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<p><a href="https://www.insider.com/category/me-first"></a></p><div type="image" title="abby anderson be that girl press photo" height="2669" width="4000" msid="93118349" hostid="261"></div><ul class="summary-list"><li>The country-pop singer <keyword id="14553617" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="abby-anderson" source="Orion">Abby Anderson</keyword> released her debut album as an independent artist on July 15.</li><li>She said that leaving her label helped her realize her potential and overcome an eating disorder.</li></ul><p>When Abby Anderson moved to Nashville at 17, she wasn't only chasing a career in <keyword id="11898471" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="music" source="Orion">music</keyword> — she was leaving behind a future that focused on service.</p><p>Raised in Texas, Anderson and her six siblings — five sisters and one brother — were brought up as members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, widely known as the Mormon church.</p><p>For women in the church, "the underlying message was 'Hey, go get married. Be a good wife. Serve your husband,'" Anderson, now 25, told Insider.</p><p>"I'm not saying that service is a bad thing. Service is an amazing thing," she said. "But at least for some of the women in my life, it was service to a fault — in that I would see them not getting the things they needed or that they wanted."</p><p>Luckily, Anderson said, her religious parents were "super supportive" of her big-city dreams. After crossing paths with a talent agent in her senior year of high school, Anderson packed her bags for the nucleus of country music before she even graduated.</p><div type="image" title="abby anderson press photo" height="2003" width="2667" msid="93118350" hostid="261"></div><p>The transition wasn't as smooth as the singer hoped. After two years of pursuing music, she broke through, signing a contract with Black River <keyword id="11896019" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="100" keywordseo="entertainment" source="Orion">Entertainment</keyword>.</p><p>"I found myself in a record deal, which is something that most young girls in town would kill for," she said. "But I found that little scared church girl coming out in the worst way. It felt like I was praised more when I listened quietly, the more I just did what everyone wanted me to do."</p><h2>Feeling stifled by her record deal, Anderson developed an eating disorder</h2><p>Under the watchful eye of her label, Anderson shaped herself in the mold of a budding country starlet.</p><p>In 2018, she released her breakout single, "Make Him Wait," a ballad about celibacy. That year, she was chosen as one of <a href="https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-country/ashley-mcbryde-bailey-bryan-among-cmts-2018-next-women-of-country-125097/" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">CMT's Next Women of Country</a> and released a moderately successful EP, "I'm Good."</p><p>But behind the scenes, Anderson was struggling. "I would come home every night just so sad, because I was singing music I didn't like, I was wearing things I didn't like, I was in an environment I didn't like, and I didn't feel like it was safe for me to speak up at the same time," she said.</p><p>Anderson said that faced with the prospect of losing her record deal and all its resources, she adopted her old pattern of "please, please, please." She allowed her team to make decisions on her behalf and overrule her input, especially when it came to which songs she recorded. Her creativity suffered, and her confidence followed.</p><p>Anderson said she sunk into a secretive and unsustainable cycle of restricting, bingeing, and purging. She described her <a href="https://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/help-support/contact-helpline" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">eating disorder</a> as "a denial of my intuition, a denial of my own needs, my own wants," seeking a shred of control that she didn't have in her career.</p><p>"All I did all day was stuff down everything I wanted and just executed things the way everybody else wanted me to," she continued. "And it made me sick."</p><div type="image" title="abby anderson press photo" height="2666" width="3555" msid="93118352" hostid="261"></div><p>When Anderson gathered the strength to leave her label in the summer of 2020, her physical recovery began. She said her eating-disorder symptoms began to improve "almost instantly."</p><p>"The day I walked out those doors for the last time, I felt it was the first time I really had ever spoken up for myself and followed through on a deep gut feeling I had," she said.</p><p>"In the past, I would have these strong gut reactions, strong gut feelings, and just deny them and just cast them aside," she continued. "That day, I just remember feeling so much peace — just this lightness and this love. And I remember sitting in my car bawling happy tears, because I just felt this overwhelming blanket of love pass through me, like, 'Everything is OK.'"</p><h2>Anderson's new music celebrates a positive self-image</h2><p>Anderson released her first single as an independent artist, "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18DHXE-05Pc" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">Bad Posture</a>," in late 2021. She said it was inspired by her quest to make herself smaller.</p><p>"I used to hunch over to hide my chest because I would feel guilty if, God forbid, a man looks at 'em," she said. "Now I kind of go by the reasoning of, hey, let 'em look."</p><p>She followed with a string of empowering singles, including "Juicy," an upbeat pop anthem celebrating Anderson's curves with comparisons to a ripe piece of fruit.</p><p>Both are on Anderson's album "Sugar Spice," released on July 15 by her own imprint, Fat Cheeks.</p><p>Asked for a single word to describe this new era of her life, Anderson chose "freedom."</p><p>"It was made possible by leaving my old beliefs — not just a church, not just a label," she said. "It was about breaking up with the story I had been telling myself."</p>

Abby Anderson overcame an eating disorder and made the album of her dreams when she stopped denying her 'strong gut feelings'

