Leah V Reveals Her Book Cover!

We are three months out from Unashamed: Musings of a Fat, Black Muslim hitting the shelves 10/15/19 and I am revealing the hard copy! I am also chatting about how and why I wrote this memoir. I get a bit emotional in this video because it's been a hard and long road, but I made it and can't wait to share this new project with you.

Make sure you hit that LIKE button. SHARE, SUBSCRIBE, and leave a Comment. Have you gotten your copy yet?!?

Purchase Where Books Are Sold:

Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Indie Bookstore, and Beacon Press: Links to buy here >>> http://www.leahvernon.com/unashamedleahvernonbook

Don't forget to hit me up on the gram: @Lvernon2000

www.Leahvernon.com

Blogger-Versary: Seven Years Of Telling My Business Online

Today marks the 31st day that I’ve been in New York. Glorrrrrryyyyy. And, if you follow me on the Instagram and my stories then you already know what it is. You know that the streets are filled with litter and smells like underneath a ball sack mixed with a dirty gym bag. You’d know that I am still in between apartments. That I wake up like death because of the miles and miles of walking and the endless stair climbing.

Also, we are in the 2nd day of Ramadan! A reflection period and also a time to get my mind right, not only spiritually but mentally.

With all that said, I have totally forgotten that it is my 7th year blogging anniversary a.k.a Blogger-versary. I would have loved to plan a special photo shoot with the numbered balloons and confetti and make a big deal out of it, but sis is just tryna make her coins to pay her inflated ass NYC bills. Okay!

How does it feel to be blogging for 7 years Leah V? Well, let me tell ya, it has been a whole ass journey.

Oh, Chile, those brows.

Prior to starting this blog and IG page back in 2013, I had been writing since I was a wee lad. I used to delve into Reading Rainbow like it was nobody’s business. I was obsessed with Levar Burton’s soothing voice and the way the words and the photos transported me to another time and place. At a young age, I knew that stories were transformative. I knew that’s where I wanted to be. I just hadn’t known how I’d get there.

I started a blog which went to shit. I hadn’t known my voice. Or what to do with it. I hadn’t known marketing. Like at all. I started a YouTube that also went to shit. Then I wrote three books. None of which were published. Then I wrote short stories and little articles here and there.

I always tell folks that clearly artists love abuse, because we just keep on trying no matter how bad we look, no matter how much money we invest. No matter how many people say that our shit is shit. We keep on pushing because we see something that others don’t. And, we will do anything to feed the monster. Feed our passions.   

Don’t ask no questions. LOL

I can’t remember what my first blog post was about. Probably something about fashion. I do remember my first real Instagram post. I had gotten some professional photos taken. That was going to be my coming out as a top-notch blogger. It ain’t happen like that but I was kinda getting the gist of modeling.

It was funny because I never wanted to be called a model. Models weren’t me and I wasn’t them. The term model meant that I was tall and statuesque and thin and thin and mostly thin with no boobs or curves or whatever. I always corrected people when they called me a model. I’d reply, “I’m just a blogger who wears cute clothes online.”

Man, I’ve been through a whole ass metamorphosis between these past seven years. Like there would be a whole book to cover it. Shameless plug: There isssss a whole book to cover it, called Unashamed: Musings of a Fat, Black Muslim available for pre-order now wherever books are sold!

Sorry. LOL. But yeah, it’s been a whole lot of shifting and failing and crying and breaks and accomplishments. It’s been a whole struggle and yet every minute of it has been wonderful. Because even in my low moments, I have learned something or emerged from the other side grateful for the good and the bad.  

So, here’s to seven years of changes. Changes that I’ve been able to share with you all openly and unapologetically. And, here’s to seven more! And, possibly more than that!

Xoxo,

Leah V 

Everything is Going to Change

When I was a little girl, I used to hate change. Mom would always tease me. “Amerra, likes for everything to remain the same.

Amerra, which means “princess” in Arabic, and the Islamic name I was given as a child.

I think I’m still that person. Inside anyway. Little Amerra is still in there trying to halt movements that are too fast, too uncomfortable. It’s so safe right where we are. To move in an unknown direction, to make a leap of faith is just too much for her to carry, too much for many of us to carry.

So, we remain stagnant. And comfortable. Never venturing out into the wild that is life.

It is both sad yet understandable.  

For me, I was forced to accept change. Does that mean I’m in love with it? Hell nah! But I get it. I understand—for the most part—that if I don’t move, the world will continue to move with or without me present.

When I say that I was forced to accept change, I mean that a series of shit occurred. Shit that stunned me. Shit that rendered me helpless, confused. Everything stopped. I was at the crossroads of going left or right. On the left was pain and misery on the right was also pain and misery. But, the right had some added benefits. With that pain and misery was acceptance. It was a route that I would be able to become my own narrator. Instead of allowing the world to narrate for me.

I think that too many people are afraid to take the wheel and become their own narrator because for one it’s scary as shit and secondly, it makes them accountable.

Change to me was being accountable. Holding others accountable.

