I never imagined that finding love in my 40s would lead me to reality television. Yet there I was, staring at an Instagram DM from a friend that read: “This show sounds perfect for you 👀.” She’d tagged me in a casting call for Kings Court, a new show set to premiere on Bravo TV and Peacock.

My first instinct was to laugh. I’m a doctor. I’m used to saving lives, not competing for declarations of love on prime-time television.

But after years of long hospital shifts, well-meaning advice from friends and dating apps that felt more like an obstacle course than a love story, I had to face a quieter truth: success hadn’t made dating easier. It had made it lonelier. So, I didn’t delete the message. I sat with it. And eventually, I clicked on the link.

Dating in my 40s as a successful Black woman isn’t what people might imagine. From the outside, it looks like options. On the inside, it often feels like silence.

Between 12-hour workdays, raising my son, and building a life I’m deeply proud of, my time and energy were stretched thin. But what surprised me wasn’t just the lack of time, it was how my success seemed to narrow the dating pool.

As a girl, I grew up with the pressure to perform. This isn’t unique to me – it’s the reality for many Black and brown girls. I understood early that who I was didn’t just reflect on me, it reflected on my household, my community and the generations who came before me.

Excellence wasn’t optional; it was expected. And beneath that expectation, an unspoken question took root: if I have to be twice as good to be seen, what will it take to be chosen?

I grew up watching so many of my aunties, elders and mother figures navigate life on their own – strong, brilliant, resilient, unchosen. If no one was choosing these extraordinary women, what did that mean for me? Even though I was raised to believe that no matter what adversity I faced, God loved me and I was already chosen, I still internalised another message: I had to earn love and acceptance.

I wasn’t searching for someone to complete me. I wanted someone who could meet me. Someone who could stand beside me without needing me to shrink. Someone who understood that being loved shouldn’t require diminishing who you are to fit someone else’s comfort.

So, when I walked onto that reality show set for the first time, I was nervous in a way that surprised me. This was all new: being on camera, sharing myself in an intimate way while millions might eventually watch. My faith in God and the confidence I have in my unique story and all I bring to the table grounded me.

I gravitated toward kindness – the production team was incredibly supportive, and several of the women in the cast were true “girls’ girls”. We had so much fun behind and in front of the camera, cheering one another on and steering clear of drama.

As the cameras rolled, I found myself … just being me. I didn’t feel I had anything to hide, but I did have something to protect: my heart and my sense of worth. I allowed my emotions to unfold in real time.

As I got to know my love interest, there were moments that frustrated and confused me, and viewers saw that on-screen. There were also ooey-gooey moments, deep conversations about our lives, and dreaming out loud about what a future together might look like.

All the ups and downs I’ve experienced over years of dating were compressed into a very intense three-week journey. When you’re living with someone 24/7, you get to learn important aspects of who they are quickly. I was blown away by how much I loved being on camera – not for the attention, but for the rush of creativity. The storytelling, the reflection, the awareness of watching your own life from a new angle – all of it lit something in me. I left the show with a genuine interest in the film world that excites me to this day.

I entered Kings Court in the final round of introductions of bachelorettes as my love interest’s “perfect match,” according to a professional matchmaker. The stakes felt high. But honestly, once I felt a connection forming, everyone else faded into the background. I wasn’t thinking about competition. I believed that if something was meant to be, we would leave together.

There were also surprises in the process that weren’t particularly romantic or exhilarating. It was hard living in a house with 15 other women and three bachelors. We were all established adults, used to our own space and rhythms. Sharing bathrooms, squeezing in sleep, getting dressed up for dates with dozens of eyes and ears nearby – it was a lot. But I leaned into the absurdity. When in life would I get to do something like this again?

Something shifted in me as filming went on: I realised I had nothing to lose by being honest. If I was truthful and vulnerable, my potential match would see me, and if he chose me, it would be with eyes wide open. And if he didn’t, that told its own story.

I let him see my world: my life as a single mum, the intensity of my career in medicine, the pain and healing that followed intimate partner violence. I wasn’t afraid to have fun or let my guard down either. I showed up more fully than I had before in my dating life, and that alone made the experience worthwhile.

There was one moment that especially stands out for me, when he said I seemed “too polished,” like he wasn’t seeing the real me. I told him gently but firmly, “This is me.” Reality TV or not, I knew I didn’t need to perform to be chosen. I’m not everyone’s cup of tea. But the right person will love my aroma, temperature and flavour without trying to add anything to or take anything away from me.

Before the show, I mostly rolled my eyes at reality dating series. But I’m also a hopeless romantic! I’m a sucker for the kind of stories that leave you warm inside, like Lauren and Cameron on Love Is Blind Season 1. Their vulnerability and willingness to fall for someone without playing by the conventional rules truly resonated with me. I wanted a love narrative that freed me from expectations too.

Prior to this process, I was both skeptical and curious. But I’m in a season of life where I’m willing to try new things, stretch myself and take risks. My career caring for children with serious illness has taught me that life is short. I don’t want to miss anything that’s for me, even if it comes in an unusual package.

The reality dating show experience wasn’t perfect. There were catty dynamics with some women that don’t align with how I show up in friendships. I didn’t let those interactions define my experience; they were growth moments. I let that energy roll off me like water off a duck’s back. Overall, being on the show exceeded every expectation. I had fun. I was proud of how I carried myself and how I was portrayed. I walked away with clarity about what I need and deserve in partnership. I grew in self-esteem, in my ability to prioritise my heart’s desires amidst a demanding life, and in my sense of worthiness in romantic love.