<p><a href="https://www.insider.com/category/me-first"></a></p><div type="image" title="Chef Cristina Martinez speaks onstage behind a podium during the 2022 James Beard Restaurant and Chef Awards" height="2242" width="2990" msid="93061946" hostid="261" sizebytes="91060"></div><ul class="summary-list"><li>After growing up in an unstable home, <keyword id="14530486" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="cristina-martinez" source="Orion">Cristina Martinez</keyword> found herself in an abusive marriage.</li><li>She made the tough choice to leave and immigrate to the US, where she's become an award-winning chef.</li></ul><p><a href="https://www.instagram.com/barbacoachef/?hl=en" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored nofollow sponsored">Cristina Martinez</a> is a chef, a restaurant owner, an immigration activist, and a mother. Now, she's becoming an advocate for victims of domestic abuse. </p><p>The owner of <a href="https://www.inquirer.com/food/cristina-martinez-south-philly-barbacoa-new-restaurant-20220405.html" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored nofollow sponsored">South Philly Barbacoa</a> has amassed a long list of accomplishments, appearing on <a href="https://www.bonappetit.com/story/south-philly-barbacoa-philadelphia" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored nofollow sponsored">best-restaurant lists</a>, landing an episode of Netflix's "Chef's Table," and, most recently, <a href="https://www.jamesbeard.org/blog/the-2022-james-beard-award-winners" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored nofollow sponsored">winning a James Beard Award</a>. But when she was asked about the most pivotal moments in her life, the Mexico native chose to talk about her decisions to take herself out of abusive situations. </p><p>"I believe that one of the greatest talents I have had as a woman is that sixth sense," Martinez told Insider in an interview translated from Spanish. </p><p>For Martinez, 52, the most powerful moments of her life have involved listening to her intuition. She said the gut feeling of knowing when to leave was what pushed her out of her parents' home at the age of 17, and then out of her husband's home to come to the US. Neither decision was free of consequences.</p><h2>Growing up in a culture of silence around abuse</h2><p>Martinez grew up in Capulhuac, Mexico, where she lived with her mother, father, and four siblings until she got married at 17 years old. It was there that she learned how to make barbacoa, the dish of slow-cooked lamb that has propelled her to culinary stardom.</p><p>She said she had many happy memories of her father, including his love of preparing barbacoa, but added that there were dark moments.</p><p>"My dad was an alcoholic, and I felt every time he drank that he was going to harass me," Martinez said. "I was always on the alert when he was drinking and drinking."</p><p>As a kid, Martinez said she felt like she had no one to turn to. Her mother thought the verbal harassment was normal, she said, and the environment she grew up in was one of shame and silence when it came to abuse. She couldn't share "those kinds of things that are so delicate and deep that they hurt, not even with my sisters," she said, adding: "I didn't know what reaction my sisters or my mom would have."</p><p>So when she met a man who asked her to marry him after just 15 days, she saw it as the perfect opportunity to remove herself from her father's home. Unfortunately, she said, she didn't stop to weigh the consequences.</p><p>Martinez said her first husband, who was also a victim of childhood abuse, ended up being physically violent toward her, which continued a cycle of abuse that left her feeling trapped, like she was in a prison. The abuse went on for nearly 15 years as the couple had four children together. </p><p>"I couldn't go to my mom. I didn't have friends to tell what I was going through with my partner," she said. "The aggression was also increasing to the point where I returned to that sixth sense, in which I saw that if I stayed there, I would end up in a wheelchair, paralyzed, or bedridden."</p><h2>A difficult decision to leave home</h2><p>Around 2006, Martinez decided to take the leap and move to the US. There, she worked as a dishwasher and a pastry chef so that she could send money home to her daughter Carla to pay for boarding school and help her escape the pattern of abuse that she herself had been trapped in.</p><p>Martinez's decision to leave Mexico didn't come without a price. Because she's unauthorized to live in the US, she can't return to the country and hasn't seen three of her children in more than 10 years. (The fourth came to live with her in Philadelphia in 2012 but died two years later.) Carla is now an emergency-room nurse and has been denied a visa to visit her mother four times. </p><div type="image" title="Cristina Martinez speaks onstage behind a podium during the 2022 James Beard Restaurant and Chef Awards." height="2213" width="2950" msid="93061947" hostid="261" sizebytes="110476"></div><p>After she lost her pastry-chef job because of her immigration status, Martinez started cooking barbacoa and consommé in her apartment with her husband, Benjamin Miller, whom she'd met at work. On "Chef's Table," the couple said they started selling the dish out of their home on Sunday mornings.</p><p>"People came to the apartment, needing to eat and feel at home," Martinez told the filmmakers. "They were immigrants like me."</p><p>As the couple transitioned <keyword id="14530487" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="south-philly-barbacoa" source="Orion">South Philly Barbacoa</keyword> into a restaurant space, it began generating media attention. In 2017, Martinez received her first James Beard Award nomination for best chef, mid-Atlantic. She <a href="https://www.phillyvoice.com/cristina-martinez-south-philly-barbacoa-best-chef-james-beard/" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored nofollow sponsored">won the award last month</a>.</p><p>The chef has been happily married to Miller for 10 years, and the pair opened a second Philadelphia restaurant, Casa Mexico, in 2020.</p><h2>Speaking up about breaking the cycle</h2><p>Martinez has been a passionate advocate for immigrants unauthorized to live in the US. She told her story on <a href="https://www.univision.com/noticias/inmigracion/podcast-mejor-vete-cristina" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored nofollow sponsored">a Spanish-language podcast for Univision</a> and, along with Miller, founded the Popular Alliance for Undocumented Workers' Rights, which <a href="https://www.dosagemagazine.com/south-phillys-undocumented-workers-need-love-and-aid-and-cristina-martinez-and-benjamin-miller-want-to-get-it-for-them/" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored nofollow sponsored">pushes for amnesty for workers</a> and has provided free meals to those in need during the pandemic.</p><p>Speaking out about abuse has been harder. Martinez said her two sons in Mexico continued to perpetuate the cycle she grew up with. One is physically abusing his partner, she said, adding that the other had an addiction to crack cocaine. </p><p>"I am a mother who does not want her granddaughter to live with a man like my son," she said.</p><p>She said she's opening up about her experience for the first time because she wanted people to understand the challenges of breaking the cycle. </p><p>"The fact that my children are not so conscious does not defeat me," she said. "On the contrary, it gives me more strength because at the moment of sharing everything, although they see me far away, they know that I am fine."</p><p>Ultimately, she said, trusting herself and leaving Mexico was the best decision she could have made. In the meantime, she wants her children to see that she is, and will remain, a safe haven for them if they choose to lean on her. And she hopes her story serves as an example to anyone grappling with listening to their intuition. </p><p>"I'm still strong," she said. "I'm still fighting so that these things don't happen to other families."</p><p><em>Anyone affected by abuse and in need of support can contact the National Domestic Violence Hotline (1-800-799-7233). Advocates are available 24/7 and can also be reached via live chat on </em><a href="https://www.thehotline.org/" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored"><em>thehotline.org</em></a><em> or by texting "START" to 88788 or "</em><a href="https://www.loveisrespect.org/get-relationship-help/" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored"><em>LOVEIS</em></a><em>" to 22522</em>.</p>

Chef Cristina Martinez has won a James Beard Award and appeared on 'Chef's Table.' But she says her greatest accomplishment was escaping domestic abuse.