Trust me when I tell you that this role isn’t easy to slide into. You come up against a lot of foolishness once you take on the challenge. I’ve noticed that people want to do what they want without consequences. Everyone just wants to be accepted as they are. But, that’s not really fair. Maybe your ‘as is’ ain’t good. Not good for you and not good for others. I know for a fact that mine wasn’t. Like at all. The person I was five years ago wasn’t good. It was doable. But not great.

Everything is going to change, I told myself two years ago.

And, would you look at that. Everything has changed.

I’ve changed. Situations have changed. Some slow and some fast. I’ve found myself being able to cope with change much quicker and more openly than before. I’ve moved less away from the rigidity of childhood and become a tad more fluid.

Yet there are still moments of complete rigidness, where I won’t bend for shit. Some work out and others, I am again forced to accept.

I’m still learning when to hold on and when to let go.

Last year, for me, was a year of hardship and discovery. I discovered that I had writing talent that I always knew I had but others wouldn’t give me the time of day to figure out. I always wondered how I was going to get my work seen. Heard. Nobody was checking for me. My little artsy feelings were hurt. But, I had talent, I screamed from the tops of mountains. Still no one cared.

When I tell you that I quit or almost quit multiple times is an understatement. It is HARD to do what I do. You, the spectator, get to look at the pretty photos and read the well-crafted sentences for free. Not seeing all the behind the scenes work that’s put into it. Not seeing me trying to drag myself out of bed every morning. Battling depression and anxiety. Wondering if anyone is reading this shit or am I just talking to my damn self.

I made a promise though. That no matter what, I’d always write. Every day. For free, if I had to. Because I am words and words are me. Simply.

This year. Man, this year, my endurance was put to the test. There wasn’t a chance to quit or tussle with change because I had gotten all the opportunities right in my lap. They piled on top of each other. After starting my blogging career in 2013, things were starting to change. For the good and bad. Friends started to drop off like flies, their true intentions revealed. I landed my very first commercial in the UK. I went to Barcelona on a random solo trip. I still don’t have a man on the account of me being too “intimating”. I’ve cultivated so many relationships with so many lady friends and have built a tribe all over the world.

“Everything is going to change,” I said to myself right before I knew I was getting divorced. Right before I knew all the foolery that he was a willing participant in.  

I felt it in my bones. In my aura. I knew it was coming whether I wanted it to or not.

And, it did come. Sooner than I wanted but that’s not for me to control. I can only control how ready I am for it when it comes.

What has changed in your life? Were you ready for it? What kind of change would you like to see in the near future?

Xoxo,

Leah V

Why Does Female Empowerment Make You Uncomfortable?

I just had an epiphany.

By just being little, old me, by being a voice, using my voice, not giving two flying fucks about what a hater gotta say, I’m threatening people with my very existence.

I’ll repeat that for the ones in the back. The ones that are hard of hearing.

By being unapologetically me, I’m threatening Muslim men who are clearly sexist, Muslim women who are oppressed and don’t even know it or fail to see it, people from local Islamic communities who are stuck in their archaic and rigid ways of thinking, fatphobic individuals, and white women and men who don’t see color with my mere existence.

That’s crazy. Powerful. Odd.

Dress: Eloquii

I’ve been hearing things. Noticing things. Taking in the comments, sly remarks, and whispers of those around me. I’d like to think that I’m a pretty objective person when I’m not being completely one-sided. And, honestly, I have no problem with constructive criticism. Stuff that’ll actually help me, I don’t know, grow in some way. But some of the things that I’ve been experiencing lately has been ridiculous. If you’d like to paint a picture of me, then you better damn well make that shit accurate, or as close to it as possible.

I’ll give you a bit of insight without going into too much detail because I’m trying to get to a bigger point here and not dwell in the bullshit of others. A few things I’ve noticed are people either blatantly lying about my character, taking slick shots over the internet when they have nooooo business talking, and attacking me (my content) over social media.

“Leah V.” My friend told me, “As you get bigger, more people are gonna come harder with the faux-ness. It’s the name of the game. People are going to make you out to be some kind of villain. Talk shit about you. Hell, even try to ruin your career. Those people have no life. They are just jealous. You gotta let it go in one ear and out the other. Be the bigger person.”

A lot of stuff I agreed with but I’m a human being and letting negative words or comments just pass through without being affected at some point takes its toll. I also have feelings. Feelings that I try my hardest to protect. What does one do when they take the high-road but other people go low? Take the cheap shots as you sit there and block, play defense? And in most of these cases, you can’t even speak up for yourself because a web of lies has already tarnished your name.

Things like this really makes you wonder why people hide, shield themselves with the strongest of walls, and never put themselves or their work out there. It’s hard, man. This shit ain’t easy. Divulging my life. Admitting my faults. Placing my body out in the open for heavy criticism by strangers. By Muslims. Islamaphobes. This isn’t what I signed up for…

In between rants and angry outbursts and curse words of frustration and sadness, I figured out something. When you have problems or issues or you want to figure anything out, you go straight to the source. So, that’s what I did with one question: what does Leah V stand for?

