F*ck Fear

I would consider myself a preternaturally confident person. There are many reasons for this. They include but are not limited to:

• Being Nigerian

• Being Yoruba

• Having a bald headed African father who would wear a badge saying “Proud Dad Of Three Girls” if he could get away with it

• Having a mother who, when I told her I got a book deal, she said, “Well, of course.”

• Being a quiet, bookish child. This meant introversion, it meant cultivating a rich inner life in which I never allowed boundaries. Fantasy easily tumbled with reality till it became twined in my mind; delusion was only delusion if I allowed it to be. I wasn’t going to allow it to be. It just did not register with me that I wouldn’t be able to do something I loved. And I loved making up stories. It felt like flying to me, it felt like freedom, it felt like somewhere I could scream, dance, be loud. When I was a kid, I was so shy I used to whisper my name. I found that the more I wrote (from the age of 9, and never stopped) the more I found my voice. The more I found it easier to speak up, stand up, be funny, be a little sassy, be me. I was going to be an author. What could possibly stop me? Even when it was far fetched, even when I had no clue when or how it would come about, even when I was crying in the toilets of a PR firm at 22 after a manager had berated me for not being “fake enough”, I was so sure.

Notwithstanding, recently I have found myself facing something that I am not used to; Fear. It’s new to me. A skittish thing, like a large animal that lurks, blending into the background, but once you see it - recognise its outline, it’s impossible to ignore. The closer you get to it, the more you see its features, marked with sharp, blade-like flashes of self-doubt and fangs of insecurity ready to sink into knowledge of self.

I never had this with my first book, or even my second book. I was nervous, of course, but fear did not occur to me. As far as I was concerned my only duty was to tell the stories that were on my heart. As long as I did that - according to my mission - nothing mattered. It all seemed so simple. The thought process meant that every good, blessed thing that followed, was a welcome surprise, so single was my focus. But as I sat down to write my third book, SWEET HEAT, I felt something scrabbling against my knowledge. It was more than the usual nerves. I felt incapacitated. I felt stuck, not because of the story, but because of expectation- real and imagined. That notion of expectation, quickly formed a turgid lump of fear in my throat. I’ve grown as a writer, I’ve evolved; what if people are expecting a certain version of me? A certain version of my work? What will happen if/when I fall outside of those parameters? For the first time, I had to contend with a notion of self and I never really had to before. Who I know myself to be, and who people think they know me to be, and therefore who they expect me to be. I now found myself split in two: Bolu the published author, and Bolu - who I am to myself, how I think of my craft, my work. I also realised that I had grown so much since I published my first book, and my life had changed so drastically and rapidly that I didn’t have time to recalibrate - really think about who I am now. All my fear really derived from the fact, that for the first time, I wasn’t up to date with who I was in that moment. There was also the fact that I didn’t take the time- or even recognise that I needed to take the time- to understand that now, there was a version of ‘me’ that existed outside of me. I don’t think this is a singular experience. Sure, my version of it is specific, but I think that feeling- of life moving so fast that you don’t have a chance to catch up with yourself- is universal. Of who you know yourself to be mingling with other people’s ideas of who you are supposed to be.

We often take the idea of ourselves-whatever that means to us- for granted. Fear thrives in that confusion. There’s a tension where who we are now juts against who we thought ourselves to be, or who we were. We find ourselves struggling to nestle into ideas where we used to slide into easy. The jagged edges of preconcieved notions of ourselves poke into our skin uncomfortably, scratch up against us. It makes us panic. I used to feel a tightness in my chest, comparing how I felt with who I thought I was supposed to be, wondering where the disconnect was. I used to stare at a blank page, trying to figure out how to get back to the freedom I used to feel. I quickly realised - after months, that included therapy and discussions with my partner- that my struggle derived from trying to contort myself into who I used to be with who I am now, what my reality is now, and where my evolution has taken me. It came from thinking about who I was expected to be, instead of just being me. That tension allowed room for resentment to fester- resentment of self, just because I refused to recognise her.

I had to take a moment. Relearn who I am; same but different. Necessarily different. Blessedly different. The stem remains the same, but we bloom differently with every season. When I gave myself the space to look at who I am with grace, to become familiar with all the new parts, the fear retreated. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the nerves are still there, but nerves are normal. Nerves can remind us that we are human, that we love so much, care so much that there feels like there’s something at stake. When I released the fear, it also allowed for excitement to rush in. Excitement that I get to know myself in this season. Be full up in who I am, grow sturdy in it. It’s a journey, but one I’m genuinely eager to be on. I am so excited for this book to come out, whatever happens. I always pour all of me into my work, but I think for this book in particular, I had to work through so much more to get to the motion of it all. I had to fight against myself, I had to block more noise out, but it meant that when I got to where I wanted it to be, it felt uniquely satisfying. I found myself again in the process of writing.

It is my birthday in three days, and I’ve been thinking about this more: how this past year was about re-learning how to use my voice, to know myself again, in spite of the world, maybe to spite the world. How a lot of the fear, came from forgetting who I am. How I forgot that I am a dreamer, and I dream big and real and in my dreams, everything is possible, I am possible. I am very fortunate that I have people I love and who love me who remind me of this, but it’s important that you, as a person, do the work to remind yourself of this. This labour shouldn’t fall to anyone else. Fear of people’s thoughts can be a distraction, but I think, when it appears, it’s good to look at is as a tool that appears to compel us to do the work of knowing ourselves, understanding that no one’s thoughts should have the power of dictating how we view our worth.