<p><a href="https://www.insider.com/category/me-first"></a></p><div type="image" title="Singer LeAnn Rimes wears a nude-colored embellished fish net mesh top while looking into the camera against a white background." height="4391" width="6587" msid="92906375" hostid="261"></div><ul class="summary-list"><li><keyword id="14466396" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="leann-rimes" source="Orion">LeAnn Rimes</keyword> said that achieving fame at an early age was a factor in her <keyword id="12047214" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="anxiety" source="Orion">anxiety</keyword> and <keyword id="11898482" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="depression" source="Orion">depression</keyword>.</li><li>At 30, she checked into a treatment center to take care of her mental health.</li></ul><p>LeAnn Rimes is only 39, but she's lived over two decades in the public eye. The singer rose to fame at 13, when her solemn hit single "Blue" introduced the world to a voice that was mature beyond her years.</p><p>Rimes' album of the same name earned her <a href="https://www.grammy.com/artists/leann-rimes/14004" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">two Grammys in 1997</a>, making her the youngest performer ever to be named best new artist. Her follow-up single "How Do I Live" was a smash hit, selling more than 3 million copies in months and <a href="https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-country/flashback-leann-rimes-trisha-yearwood-make-awkward-grammy-history-167853/" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">spending 69 weeks on the Billboard Hot 100 chart</a>.</p><p>But achieving all this success before she turned 18 had a downside, Rimes told Insider. She said that she felt like she had to be "superhuman" most of the time and that the stress had physical consequences including <a href="https://www.insider.com/guides/health/mental-health/what-is-anxiety" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">anxiety</a> and <a href="https://www.insider.com/guides/health/mental-health/what-is-depression" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">depression</a>.</p><p>Rimes recalled "showing up onstage with a 104-degree fever" as a teen and "vomiting backstage before I went on."</p><p>"I fainted backstage at 14," she said. "I've had to walk off a couple of times on stage and just be like, 'I can't finish the show.'"</p><p>Rimes said her family has a history of <a href="https://www.insider.com/guides/health/mental-health/what-is-anxiety" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">anxiety</a> and depression; her mom had depression when the singer was growing up. But she believes fame played a role, too.</p><p>"Being in the public eye from the time I was very young and having to override my humanness I think was a huge part of my experience with anxiety and depression and what was triggering it," she said.</p><p>By the time she was 30, Rimes knew she needed to seek professional help. "I was in a very, very dark place. I had never been alone," she said. "There was always someone around, whether it be a parent or a manager, an agent or a publicist, or a husband, or whatever it was."</p><p>The day after her 30th birthday, on August 28, 2012, Rimes <a href="https://abcnews.go.com/Entertainment/leann-rimes-treatment-star-sets-record-straight/story?id=17552092" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">checked into a treatment center</a> to address her anxiety and depression.</p><p>"It was just time," she said. "It was time for me to break away from my deep codependency and to figure out what was chemically going on to be able to <a href="https://www.businessinsider.com/leann-rimes-seeks-treatment-for-stress-and-anxiety-2012-8" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">take care of myself</a>."</p><div type="image" title="A black and white photo of LeAnn Rimes wearing an embellished fish net mesh top while looking into the camera against a white background" height="5728" width="8432" msid="92906376" hostid="261"></div><h2>After years of feeling like she had to 'feed the beast' that is the music business, Rimes put her mental health first</h2><p>Rimes <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P4PJbat6OYk&amp;t=390s" target="_blank" rel="nofollow nofollow noopener sponsored sponsored">told Katie Couric in 2012</a> that the 30-day stay in the treatment center was life-changing.</p><p>"I loved being in there," Rimes told Couric. "And it felt great to have other people going through the same things have that empathy and understanding."</p><p>Rimes told Couric she especially valued her peers' treating her like a person, not just a celebrity. She said she made lifelong friendships and was delighted "to be there for someone else and have these people actually respect and love me for the help that I gave them emotionally, not because of LeAnn Rimes."</p><div type="image" title="A black and white album cover featuring a close-up of LeAnn Rimes with part of her face covered by her hair. The cover includes the titles of the album, &quot;GOD'S WORK.&quot;" height="3000" width="3000" msid="92906377" hostid="261"></div><p>After releasing an album a year for most of her teens and early 20s, Rimes has tried to slow down, she told Insider, asking herself if she really needs to be a "constant source of production." Her album "god's work," out September 16, took her three years to complete. She said it was "a huge change" from when she was younger and "feeling like I had to constantly feed the beast" that is the music business.</p><p>The LP will include <a href="https://orcd.co/thewild" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">her latest single, "the wild."</a> In a press release, Rimes described the songs as "a battle cry" against the patriarchal world that often shames and silences women for speaking their minds.</p><p>Rimes has changed the way she navigates the business side of her career, too. "I'm much more aware of my own needs and desires and limitations, and I structure my life around that, instead of allowing it to structure me," she told Insider.</p><p>Vulnerability continues to be a major aspect of Rimes' public persona. In 2020, she did a <a href="https://www.glamour.com/story/leann-rimes-psoriasis-photos" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">nude photo shoot for Glamour</a> amid a psoriasis flare-up.</p><p>Rimes, who has had the condition since she was 2, told Insider that her experience of treatment had been "traumatic" at times. With the photo shoot, she said, "I feel like I liberated the kid in me that always felt like she had to hide in some way."</p><p>"Whether or not you have psoriasis, we're all hiding something, right?" she continued. "So I hope I inspired people to allow the parts of themselves that they feel like they have to hide to be seen."</p><div type="image" title="Singer LeAnn Rimes wears a nude-colored embellished fish net mesh top while smiling into the camera against a white background" height="4480" width="6720" msid="92906379" hostid="261"></div><h2>Rimes practices self-care and encourages others to do the same</h2><p>Rimes has been honest about her mental health, <a href="https://people.com/country/leann-rimes-depression-anxiety-taking-away-shame-so-important/" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">opening up to People in 2020</a> about her struggles with panic attacks, persistent negative thoughts, and lack of sleep. She told Insider she <a href="https://www.insider.com/what-leann-rimes-did-to-get-in-the-best-shape-of-her-career-2017-6" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">relies on self-care practices</a> like red-light therapy, meditation, and getting out into nature whenever she can to center herself.</p><p>Sometimes taking care of herself means spending a day on the couch. "Being on the road, I think what I'm learning is that as much energy as I give out, I have to fill myself back up to be able to continue to give it back out, so sometimes Netflix and 'Grace and Frankie' are my jam," she said.</p><p>Rimes also promotes self-care through <a href="https://www.iheart.com/podcast/1119-wholly-human-with-leann-r-74121014/" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">her podcast, "Wholly Human."</a> The show often features authors and experts, like the motivational speaker Gabby Bernstein and the counselor and coach Nancy Jane Smith, discussing topics like happiness and how to navigate anxiety.</p><p>"I come in as a student, just as I hope the rest of my listeners do," Rimes said. "Each and every episode I feel like I'm going through therapy, so it's somewhat selfish in that way. It's like, 'Oh, I want these people to talk to because I want to learn.'"</p><p>Rimes said her mental-health journey has taught her how to appreciate the lessons her 14-year-old self has for her today.</p><p>"My teenage self, she was gutsy. She knew what she wanted," she said. "I knew what songs I wanted to record; I knew how I wanted to record them. And then along the way, life and people in the industry and just in the world got in my ear, and I stopped trusting that piece of me.</p><p>"And so these last 10 years for me have been really about coming home to that. If I need to have a lot of courage, I summon her, because she was very courageous, for sure."</p>

LeAnn Rimes took off her 'superhuman' celebrity cape a decade ago to focus on her mental health. She hasn't looked back.