I stand for equality for girls to be able to do the same as boys. I stand for people being comfortable in their own skin. I stand for having the right to decide how you view your body. I stand for one having the right to practice religion or spirituality freely and without the restraints of man or groups of so-called religious communities. I stand for doing what the fuck you want to do when you want to do it. Being you without rules. Twerking. Getting divorced. Wearing hijab. Being proud. Getting an education. Equal pay. Creating art. Exploring your sexuality. Figuring shit out on YOUR own terms.

The last question was why would something I stand for openly make someone else so uncomfortable?

When I started sharing my work, blogging. I told many, many people that I wasn’t a role model. I didn’t want the heaviness of that title to weigh on my shoulders. That I wasn’t a good person and that no woman, man, or child should follow me. That I wrote for me. And if it helped other people then cool. If not, then I wasn’t going to force it down anyone’s throat. You dig me or you don’t. I keep it 100%

But, see, that’s how they wanted me to think. They wanted me think so negatively of myself that I couldn’t successfully push my work, my stories, my narrative. I was told no, no, no. Write this way. Look that way. Don’t be that. You’ll go to hell with the rest of the rebel women. The ones who don’t listen. I just knew that I was going to hell for the way I looked, the thoughts I had, and my inability to please the other Muslims in my community.

They are threatened by me because I embody everything that they are against. They spew lies because they want everyone to know that I’m not worthy of the attention. That what I’m saying has no merit. Who had I thought I was? Breaking down barriers. Telling little Muslim girls that they absolutely do not have to get married at the age of 14, 15 to an old ass man. Telling them that they could be something other than a mother or a housewife. That they could travel alone and not ask for permission.  

When I post a photo. Post a bomb caption. Telling girls to leave that shell behind. I’m doing what they don’t want me to do: empower. Empowering girls. Empowering women. Allowing them the power to make their own decisions about religion, free of constraints, makes them uncontrollable. Free. And the oppressor never wants you to be free. They always want control. And tearing me down and others like me who preach about feminism and equality threatens the control they have over their wives, sisters, and daughters.

I’m here to tell you that although I’m human, I’m also part unicorn. Which means I’m rare, resilient, and easy on the eyes. Trolls, butt-hurt Muslim men, and Islamaphobes won’t silence me. I’ve come too far in my personal life and career to be scared off by some very mean yet personal comments. There’s a girl right now, sitting at home, perhaps sneaking and reading this post or has seen my Instagram feed. Probably hopeless before, she might be empowered, inspired to ask questions, be less conforming, be more herself.

My job as a writer, an influencer is to create a spark, and it’s up to you to turn it into a flame.

XOXO,

Leah V

First Times Can Be Charms, Too

You've probably been wondering where I've been. Well, I've been grinding, day in and day out. Trying to pave a way--on foot--for the fat, black Muslim girl and every other underrepresented individual that's been deemed unworthy by society's standards. 

Posted by Lvernon2000 (June 22, 2017): I'm emotional (tears + snot nose). So, I'm the winner of the 2017 Gilda Award for my work in creative nonfiction by @kresgeartsdet 🎉🎉🎉
I started writing when I was 6. Reading Rainbow was my shit. I entered my first contest then lost, but Levar Burton sent a cool rejection letter so I wasn't going to stop. In my teen years, my father was never there. Mom was juggling 5 kids from different fathers and no help from family. I sought refuge in stories and other worlds. I was homeschooled, weird and thoughtful, more advanced than the kids my age. My friends were librarians. I'd sit in the library nook for hours and just read and dream of a life different from my own broken home. 
I started entering contests. Won a few. I loved Sci-Fi but noticed the lack of black heroines and writers. I set out to be the first and wrote my first novel in college at 17. It was rejected. I wrote 2 more novels and they were also rejected. I blamed it on my color and socioeconomic status. All the successful writers were white and female. There was no room for my fat, black ass. So I stopped and never wrote again...
It was the toughest five years. Can you imagine not fulfilling your purpose? Then one day, when I almost admitted myself to a psych ward, I thought about my life. Like really dug into my core. My passions and talents. I asked myself, "who the fuck are you? Without your ex-husband? Your family? Your friends? Who are YOU?" The response: YOU are words. Stories. After that day, I've never tried to get rich or popular from writing. I was going to write for me. To uplift and to make change. If I had to write for free for ever and ever then that was what I was prepared to do. 
Now, here we are. Making waves 🙏🏾This white photo represents purity, an awakening, a new beginning for me in my career to change the narrative.

Last week, it was announced that I was the recipient of the 2017 Gilda Award for my works of creative nonfiction. 

I beat out 750 artists who applied in Michigan.

With my stories. Stories about my life. That's nuts!!!  

If that doesn't blow your mind, then I'm not sure what can. 

There's so much I'd like to say about this. This huge honor. I'll probably end up writing an essay about it at a later date. I just wanted to be a good friend, pop in, and tell you that I'm not dead. LOL. That I'm okay. And, that I'll be back to regular blog posts in August when my schedule is less hectic.   

Thank you for rocking with meeeeeeeee. 

Leah V.