to be a white girl for a large part of my life. I wanted the two-parent household, the bed with the canopy in the suburb, the size medium North Face jacket, the long, bone straight hair that always got in my way, and all the privilege and fun that came with it. 

I was in my teens when I drowned myself in white culture. I knew their white movies, their white songs from the 80’s and 90’s, and I just knew that if I lost weight and became ‘flat bodied’ I could pull a white male to marry and have mixed children with, just hoping that they’d have a much better grade of hair that I had.

I had my Caucasian future planned out.

MUA: Madinah M.

Pasted on my wall and doors were pages torn out of magazines of attractive white women. I studied them every time I woke up and every time I went to sleep. I cried softly in my pillow wondering why God put me in a black body. A fat body. An unattractive body.

Magazines were important. They held weight. They notified me of the trends—what’s in and what’s out. Black faces were out. Black bodies were out. White faces, no curves, and long legs were in. Straight teeth, full lips, and light hair was in. Smooth skin, cinched waist, and narrow noses were in. I had none of those attributes. And would never attain any without the help of cosmetic procedures.

I hated myself and no one even knew. I hid my identity issues behind aggression and haughtiness. I was that bitch. That no one could mess with, penetrate, or compete with. But in that mindset, I was stagnant and didn’t even know it. I was closed and warped. I was a white woman trapped in a fat body. I was confused and misunderstood. I was a ball of contradictions. Dying inside, nowhere to turn, no one to talk to about it, no role model to seek out.

Vest: Society+

Just thinking about it now, makes me sad. Makes me angry. It also makes me ponder, how many other girls out there are going through this silent identity crisis? Competing against magazine reality? Wanting to be something that they could never be?

The magazines I trusted and idolized, the magazine that utilized only one model of color in the entire spread who was usually on the lighter side or mixed had betrayed me. The media only highlighting rail-thin models who were as tall as giraffes betrayed me. Those very white movies that I studied weren’t real at all because white-based happy endings didn’t happen in my black, Muslim world. All of it was a sham. Created solely to boost the agenda of what the standard of beauty was and to degrade another. Photoshopped covers of Paris Hilton and Britney Spears was all I could think of. How smooth their skin was, no stretch marks, both breasts the same size, not one hair out of place. I believed that they had attained perfection. That God had given them complete bodily perfection.

Model: Leah V,

Until I figured out that the media wasn’t for me. For us. For the underrepresented. The disabled. The dark. The short. The so-called unattractive. The Muslim.

I had to hit rock bottom before I realized who I was. Who I really was as a person from the inside out. And on the inside, I was not a white woman. I no longer wanted to be a white woman. God didn’t make me a white woman for a reason. And I had become content with that fact. I dived in my blackness wholeheartedly like a mermaid. I created my own beauty standards. Producing my own body positive and beauty campaigns with my own funds. My blood. My mental illnesses.

I stopped believing in those magazines. That reality TV show. Those airbrushed and photoshopped photos that I silently died to attain and started believing in my own abilities. My skills. And I emerged as a stronger black woman. A proud black woman. A crazy Muslim girl in her voluptuous hips and thoughtful mind.

xoxo

Leah V.

Style: First Time Wearing A Bisht

In Westernized fashion, they tend to believe that the clothes must accentuate the female body, hug her curves delicately. And of course, I thought the same way. If it didn’t have a shape, then I wasn’t touching it. I was already plus-size; I’d look like a garbage bag for sure.

Since I became a style blogger, I’ve been a lot more ‘out there’ with my fashion choices. I like to up the risk and try new things. Also, I’m waaaaay more comfortable with my body now, so anything goes!

It was the last week in Ramadan. My friends from Yemen invited us to a feast fit for a king, and to top it off, they had the hookahs in rotation. I thought that the night couldn’t get any better. One of the Yemini women had a wide set of hips, small waist, and petite chest. Similar to my body type. Between puffs of smoke, we chatted about shopping and how hard it was to find fashionable items for us ‘hippy’ gals.

Her eyes widened. “I have something for you,” she said and disappeared into the back room.

She brought out a black and gold embroidered bisht. It’s like an oversized abaya. I’m not sure where it’s origins are in the Middle East but trying it on felt like I had instantly turned into Arab royalty. I paraded around her living room, gushing about how beautiful it was. I finally took it off and placed it back on the hanger. I handed it to her.

She put her hand up and shook her head. “It’s yours.”

I died.

A happy yet fashionable death.

Xoxo

Leah V.

The ‘F’ Word: FAT

At Buffalo Wild Wings, I ordered lots of food. Hey, I was super hungry. Plus, I have a tendency to order too much then complain about being too full halfway in. Yes, annoying. I know. I’m working on my indecisiveness.  

Anyhow, after the waiter leaves, I said to my guy friend playfully, “OMG. I’ve ordered half the menu. I’m soooo fat.”

His eyes swelled with fear then shock. If he had pearls, he probably would’ve clutched them.

At first, I thought I had lipstick on my teeth. “What?” I croaked.

“You. Are. Not. FAT!”

I rolled my eyes. “Boy, bye. I am fat.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You are curvy. Trust me, I know fat. You’re just thick.”

“I’m fat. I’m obese. I’m overweight. It’s fine.”

What was interesting was that the ‘F’ word for him was so negative, so vile that he couldn’t possibly equate that nasty attribute to me. He got an A for effort though. Haha. But like him, so many other men and women avoid the word ‘fat’ or if they do use it, it’s become one of the main cuss words.

I’m not even going to lie. In my adolescence and early 20’s, I was once one of those people that if someone called me fat, I’d melt and dissolve into the wind. No coming back from it. I’d go over it a million times in my head. Fat. Fattie. You’re FAT! Why the fuck are you still fat? Be skinny. Skinny is better. Skinny is acceptable. You will be great when you are skinny.