<p><a href="https://www.insider.com/category/me-first"></a></p><div type="image" title="Choreographer Saleemah E. Knight wears a colorful mesh bodycon dress, stilettos, and hoop earrings while smiling into the camera. She's standing on a rooftop against a backdrop of an LA cityscape.." height="1972" width="2630" msid="92907693" hostid="261"></div><ul class="summary-list"><li>Saleemah E. Knight is an accomplished choreographer working to make the <keyword id="11906661" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="dance" source="Orion">dance</keyword> industry more inclusive.</li><li>Knight reflected on her journey in the dance world, telling Insider, "I'm walking in my truth."</li></ul><p><a href="https://www.saleemaheknight.com/" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">Saleemah E. Knight</a> remembers the first time she felt like she had a place in the dance industry. She was 12 years old and landed a gig as a <keyword id="12313198" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="dancer" source="Orion">dancer</keyword> in the premiere production of "The Harlem Nutcracker," the brainchild of the <a href="https://www.thehistorymakers.org/biography/donald-byrd" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">world-renowned choreographer Donald Byrd</a>. </p><p>It was a pivotal moment for the aspiring performer, who felt appreciated as a Black dancer in a field that often favors whiteness. "Donald selected me out of hundreds of little kids," Knight told Insider. "It gave me that first moment of really feeling like, 'Wow, I'm valuable in this community.'" </p><p>Knight, who <a href="https://medium.com/@SteveLanae/entertainment-business-through-the-lens-of-professional-choreographer-hybrid-dance-artist-3282fe06af26" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">started dancing at age 3</a> as a rehabilitative treatment for rheumatoid arthritis, said working with Byrd helped her see the sort of impact a leader in dance could make. "It was such a big moment where he basically took a very European theme — 'The Nutcracker' — and placed bodies of color at the center of it," she said.</p><p>About five years later, Knight was awarded a full-ride scholarship to the University of Arizona after completing a master class at the school's Jazz in AZ showcase, where she earned praise from the likes of <a href="https://bemoveddance.com/sherry" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">Sherry Zunker</a> — a dancer, choreographer, and artistic director — for her choreographic contributions. Knight graduated early and magna cum laude, receiving a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree from Arizona's School of Dance in 2005. She then received a graduate fellowship to complete her Master of Fine Arts at the University of California, Irvine, in 2013. </p><p>A dance protégé since her youth, Knight is now skilled in multiple genres of dance, including ballet, jazz, contemporary, tap, modern, and hip-hop. Since 2014, she's been a professor at the University of Southern California's Glorya Kaufman School of Dance — a program she helped build from scratch — where she teaches jazz dance technique and courses related to dance history, popular <keyword id="11899151" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="100" keywordseo="culture" source="Orion">culture</keyword>, and cultural practices.</p><p>She also designed and instituted courses like the Origins of Jazz, World Perspectives on Dance, and Dance in Popular Culture to explore relevant cultural concepts in dance.</p><h2><div type="image" title="Saleemah E. Knight, wearing an all-black outfit, leads a dance with two performers as they reach their arms back, lift their heads up, and stand on their toes." height="737" width="1125" msid="92885581" hostid="261"></div></h2><h2><strong>Coping with grief and pursuing fulfillment</strong> </h2><p>Whenever Knight speaks to young hopefuls in the performing arts, she emphasizes that her career has not been linear. Her professional journey is akin to a continuous dance — equal parts choreographed and improvised — filled with leaps of faith and piqués that have propelled her across different stages of life.</p><p>Her success didn't come without missteps and wobbles, but Knight continued to give herself grace, keeping in mind that she has the right and capability to pursue her passions. She channeled this mindset in 2008 when her mother encouraged her to audition for "The Lion King" on Broadway, just two weeks after her father, Leonard G. Knight, died. </p><p>"It was a really dark period for me," Knight said, adding that she initially declined to audition as she dealt with grief. But the day before the audition, Knight's mother gave her another gentle nudge, and Knight knew that her father would want her to go for it. </p><p>"The next morning, I got up at 8 a.m.," Knight recalled, fighting back tears. "I put my unitard on, and I went to the audition." There were thousands of dancers in attendance, vying for a coveted spot in the production. "In my head, I'm like, 'I'm so broken. I don't think I can do this,'" she said. </p><p>But Knight found a way to push forward: "I looked up, and I said, 'Dad, give me strength.'"</p><p>She went into the audition, giving it her all, and ended up booking the job. She performed in the production for three years and played six parts, including a featured role as a lioness. To this day, she believes that securing a spot in the show was an ordained accomplishment. </p><p>"My dad's initials were LK, and 'The Lion King' was the first job I got after he died," Knight said. "The story is about losing your father and coming of age. It was another moment where I felt like I'm supposed to be here. I'm walking in my truth. I'm on the right path."</p><h2><div type="image" title="Choreographer Saleemah E. Knight wears a colorful mesh bodycon dress while smiling into the camera. She's sitting on a cognac leather couch decorated with blue and white pillows." height="2345" width="3517" msid="92885584" hostid="261"></div></h2><h2><strong>Letting her light shine</strong></h2><p>As Knight acquired more notches on her belt — including performing with <a href="https://youtu.be/5EwZ_AzDDM4" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">Beyoncé at the 2011 Billboard Music Awards</a>, providing movement coaching for dancers performing with Wiz Khalifa and Daddy Yankee, and appearing in the award-winning 2020 documentary <a href="https://uprootedfilm.com/" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">"Uprooted: The Journey of Jazz Dance"</a> as a historian — she noticed a shift in some of her friendships that left her at a crossroads. </p><p>"There were some experiences where people were supposed to be there for me, and I thought that they were rooting for me, but they ended up being kind of destructive," Knight said. "It felt like they wanted me to dim my light. I had to basically say, 'This is not worth it. I don't think this friendship is serving me very well, and it's clear that you can't be supportive of me in this new phase of life. So I think it's best if I just walk away from it.'"</p><p>It wasn't an easy decision, but it was necessary for personal growth, Knight said. "Part of my self-love is being able to say no to things that aren't serving my energy in that moment," she added.</p><h2><strong>Making dance more inclusive</strong></h2><p>Protecting her peace, Knight said, has allowed her to be more present in both her personal and professional life. It's also helped her stay focused as she works to make dance a more inclusive space. </p><p>"The work that I do as a professor is amazing," Knight said. "Yes, it's a title, and it's an honor, but I do it to push my field forward so that we can evolve and grow." She added that she hopes to decenter whiteness and dismantle racial hierarchies in dance while expanding the knowledge and curriculum of comprehensive cultural dance "outside of the Western canon."</p><p>One way she expands and preserves cultural awareness is by incorporating historical lessons into her dance classes. For instance, during a <a href="https://youtu.be/_gxsEImWmtI" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">contemporary jazz master class</a> in 2021, Knight taught a group of young dancers how to do a lively step that originated from the Lindy Hop, a genre of dance popularized by a group of Black performers during the Harlem Renaissance. </p><p>"Norma Miller, Billy Ricker, all these people I mentioned the other day, Shorty George, all are a part of this crew of Lindy Hoppers," Knight told the class. "These are the people that created these dances."</p><p>In other courses, Knight has discussed topics like the commercialization of hip-hop and the appropriation of classical Indian dance and Bollywood culture.</p><div type="image" title="Saleemah E. Knight stretches with one leg extended out during a master class." height="737" width="1125" msid="92885586" hostid="261"></div><p>Knight has also formed "natural connections" with the young women of color who take her dance classes and feel like they can be their authentic selves. "There's a 'strong Black woman' trope that we see quite a bit," Knight told Insider. "I want to show them that we don't have to be that all the time. It's okay for us to be soft and have fun."</p><p>For Knight, fighting for more inclusivity in dance also extends into an oft-taboo topic in the performing arts and media industries. "If I could shout this through a megaphone all over the world, I would: Give choreographers credit for their intellectual property," she said, noting that choreographers are often credited as "miscellaneous crew," even in dance-centric films and TV shows. </p><p>It all goes back to Knight's mission to inspire other creatives, especially marginalized folks, to follow their passions, recognize their worth, and forge their own paths — one rhythmic step at a time. </p>

Saleemah E. Knight is a dancer and choreographer who has performed with Beyoncé. To grow in her career, she channeled inner strength and self-love.

<p><a href="https://www.insider.com/category/me-first"></a></p><div type="image" title="Kimberly Wilson stands wearing a black shirt with the word Founder written on it" height="853" width="1280" msid="92556076" hostid="261" sizebytes="40648"></div><ul class="summary-list"><li><keyword id="14324916" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="kimberly-wilson" source="Orion">Kimberly Wilson</keyword>'s startup, <keyword id="14324917" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="hued" source="Orion">Hued</keyword>, connects people of color with culturally competent doctors.</li><li>Wilson, who has <keyword id="14324918" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="fibroids" source="Orion">fibroids</keyword>, once drove 250 miles to see a Black OB-GYN for care tailored to her needs.</li></ul><p>Kimberly Wilson had long struggled with her period. As a teen, she soaked through ultra tampons in 30 minutes, and her menstrual pain often kept her home from school.</p><p>By the time she entered the workforce, Wilson's symptoms had intensified. She struggled with severe constipation and unexplained weight gain. </p><p>Then, one morning after a workout in 2017, Wilson doubled over in pain. She couldn't even get herself into an Uber to the emergency room without assistance, and on the way to the hospital, she had to open the car door multiple times to vomit.</p><p>"I thought I was going to die," Wilson, then 29, said.</p><p>At the hospital, Wilson was diagnosed with 30 <a href="https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/uterine-fibroids/symptoms-causes/syc-20354288" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">fibroids</a>, noncancerous growths in her uterus. They are especially common — and underdiagnosed — in Black women. </p><p>"I had never heard of fibroids, and then to find out I had 30 — it was a lot," she said. So was stomaching the solution her white male doctor gave her: a hysterectomy.</p><p>"There was no level setting," Wilson said. "He was just so flippant with me." </p><p>Wilson sought second, third, and fourth opinions from other doctors, all of whom were white men. She said they either dismissed her pain or insisted a hysterectomy was her only option. It wasn't until she visited a Black woman OB-GYN that she found someone who validated her experience and offered her a uterus-sparing treatment.</p><p>Now 34, Wilson is the founder of <a href="https://huedco.com/" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">Hued</a>, a digital-health company focused on improving quality of care for Black, Latino, and Indigenous populations through education, access, and data. It began by pairing patients of color with culturally competent providers so that fewer people would have experiences like Wilson's.</p><p>"I believe in and bet on myself," said Wilson, who put her savings into starting the company while on bed rest from surgery to remove her fibroids. "I knew I was going to do everything within my human capacity to make it work." </p><div type="image" title="Kimberly Wilson wears a blue blazer over a black and white striped dress while smiling and leaning against a railing" height="3600" width="2401" msid="92556078" hostid="261" sizebytes="372512"></div><h2>A culturally competent OB-GYN changed Wilson's life  </h2><p>While some people with fibroids experience few to no side effects, others struggle with heavy periods, fertility problems, abdominal pain, gastrointestinal problems, and more.</p><p>Wilson was among the latter group and needed morphine to cope. </p><p>Determined to save her uterus, Wilson took her mom's advice and a friend's recommendation to seek out a Black female OB-GYN for a fifth opinion. That meant traveling more than 250 miles from her home in New York to <a href="https://www.hopkinsmedicine.org/profiles/details/khara-simpson" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">Johns Hopkins University</a> in Baltimore, but she said it was worth it.</p><p>"The experience was a complete 180, from bedside manner to treatment options, to even recommendations and resources relative to managing my diagnosis," Wilson, who now lives in Washington, DC, said. </p><p>She eventually underwent an <a href="https://www.ucsfhealth.org/treatments/myomectomy#:~:text=Also%20known%20as%20an%20%22open,using%20several%20layers%20of%20stitches." target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">abdominal myomectomy</a>, an invasive procedure to remove her fibroids that required six to eight weeks of bed rest. By then, her business plan for Hued was well underway. </p><p>"Why is it so hard to find providers that see me and understand me and care about my lived experiences as a Black woman?" Wilson said of her feelings at the time. "That became the catalyst for me starting Hued." </p><h2>Hued has expanded from its original model as a 'Zocdoc for people of color'</h2><p>Wilson launched Hued in 2019. She credits her experience in law school and with various service and social-impact organizations with giving her the connections and confidence to build a business from the ground up.</p><p>"I've always been a person who has been able to bring an idea forth and really execute on that," she said. </p><p>At first, the company was like a "Zocdoc for us, by us," Wilson said. But with only 6% of healthcare providers in the US identifying as Black, many patients, especially in smaller cities and more rural areas, were left wanting.</p><p>"It's very problematic to tell a Black patient that the only way to find great care in this country is to find a Black doctor," Wilson said.</p><p>So Hued has expanded to offer an e-learning platform with anti-racist and implicit-bias training for providers, as well as lessons in culturally competent care, such as identifying skin cancers in Black skin. <a href="https://www.cnbc.com/2021/08/09/serena-williams-female-founders-fund-invest-in-racial-health-equity-startup.html" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">Serena Williams' venture-capital fund is among those</a> that helped Hued raise $1.6 million in seed funding last year.</p><p>Wilson said the pandemic's spotlight on <keyword id="11894571" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="100" keywordseo="health" source="Orion">health</keyword> and racial-justice issues has benefited the business. It now has 11 full- and part-time employees and has been featured in publications including <a href="https://www.forbes.com/sites/ravaldavis/2021/08/10/serena-williams-joins-funders-backing-kimberly-wilsons-hued-a-health-care-company-addressing-racial-disparities-in-health/?sh=73c0e107d172" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">Forbes</a> and <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BxIOc3TFxH6/" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">NBC</a>.</p><p>All the while, she's relied on the same instinct that drove her to find a fifth opinion for her fibroids.</p><p>"I was going to do anything and everything that was going to be best for me at that time," Wilson said. "Being able to trust myself and trust my gut — that has always guided me."</p>