Juicy Bits

• Okay so I have been living in this Everlane half-zip sweatshirt. I’m obsessed. It’s so cozy and warm and can look so cute. My fiancé (??? Wild) said I look like I’m about to go to yoga and stop by a community garden. I am not about to do any of these things but I rather enjoy that that is what it projects. Anyway, it’s on sale now! Not an affiliate link!

• Somewhat relatedly, my fiancé got me a Stanley Cup because I’ve been making fun of them in a way that made it obvious I kind of wanted one, but didn’t want to actively buy one myself, because that would be a capitulation to capitalism. It’s lilac, my favourite colour, and I hate how much it has boosted my hydration habits. It’s just so basic that a cute cup makes me drink more water. It’s basically an adult sippy cup! Yet I am obsessed with it. Nothing makes me feel more put together than putting a couple of slices of lime in it. That’s basically the same as reformer pilates right? Everyone has a basic thing they have given in to, and I fear this is mine. I feel somewhat free in this.

• Can’t stop listening to NuevaYol by Bad Bunny. Something in it convinces me that I can salsa. I feel very mi gente latino. The bassline feels ancestral - in fact the whole album - DeBÍ TiRAR MáS FOToS feels that way. As much as it is a beautiful love letter to Puerto Rico and Puerto Ricans, that faithfulness to indigenes, to people who were forcibly brought to a land and made their own, to a people who resist oppression, feels so universal in its specificity. I love that some of the album is inaccessible to me, that’s what makes it special, that’s what makes it speak to me. Strangely, it means I understand it more. It’s a disapora love call; and the only people who are expected to respond is those who hear it - really hear it to whatever capacity they can. All I have to rely on is the rhythm, the voices, the yearning, the insistence, the defiance, the raucousness, the waist calling beat. As an African, that needs no translation. I hear my people in the Bomba rhythms. It’s incredible. Music is so close to magic, to teleportation, to time-travel. I also love that no one else matters on the album but Puerto Ricans, a celebration of music and culture, home. I know we are possibly fatigued about celebrity’s half-hearted attempts to politicise culture (and in doing so, arguably sanitise and blunt), but I’ve enjoyed reading about Bad Bunny’s dedication to the preservation of his culture and resisting assimilation. In particular, this profile on him in The Cut.

• Right now, I’m reading Emily Henry’s GREAT BIG BEAUTIFUL LIFE . I always enjoy her small-town midwestern beach romances, no less because first of all I didn’t realise the American midwest had beaches. I only learned how massive

  ‘lakes’ were in America when I read BEACH READ. Her writing is exapansive and emotionally complex, and it’s always a relief knowing I have an Emily Henry book to go back to.

• That reminds me that I recently did an Instagram live with my literary soulsister Tia Williams for Barnes & Noble! It was such fun. 7 DAYS IN JUNE is one of my favourite novels to re-read, and I adored LOVE SONG FOR RICKI WILDE, a sweeping historical fantasy romance, achingly tender and heartbreaking and swoony. Tia’s just the best and I always find a home in the worlds she builds and how she approaches her craft.

• I was in a congested S*ho House after a meeting and I tapped this guy on the shoulder asking if a seat was taken so I could sit down and pretend to work, and when he looked at me I had to choke on my spit because it was, in fact, Henry Golding. I didn’t choke on my spit because he was Henry Golding however, I choked on my spit because he is suspiciously handsome in real life. So if ever you wondered, “Is Henry Golding handsome in real life” well, here you have it folks. I just felt like I should share as a matter of public duty.

• This is for my sisters in 3B to 4C hair. I went to a salon here in Rotterdam to do my hair, where I didn’t speak any of the languages they were speaking, and yet, I understood what they were saying fluently. I felt instantly at home, in that though they did smile at me in intervals, they largely ignored me for an hour and a half after my appointment was supposed to start, and 20 minutes into my braids, my braider went for a 20 minute coffee break. They laughed loudly and gossipied raucously as R&B played, and when the one male barber there (there’s always the one male barber) came in, and they all roasted him accordingly. 10/10 would go there again.

• My cover reveal for SWEET HEAT is very soon and I am very excited. You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but I always think it would be ludicrous for me not to be involved in something that literally has my name on it. I do believe a cover should represent or reflect the work at the very least. This is why I am obnoxiously involved with every stage of the cover process, from the artists, to the figures, to the type. I hope you like it, but if you don’t please do not tell me.

• This is an outfit I liked. My eyes are closed in this picture, but I still like it. Here I am utilising all the skills that Auntie Tyra taught me in America’s Next Top Model and braving the cold for absolutely no good reason. Seriously, I was freezing my tits off.

  

  I wore it to eat cacio e pepe with my best friends. The skirt is old Kai Collective, the bag is YSL (I bought it to commemorate LOVE IN COLOUR), the leather belt is from Reiss, the shoes are leather kitten heels from All Saints because I’m afraid I have joined the bandwagon and Auntie LOVES it here. Comfortable and chic! An easy casual heel! The coat is ancient Zara, and the top is equally ancient ASOS.

I’m not a massive starsign girlie, but in honour of Pisces season and my birthday, take a moment to appreciate something tender today. Tell someone you love them and mean it. Have a lovely weekend.

Lots of love,

B x