Funny thing is that when I did have an eating disorder and got ‘skinny’, I was the unhappiest I’d ever been in life. But, everyone else seemed to dote on the fact that I’d lost so much weight so fast and blah, blah, blah.

Why do we glorify thinness but bash fatness? And I know the internet trolls with their Google degrees are going to come out of their troll lairs with the following argument: fat acceptance glorifies obesity and health problems.  

Firstly, I welcome them with the real ‘F’ word. After that, my rebuttal consists of not only fat people have health issues. I’ve been fat mostly all of my life, and I’ve had no major health problems. I have fat and skinny friends with health issues. Good or bad health doesn’t discriminate like we do. And if I did have bad health from being fat, that still has nothing to do with you because you aren’t me nor do you pay my medical bills.

Back to our scheduled program…  

So why am I talking about this? In an interview, I was asked about the word ‘fat’. Why is it such a negative word? Why do most girls and women cringe and melt when they are called it? And most importantly, when I decided to reclaim it.

I reclaimed the word when I started having open conversations about body acceptance with other body positive activists in the community. The conversations were real and enlightening. These women (and men) were not only fat but they were other things, too. They were fat and business savvy. They were fat and confident. They were fat and stylish. They were fat and athletic. They were fat and sexual.

They smashed the fat stereotypes in half and I set out to do the same.

Let’s say this at least eight times: Fat isn’t a bad word. Stop making it that way. It’s starts with you. It’s an adjective, people. Just like any other adjective. Sometimes, we’ve got to take a look at ourselves and stop being so freakin’ sensitive. So what if your boyfriend calls you fat. Do what I do and say, “Yes, I know. Anything else you want to point out Captain Obvious?”

If you are obese, overweight, curvy, or thick, 9 times out of 10 you are probably fat. And that’s ok. And if it’s not ok, then change it. Simple as that. But let’s not wallow in the fact that our bodies are shaped differently or the scale gives us a number that isn’t ‘acceptable’ to society’s standards.

Why not start living right now? Don’t let a couple pounds deter you from enjoying what life has to offer. Your body is good so be good to your body.

You’ve only got one.

xoxo

@Lvernon2000

Confessions of a Content Fat Girl: Late 20’s Reflections

*Covers face* I’ve totally neglected my blog for the past few weeks. I’M SORRY. No, I really am. It’s almost midnight and here I am blogging. Today has been super humid, I’ve been groggy, and I’m looking for a new place. Packing. Throwing away crap I don’t need. And selling the rest. Ugggh!

I hope you guys understand. Life has been a loop but amazing nonetheless. And guess what else? My birthday was a few days ago. #LeoSeason. I plan on doing something fun and chill this weekend. So turn up!

I turned the big 2.9. Yes, I’m a year away from 30. Sounds weird to say. I’m lucky though, blessed, whatever you want to call it. Some people didn’t and don’t make it to or past that age.

But all this ‘growing’ up has me to thinking… You guys know, I’m an over thinker. A DEEP thinker. I like to reflect on what I’ve learned this year, what failures and accomplishments I’ve made, and to share what I hope to achieve in the future. My main goal is to reach you. I want you to learn something from my experiences. Maybe it’ll make your situation better, same, hell, maybe even worse (I certainly hope not). But I want you to take something from this.

Shades: Forever21 + Necklace: Charming Charlies + Shirt: Avenue + Denim Vest: Burlington + Skirt: Society +

Although major changes have occurred, I’m a content fat girl. I’ve never been so at peace despite the chaos going on. It’s really shocking to me that I’ve grown so much that certain things that used to bother the hell out of me don’t even penetrate my shields. And that very fact, I’m proud of. I never thought I’d actually be the ‘Bigger Person’. I mean I’m still petty, haha, but for the most part, I literally swerve any stupidity, bad-mouthing, and non-productive situation that arises.

What I learned this year? Let that shit go. You have choices. You don’t have to partake in anything that you’re uncomfortable with. You are allowed to say ‘NO’.

I’m telling you that it’s a freeing experience.

Skirt: Society +

Perseverance, but remember to take it step by step. I’ve learned to slow it down sometimes, yet still keep it moving steady. As women (and men), we put a lot on our plate. It’s ok to not do something at that very moment. What’s the worst that can happen? Is it life or death? If not, be fluid and allow yourself to breathe and reflect. There’s nothing wrong with taking a moment to reevaluate and then tackle a problem. Even Superwomen needs to rewind.

And the biggest thing I learned and relearn every day is the importance of the company you keep. I can’t stress this enough… We have internet trolls, family members, besties, managers, and randoms constantly reaffirming our fears. You need people around you that will dream as you do. Because dreams are important. I always had people tell me to take my head out of the clouds and come back to reality. I believed them, and I was miserable. I liked dreaming! When I figured out that they were trying to mold and shape my outlook on the world and of myself then I had to start cutting and blocking people from my circle.

Then I started adding people whose energies were supportive and genuine and good. This change caused me to explore more, fear less, and dream as I had done before.  

I thought this was the cutest thing. He wanted to get in on the OOTD action.   

In retrospect, I’ve accomplished more than I ever dreamed I could. Again, I don’t get paid to blog. I make very little money modeling, and I just launched a self-published book mostly on credit card so I’m in the hole. But even with all that, I’m surrounded by people who are ok with going out for cheap food, that can make me laugh until I pee myself, and who add zest to my world.

Money is great. Being married is great. Being attractive is great. But experiences last a lifetime. That’s my goal for the rest of this year and my remaining years. To Experience life and what it has to offer. And I hope you do, too.

xo

Leah V.