A Black doctor changed Kimberly Wilson's life — and inspired her to start a medical-care company focused on people of color

<p><a href="https://www.insider.com/category/me-first"></a></p><div type="image" title="Naomi Osaka looks pensive while wearing a black and orange tennis shirt and visor and holding two tennis balls" height="916" width="1221" msid="92443800" hostid="261" sizebytes="82494"></div><ul class="summary-list"><li>In an <keyword id="11898458" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="essay" source="Orion">essay</keyword> for Insider, <keyword id="11901215" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="naomi-osaka" source="Orion">Naomi Osaka</keyword> reflects on her mental-health journey and business ventures.</li><li>"I have a duty to use my platform to help create a more progressive world for others," Osaka wrote.</li></ul><p>As a young girl, I was always tasked with writing down a list of tangible goals I wanted to accomplish in my lifetime. I'm not sure if I ever really put pen to paper, but being a professional tennis player was at the top of my list. Little did I know that all my dreams would come true and I would end up <a href="https://www.insider.com/naomi-osaka-career-biography-photos-2019-1" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">moving the needle</a> for marginalized communities.</p><p>I'm proud to have accomplished many historic firsts, such as becoming the first Asian ranked as the <a href="https://www.espn.com/tennis/story/_/id/25855373/stats-naomi-osaka-first-asian-world-no1-marathon-australian-open-final-vs-petra-kvitova" target="_blank" rel="nofollow nofollow noopener sponsored sponsored">No. 1 tennis player in the world</a>, the first Japanese player to <a href="https://olympics.com/en/news/naomi-osaka-makes-history-with-us-open-win" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">win a Grand Slam singles title</a> (I've now won <a href="https://olympics.nbcsports.com/2021/02/20/naomi-osaka-australian-open-jennifer-brady/" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">four Grand Slams</a>), and the first tennis player to <a href="https://www.insider.com/naomi-osaka-lits-tokyo-olympics-cauldron-during-opening-ceremony-2021-7" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">light the torch at the Olympic Games</a>.</p><p>Those are notable firsts, but they never felt like enough. I didn't understand why until I realized I kept losing sight of the most important goal: putting myself first.</p><p>The journey toward <a href="https://www.insider.com/naomi-osaka-felt-ungrateful-enjoying-life-as-a-tennis-star-2021-8" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">prioritizing mental health is complicated</a>, and there is no definitive finish line. As many know, especially professional athletes, there are few conversations around what it means to put your <keyword id="11902572" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="mental-health" source="Orion">mental health</keyword> before winning and how challenging it can be. After all, the only "first" we ever strive for is first place.</p><div type="image" title="Naomi Osaka wears a green tennis outfit while holding a tennis racket and looking focused during a match." height="3332" width="5000" msid="92396260" hostid="261"></div><p>Fortunately, I'm surrounded by a network of people who have taught me a valuable lesson during this journey: Confidence and self-assurance are just as valuable as physical skills. Champions need to have a <a href="https://www.insider.com/naomi-osaka-twitter-note-celebrate-herself-stop-self-deprecating-mindset-2021-8" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">healthy, productive mindset</a> — and that can be learned, just like we learn to serve or shoot in tennis.</p><p>Tennis is an especially mental game. You're a team of one on the court, which means only you can get in your way. That's why I'm lucky to have family, friends, and people I admire that remind me to believe in myself whenever I'm unable to. These are all things that I continue to learn and share openly with others because advocating for mental well-being should be at the forefront of conversations about holistic <keyword id="11894571" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="health" source="Orion">health</keyword>.</p><p>Being one of the first athletes to inspire <a href="https://www.insider.com/naomi-osaka-french-open-withdrawal-inspired-changes-to-press-expectations-2022-6" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">widespread conversations about mental health</a>, especially as it relates to athletes of color, holds a special place in my heart. My mom is Japanese, and my dad is Haitian, so I identify with both communities. With so few role models in the tennis world that were Asian or Black, this left me with very few footsteps to follow.</p><p>My upbringing propelled me to start my foundation <a href="https://www.laureus.com/news/play-academy-with-naomi-osaka-expands-to-los-angeles-and-haiti-to-empower-more-girls-through-play-and-sport" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">Play Academy with Naomi Osaka</a>, which helps girls like me who may feel discouraged from playing <keyword id="11893855" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="100" keywordseo="sports" source="Orion">sports</keyword>. Young women from all cultural backgrounds deserve to enjoy the blessings and virtues that sports have to offer. I am hoping to show them what they can achieve on and off the court by using their voices to spark change and create business opportunities for themselves.</p><div type="image" title="Naomi Osaka participates in Play Academy program activities with a group of kids at First Break Academy Carson, California." height="2955" width="4332" msid="92396262" hostid="261"></div><p>Achieving greatness is less challenging if a path has already been forged for you. But for those who don't have an established, viable course, it's easier for self-doubt to fester: <em>Why hasn't this been done before? Does a girl like me have the right to dream this big?</em></p><p>It's a daunting mental psych-out, but I look to inspirations such as Billie Jean King and the Williams sisters to overcome it.</p><p>I want to create a world in which young girls and female athletes have relatable role models and <a href="https://www.insider.com/naomi-osaka-discusses-olympic-games-mental-health-training-2021-6" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">dreams that feel attainable</a>. If they're represented, they're more likely to feel confident. And it goes beyond seeing someone who looks like them succeed; It's about having equal access to all opportunities at the most basic levels.</p><p>That is why, in addition to <a href="https://www.modernhealth.com/post/tennis-player-naomi-osaka-joins-modern-health" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">partnering with Modern Health</a>, I recently launched my sports-management company, <a href="https://www.si.com/tennis/2022/05/11/naomi-osaka-starting-sports-agency-evolve-makes-history-report" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">Evolve</a>, with my business partner Stuart Duguid. Being at the helm of my own agency will enable me to do things my way and provide accessible pathways to success for more people.</p><p>I also <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/CfE7IGmpUXE/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">recently announced Hana Kuma</a>, a media company in partnership with LeBron James and Maverick Carter's <a href="https://www.springhillcompany.com/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">SpringHill Company</a> to tell more stories about people like me and to lift up global creators who have specific but universal stories to tell. Working alongside people I admire and trust to create companies that support and empower is something I am really proud of.</p><p>Additionally, I created <a href="https://www.kinlo.com/" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored nofollow sponsored">Kinlò</a>, a sun-care line for people with melanated skin tones. There have been very few conversations around the importance of sun care for people with melanated skin tones, even though we are just as susceptible to skin cancer as those with fair skin tones. I created a brand to help remedy that plight because everyone should have access to products that were made for them — products that make them feel seen, worthy, and confident.</p><p>All of this fuels me because I know I am helping someone else see the potential within themselves. Meanwhile, I'm realizing that many people struggle with self-valuation, and I was never actually alone in this feeling.</p><p>Putting myself first has helped me learn to be confident, trust myself, and recognize that I know what is best for me. I created boundaries to disarm the things that were draining me and made room for the things that galvanized me.</p><p>Being "the first" in many of my professional pursuits is an indescribable feeling, and it comes with many responsibilities. I have a duty to use my platform to help create a more progressive world for others, but I can't do any of that if I don't honor the most important thing: myself.</p>

Naomi Osaka: I broke barriers, but I should have put myself first

<p><a href="https://www.insider.com/category/me-first"></a></p><div type="image" title="Amy Schneider smiles while wearing a red floral dress and posing outside near water, grass, and a cityscape." height="1999" width="2666" msid="91946707" hostid="261"></div><ul class="summary-list"><li>Coming out as transgender helped the "<keyword id="11909318" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="jeopardy" source="Orion">Jeopardy</keyword>" champion <keyword id="14090278" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="amy-schneider" source="Orion">Amy Schneider</keyword> in many aspects of her life.</li><li>Now, Schneider told Insider, she finds it much easier to open up and connect with people.</li></ul><p>Amy Schneider knew when she needed to come out as transgender.</p><p>"It was just the thought suddenly crossing my mind that were I to die at that moment, that I would be buried in a suit and have my old name on my gravestone," Schneider told Insider.</p><p>Schneider, who is the most <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2022/01/26/style/amy-schneider-jeopardy.html">successful woman to have competed on "Jeopardy,"</a> with a 40-game winning streak, came out as trans over a period from the end of 2016 to the beginning of 2017.</p><p>"It felt like something I did not have a choice about," Schneider said of making the decision to come out. "For me to continue to hide myself and to continue to wear my old clothes and answer to my old name and all that sort of thing, it just felt intolerable."</p><p>Coming out helped Schneider in ways that she couldn't have predicted. By embracing herself, she went from a shy, introverted person to one who could easily form connections. Her newfound strength gave her the push she needed to apply again to be on "Jeopardy" after previous attempts.</p><div type="image" title="Amy Schneider sits on a bench outside while wearing a red floral dress and drop earrings." height="3334" width="2667" msid="91946708" hostid="261"></div><h2>Coming out was less scary than Schneider envisioned</h2><p>While she lost a good friend in the process, Schneider's decision to come out went a lot better than she imagined.</p><p>"When I came out and I was like, 'This is who I am,' the general reaction was, 'Well, OK. Let's move on,' which was pretty surprising and pretty wonderful," Schneider said.</p><p>Schneider's mother was the toughest person for her to share the news with, but there was never a sense that she wasn't accepting of her daughter on a basic level.</p><p>Growing up in Dayton, Ohio, in a religious family, Schneider said it was difficult to be herself because it wasn't how she was raised, adding that it's "not a very Catholic thing to do to put yourself first." Schneider hasn't considered herself Catholic for at least two decades, <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2022/01/26/style/amy-schneider-jeopardy.html">a January New York Times profile</a> on her said.</p><p>"When I told my mom, the first thing she said was, 'That's a hard life,'" Schneider said. "There's some truth in that. It's hard, especially right now, as there's so much hatred out there in the world for people like me. And to see that happening and to feel picked on and targeted, that's not a good feeling.</p><p>"That's been tough, but it certainly, certainly is all outweighed by far by the good things that have come out of it."</p><div type="image" title="Amy Schneider smiles while wearing a red floral dress and posing outside near a cityscape." height="3204" width="2563" msid="91946709" hostid="261"></div><h2><strong>Coming out helped Schneider fully appreciate life </strong></h2><p>Coming out taught Schneider unexpected lessons about herself. </p><p>"I became myself in so many more ways than just my gender," Schneider said.</p><p>Before, Schneider had a tough time connecting with others. When she was no longer hiding part of herself, she shed her difficulties with meeting and opening up to people, she said.</p><p>"I feel like I became better at my job. I became better in relationships. I became better in all these different ways because I could be fully present in them in a way that I'd never been able to be before," Schneider said, adding that she's glad that she was able to participate on "Jeopardy," a <a href="https://www.jeopardy.com/jbuzz/contestants/amy-schneider-what-i-learned-my-jeopardy-experience">lifelong dream since childhood</a>, after making the decision to transition.</p><p>"Things would've gone differently for me had I gotten onto 'Jeopardy' before transitioning," Schneider, who tested <a href="https://www.newsweek.com/amy-schneider-reveals-she-tried-get-jeopardy-over-decade-1651832">multiple times over a decade</a> to appear on the game show, said. "People wouldn't have liked me as much. People wouldn't have connected with me because I wasn't giving them anything to connect to."</p><p>Still, it was a difficult decision for Schneider to apply again after coming out.</p><p>"One of the things I struggled with was whether to use the same email address I had applied with in the past," Schneider said. She was concerned that if she used the same address with a different first name that it would be obvious she was trans to anyone looking at the records.</p><p>Ultimately, Schneider used the same email address. She knew the show would eventually learn she was trans either way and thought it may improve her chances if they knew she previously applied.</p><p>"It's not something I'm going to hide. It's not something I probably could hide if I wanted to. It just made sense to own that all throughout the process," she said.</p><p>Schneider will return to Jeopardy later this year for the Tournament of Champions, which will air in the fall. </p><div type="image" title="Amy Schneider poses against the backdrop of a cityscape while wearing a red floral dress." height="1892" width="2523" msid="91946710" hostid="261"></div><h2>Schneider says coming out is for everyone. It doesn't need to be about sexuality.</h2><p>Since appearing on "Jeopardy," Schneider has received messages not only from fans who have relayed that she has helped them feel "like more was possible than they realized" but also from families of those who have come out.</p><p>"I've gotten more comments that I have helped loved ones, parents and grandparents, of trans people," Schneider said, adding that was likely due in part to the demographic of the game show. The show's median viewer is 68.</p><p>Coming out has been a rewarding, fulfilling experience for Schneider. She said coming out shouldn't be limited to people in LGBTQ communities.</p><p>"It can feel like that's great if you have something to come out as, if you're gay or trans, but I think that coming out is something that's for everyone," Schneider said. "It doesn't have to be about your sexuality or anything."</p><p>Schneider offered the example of a person who may tell family and friends they want kids but deep down knows they don't.</p><p>"Coming out's for everyone," Schneider added. "I recommend it highly."</p>

Coming out helped 'Jeopardy' champion Amy Schneider become herself in more ways than she expected

<div type="image" title="Jessamyn Stanley does a yoga pose while wearing a gray two-piece matching exercise set on a light red mat." height="1640" width="2500" msid="91840458" hostid="261"></div><ul class="summary-list"><li>Jessamyn Stanley is an internationally-known <keyword id="6355812" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="yoga" source="Orion">yoga</keyword> instructor and <keyword id="11910359" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="cannabis" source="Orion">cannabis</keyword> advocate.</li><li>In 2019, she shared her cannabis use and advocacy publicly for the first time ever.</li></ul><p>When Jessamyn Stanley smokes a joint, she feels free.</p><p>Stanley, a 34-year-old <a href="https://www.instagram.com/mynameisjessamyn/">internationally renowned yoga instructor</a> who founded the cannabis-advocacy organization <a href="https://www.wegohigh.info/">We Go High NC</a>, said cannabis saved her life after she discovered its ability to quiet her anxious mind in her early 20s.</p><p>As she continued to use cannabis, Stanley read about its therapeutic benefits and the social and racial inequities that exist in the cannabis industry. As a queer Black woman, Stanley said it was troubling to learn about the <a href="https://www.aclu.org/gallery/marijuana-arrests-numbers">disproportionate number of Black people incarcerated for having weed</a>.</p><p>But she avoided expressing these views or sharing her personal use as she was becoming increasingly well known on social media for her body-positive approach to exercise. She said she feared being judged and losing work.</p><p>She said the weight of hiding her passion for cannabis, now a daily practice, became unbearable when she accepted a job where she was contractually obligated to stay mum on the topic because of a morality clause.</p><p>"I never wanted to be in a situation like that again where I couldn't talk about something and that would cause me to be dishonest to a degree," Stanley told Insider. "Because so much of yoga, ultimately, is about honesty with yourself, and I felt like I was not honestly living my yoga practice if I was concealing this piece of myself."</p><p>Once the contract ended in 2019, Stanley publicly shared her love of marijuana for the first time, on the cover of Yoga Journal.</p><p>Shortly after that, Stanley cofounded We Go High, a mission-driven for-profit organization, in her home state of North Carolina, where cannabis is illegal. The organization educates local communities about weed and champions legislation to decriminalize cannabis, guided by Stanley's belief that no one should go to jail over marijuana.</p><div type="image" title="Jessamyn Stanley stands amid a cannabis farm wearing a shirt that says, &quot;No one should be in jail for weed.&quot;" height="3646" width="5469" msid="91840460" hostid="261"></div><p>"The freedom to operate as I like is invaluable," she said. "I think that has been the greatest payoff for me, knowing I can operate from a place of integrity where I don't need to conceal this piece of me."</p><p>Stanley said that while her openness about using cannabis closed the door to certain business opportunities, she doesn't regret the decision, because others see her authenticity as a positive.</p><p>Adidas asked her to be a brand ambassador after she publicly shared that part of her identity — she said it was one of her proudest moments.</p><p>"It was not a part of the conversation. I feel the brand respects the authenticity of my voice and my connection with my community, and they choose to support that above all else," Stanley said.</p><p>But most rewarding, she said, is the chance to witness how her honesty about cannabis use inspires others to speak up too or change their views on it.</p><div type="image" title="Jessamyn Stanley does a yoga pose while wearing a red, pink, and white two-piece exercise set." height="2500" width="1667" msid="91840462" hostid="261"></div><p>In June 2021, Stanley released her second book, "<a href="https://www.workman.com/products/yoke">Yoke: My Yoga of Self-Acceptance</a>," where she shares her journey of self-love. In it, she explains how her cannabis use, much like her yoga practice, helped her grow into her authentic self.</p><p>In bringing together her two passions, smoking weed and getting on the yoga mat, Stanley's never felt more like herself, she said. Now she gets to be a beacon of authenticity for others.</p><p>"There are always people who don't agree with you, and they don't like what you're doing, and maybe they're mad at you or will flat out ignore you," Stanley said. "But inevitably the tide turns, and there are people who find themselves, who are able to see themselves truly, because of you taking a stand."</p>

Yoga instructor Jessamyn Stanley champions cannabis use. Her advocacy started with self-acceptance.

<p><a href="https://www.insider.com/category/me-first"></a></p><div type="image" title="Lauren Ruotolo wears a white blazer, black pants, and red heels while sitting atop a table and leaning against one of her crutches. She's posing in front of a window with a gorgeous view of New York City." height="3840" width="5760" msid="91693628" hostid="261"></div><ul class="summary-list"><li><keyword id="13988538" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="lauren-ruotolo" source="Orion">Lauren Ruotolo</keyword> quit her job as a marketing executive to focus on disability advocacy.</li><li>Ruotolo, who has a rare genetic disease, launched a shoe line with stylish, size-inclusive footwear.</li></ul><p>With her short stature, scoliosis, and metal "arm candy" (also known as crutches), there's always been a good chance people would stare at Lauren Ruotolo.</p><p>She was born with a <a href="https://www.insider.com/womans-constant-nosebleeds-caused-rare-disease-called-hht-2022-3" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">rare genetic disease</a> that affects her bones, skin, and hormones. Her condition posed challenges that could be taken as lifelong limitations, but Ruotolo never got used to taking "no" as an answer.</p><p>"By being disabled, the world tells you no," she said. "They tell you no because they want to keep you safe, but when you're constantly told no, you never believe that you can actually achieve greatness, or that you can achieve success, or that you can be popular." </p><p>Ruotolo didn't let her physical differences keep her from achieving success. She said she looks at her disability as an opportunity to be innovative. She published a memoir, "<a href="https://laurenruotolo.net/book/" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">Unstoppable in Stilettos</a>," in 2010 and recently launched her own <a href="https://unstoppableshoes.com/" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">size-inclusive shoe line</a> that shares the Unstoppable name.</p><div type="image" title="Lauren Ruotolo wears a red top while sitting at a counter with her hands, adorned in yellow statement rings, cross over each other." height="5760" width="3840" msid="91693630" hostid="261"></div><h2><strong>Ruotolo refused to accept physical limits from an early age</strong></h2><p>From a young age, Ruotolo showed signs of an unusual disease. She told Insider that she started <a href="https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/precocious-puberty/symptoms-causes/syc-20351811" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">menstruating at nine months old</a>, shocking her mother and baffling doctors. As she grew, other hallmarks of her disease became evident.</p><p>At a year and a half old, Ruotolo fell and broke her femur — the largest bone in the leg, and one of the most difficult to repair. It was around that time that doctors gave her a diagnosis of <a href="https://rarediseases.org/rare-diseases/mccune-albright-syndrome/" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">McCune-Albright syndrome</a>, a rare genetic disorder characterized by bone weakness, as well as early puberty and café-au-lait skin spots.</p><p>While most people's bones serve as a sturdy framework for their body, Ruotolo has fibrous dysplasia. She said X-rays of her legs appear to be clouded by white spots of scar-like tissue, which make her affected bones prone to breaking.</p><p>After three <a href="https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/diseases/22299-broken-femur" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">femur fractures</a> before the age of 5, Ruotolo said, her doctors were determined to keep her in a wheelchair for her safety. But she remembered saying, "Well, none of my friends are in a wheelchair." Soon, she found a physical therapist who was up for the challenge.</p><p>"She just said, 'You can sit, which will be easy for you, or we can work together, and it'll be very difficult, but you will walk like your friends,'" Ruotolo said her physical therapist told her early on.</p><p>"I just didn't see why I wouldn't walk. At that point in my life, I had already been through so much, and I just remember that day I said, 'I'm going to do this no matter what.'"</p><div type="image" title="Lauren Ruotolo wears a red low-cut top, white pants, and black stilettos while holding crutches and posing near a window with a view of New York City" height="3707" width="5561" msid="91693633" hostid="261"></div><h2><strong>She 'trained like an Olympian' to walk on crutches</strong></h2><p>Ruotolo's headstrong nature wouldn't be enough to carry her through the steep journey ahead, her therapist told her. While her friends were at ballet or soccer after school, Ruotolo was at home doing <a href="https://www.insider.com/man-suffered-shower-strokes-age-31-relearned-to-walk-2022-1" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">physical therapy</a> five days a week so she could walk on crutches.</p><p>The goal of physical therapy was to strengthen the muscles in her legs so they could keep her upright and mobile. Ruotolo had to build "muscles like steel" — and even then, she would need crutches for support.</p><p>After mastering walking in sneakers, Ruotolo wanted to graduate to heels. She was 13 years old, but as a young woman, her feet were about the size of a 6-year-old's.</p><p>"I wanted to wear little kitten heels at that point — this was 1989," she said with a laugh. "I was insistent, but they don't make a size two with heels. And so we had a pair of <keyword id="11937561" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="shoes" source="Orion">shoes</keyword> made."</p><p>Ruotolo said she painted her crutches white and wrapped them with pink ribbon to match her shoes. It was one of the first times she felt pretty or feminine, which wasn't easy for a teenager in a back brace, she said.</p><div type="image" title="Lauren Ruotolo wears a red low-cut top, white pants, and black stilettos while holding crutches and posing in a room decorated with plants, chair, and ceiling lights." height="5760" width="3840" msid="91693635" hostid="261"></div><h2><strong>'Unstoppable in <keyword id="13988539" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="stilettos" source="Orion">stilettos</keyword>'</strong></h2><p>Six years ago, Ruotolo decided she wanted a pair of eye-catching stilettos for her younger sister's wedding. </p><p>She went to a custom shoe store, and the possibilities she found there blew her mind. She bought three pairs of heels that day, including a $300 pair of sparkly gold stilettos that she would wear to the wedding.</p><p>In 2019, Ruotolo launched <a href="https://unstoppableshoes.com/pages/about" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">Unstoppable shoes</a> with four different styles named after strong women in her life. The pandemic hit just after she got her business off the ground, so she's planning a relaunch for summer 2022.</p><div type="image" title="Lauren Ruotolo smiles while wearing a white blazer and leaning on her crutches. She's posing in front of a large window with a gorgeous view of New York City." height="3840" width="5760" msid="91693637" hostid="261"></div><p>Ruotolo says she's committed to making affordable footwear for sizes 3 to 13, which is a wider size range compared to the standard women's 6 to 11.</p><p>After spending decades making a name for herself in marketing, Ruotolo decided to quit her job at Johnson &amp; Johnson to focus on her shoe line and <a href="https://www.businessinsider.com/guides/learning/affordable-online-public-speaking-courses" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">motivational speaking</a>. She made sure that her last day would be one to remember: 2/22/22, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to go all-in on her own brand.</p><p>"I always wanted to feel pretty, and when I put on a pair of shoes, I feel confident," Ruotolo said. "I feel unstoppable. I feel like, you're not going to tell me 'no' in these red pumps."</p>

Lauren Ruotolo has a rare genetic disease that warps her bones. The experience inspired her to start a size-inclusive shoe line.

<p><a href="https://www.insider.com/category/me-first"></a></p><div type="image" title="Interior designer Carmeon Hamilton poses on a couch, wearing a blush pink blazer over a white shirt with blue jeans. She's wearing rose gold and silver jewelry, including rings, bracelets, and a watch." height="4399" width="5500" msid="91447788" hostid="261"></div><ul class="summary-list"><li><keyword id="13876816" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="carmeon-hamilton" source="Orion">Carmeon Hamilton</keyword>, an interior designer, landed on <keyword id="12948931" type="UNKNOWN" weightage="60" keywordseo="hgtv" source="Orion">HGTV</keyword>'s "Reno My Rental" after quitting her job.</li><li>Hamilton told Insider that taking care of your mental health is important for success.</li></ul><p>Carmeon Hamilton was at a crossroads in early 2020.</p><p>An interior designer, Hamilton was working at a retail furniture company as a lead buyer and lead designer. As someone passionate about creating spaces that make people feel at ease, she was a natural fit for the role.</p><p>While working for the company, Hamilton cultivated her social-media presence as an interior designer and started taking on her own clients. It seemed like the ideal setup: She could build her own brand with the benefits of a steady income.</p><p>But things changed when her boss asked her to stop posting on social media.</p><p>"He felt like I should be devoting more of that time to my job," she said. But she didn't think that was fair. She said that the company didn't compensate her for the time she spent working late hours and that she felt like she was being underpaid.</p><p>So Hamilton quit and turned her part-time personal project, <a href="https://carmeonhamilton.com/nubiinteriors" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">Nubi Interiors</a>, into her full-time job.</p><div type="image" title="Interior designer Carmeon Hamilton leans on a counter in her home. She's wearing a blush pink blazer over a white shirt with blue jeans and white loafers. Her home is beautifully decorated with plants, paintings, and geometric furniture and fixtures." height="4999" width="7000" msid="91447789" hostid="261"></div><p>"It was terrifying. It was one of the things that my husband tried to convince me of for years," Hamilton said, speaking of her late husband, <a href="https://people.com/home/hgtv-star-carmeon-hamilton-husband-dead-motorcycle-accident/" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener sponsored">Marcus</a>, who died in 2021 after being hit by an intoxicated driver. "He knew how much I loved my job but how undervalued I was at that job."</p><p>Hamilton launched her business full time on March 1, 2020. She was an immediate success, in large part because of the social-media community she had spent years building.</p><p>Hamilton said she thinks she found a niche in the market because, unlike many other designers, she was already working with clients remotely when the pandemic hit.</p><p>"I had thousands of people that wanted to work with me," she said. "I tripled my corporate salary in the first six months of being an entrepreneur." She said that in addition to taking on work designing people's homes, she was able to say yes to brand collaborations that would have been a conflict of interest when she had her corporate job.</p><div type="image" title="A close-up of Carmeon Hamilton, who is wearing a blush pink blazer over a white shirt." height="6000" width="4800" msid="91447790" hostid="261"></div><h2>Hamilton is committed to putting her mental health and family first</h2><p>Hamilton said that working for herself gave her the opportunity to create a job that centered on her personal life, not the other way around. She said that she set up her workflow so she had no meetings on Mondays and Fridays and that she was always done with work by the time Marcus and their son, Davin, arrived home at the end of the day.</p><p>"I care more about living than succeeding," Hamilton told Insider. "I want to live and cherish the moments that I have rather than chase down success. If success comes, that's amazing, but I'm not a hustler. I'm going to do what I have to do in the moment when it's time to work, but I'm going to live when it's time for me to live."</p><h2><div type="image" title="Interior designer Carmeon Hamilton poses on a couch, wearing a blush pink blazer over a white shirt with blue jeans. She's wearing rose gold and silver jewelry, including rings, bracelets, and a watch." height="4800" width="6000" msid="91447792" hostid="261"></div></h2><p>Hamilton's successes led to an HGTV producer recruiting her in the spring of 2021 to participate in "Design Star: Next Gen," a competition show that pits eight designers against one another in a series of challenges. She was floored when she won.</p><p>Hamilton said that after Marcus' death she became even more appreciative of the flexible career she'd carved out for herself.</p><p>"In my husband's tragedy, I was able to just stop and live," she said. "I wasn't pulled in multiple directions trying to be a mom and also grieve as a wife and be a businessperson. I was able to just be for as long as I needed to."</p><div type="image" title="Interior designer Carmeon Hamilton leans on a counter in her home. She's wearing a blush pink blazer over a white shirt with blue jeans and white loafers. Her home is beautifully decorated with plants, paintings, and geometric furniture and fixtures." height="5000" width="7000" msid="91447794" hostid="261"></div><p>As she moves forward in her career — starring in an HGTV show called "Reno My Rental," taking on speaking engagements, and continuing to design one-of-a-kind spaces for clients — Hamilton wants to remain open about the importance of putting life before work, she said.</p><p>"It is very difficult to be a boss or a hustler," she said. "If the foundation that you're trying to work from isn't solid, you can't move and be all things to all people for everything to your business if you don't have a healthy sense of self."</p><p>Hamilton said that no matter how successful she gets, her mental health and her family will always be her top priorities.</p><p>"You have to make sure you're taking care of yourself, because if you're successful at that, you can be successful at anything else," Hamilton said.</p>

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