My friends and family were so excited for me. They’ve seen the highs and lows of my dating journey and want me to win. Those who are fans of reality TV warned me about the public commentary, but nothing could have prepared me for that. What I have learned on the other side of it all is simple: not everyone will like you, and people will always create their own narratives. Let them talk. None of that determines who you are or what you will achieve. I’m grateful for the thicker skin I’ve developed as a result and the steadier sense of self.

And, yes, I formed a powerful love connection that was meant to be at the time. I let myself be seen, and someone saw me. And sometimes, that alone is enough to change you.

I didn’t walk away with a fairytale ending, I left with something more honest – a reminder that love at this stage of life isn’t about fixing what’s missing. It’s about being fully seen, even when the world believes it already knows who you are.

For much of my life, I waited to be chosen. I carried that quiet ache – the one passed down through generations of women who carried everything except the certainty of romantic partnership. But somewhere along this journey, I realised something radical: I can choose myself.

I’ve spent years caring for others, building a career, and showing up strong. Saying yes to dating on a reality show was my way of choosing softness too. And whether love finds me on national television or over a quiet cup of coffee, I now know it will find me exactly as I am – whole, grounded and chosen by me first.

Khaliah Johnson, MD, was born and raised in Brooklyn, New York, and currently resides in Atlanta, Georgia. She is a practicing paediatric palliative care physician and health care advocate who leverages her skills in medical education, writing, and media to promote health equity. Khaliah is the mother to an incredible 10-year-old boy and two Frenchie puppies. In her downtime, she is an avid aerial artist, lover of food and wine, and a travel adventurer.

Do you have a compelling personal story you’d like to see published on HuffPost? Find out what we’re looking for here and send us a pitch at pitch@huffpost.com.

My grandmother never stepped foot in a swimming pool. The closest she ever came was the afternoon I held my phone in front of her face, tilting the tiny glowing screen so she could see her great-granddaughters slicing through bright blue water at a swim meet. They were still little then, just beginning to race. Her eyes were tired but sharp.

“Shana,” she said, squinting at the screen, “what is that girl doing in that water?!” There was real fear in her voice; the kind that doesn’t come from ignorance, but from history.

“She’s racing, Grandma,” I told her. “That’s Zuri. Don’t worry – she’s safe.”

She leaned closer, watching those small arms churn. “Do they like swimming?”

She nodded slowly, and looked on. “I never did learn to swim, baby. Never even been in a pool.” I squeezed her hand. “I know. But we aim to change all that with Zuri and Amara.”

What I didn’t say was that this wasn’t just about safety. It was about rewriting something.

My grandmother never learned to swim, but my mother did. In her childhood, sparkling public pools were not invitations. They were exclusions.

During segregation, Black families had been barred from entry. When desegregation came, many towns chose to close pools rather than integrate them. Access to water – something so innocent and basic – became a quiet marker of who belonged.

The effects are still visible today. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, Black Americans drown at rates about 1.5 times higher than white Americans, and the disparity is especially stark for children. In swimming pools, Black children ages 10–14 drown at rates 7.6 times higher than white children. Public health researchers have linked these disparities in part to generations of unequal access to pools and swim instruction.

But in the late ’70s, my mama stepped into the water anyway. Two months after she gave birth to me – the first of her seven children – she signed up for swim lessons. If she learned, her children would not inherit fear as instinct.

When we were little, she made sure every one of us took lessons. We grew up in Charleston, where sometimes it feels like there is more water than land. Rivers stretch wide. Marshes wind through neighbourhoods. The ocean is never far. Every summer, we went to W.L. Stephens pool. The smell of chlorine. The echo of whistles. The sting of sun on wet shoulders.

Each year, we grew stronger. My brother and I kept up our lessons into high school – we were not racers, but continued swim education for safety: yardage, endurance, treading water until our legs shook. In our family, swimming was non-negotiable.

But “basic” has not always meant “accessible”. Many of our Black and brown friends didn’t take lessons. They came to the pool, yes, but they stayed close to the sides, where the waves slipped gently into the gutters and onto the deck. My siblings and I could go much farther out – not recklessly, but confidently. The water was our friend, not a stranger.

Years later, I found myself sitting in the bleachers at that very same pool – W.L. Stephens – but this time as a mother. Zuri was seven. It was her first swim meet. She stepped up for the 25-yard freestyle – tiny, serious, goggles slightly crooked. The buzzer sounded. She dove. She touched the wall first.

Her coach ran up to me, wide-eyed: “Looks like her time was one of the fastest in the state for her age group.”

One of the fastest in the state. In the same pool where I learned to tread water. In the same water my mother insisted we master. I felt the past and future colliding in chlorinated air.

What I did not expect was that Zuri would fall in love with racing. At eight, she swam anchor at the 8 & Under State Championships. Her team was seeded low. The role of anchor, or the last team member to swim in a relay, is often filled by the fastest or most experienced swimmer. She dove and touched first. The tiny swimmers took first in the state.

Years later, at her final Age Group State Championship, she stood on the blocks again as anchor. Same pool, but she was older, stronger. The natatorium hummed. The starter beeped. She dove with quiet poise and remarkable strength. I didn’t breathe. When she touched the wall, the scoreboard flashed: 24.91.

Under 25. On a relay. At 14 years old.

Three other girls had already poured everything into that water before she dove in. Four bodies. One finish. They broke their team record and placed third in the state – less than a second from first.

I covered my mouth before I realised I was crying. It was not just her time. It was the inheritance, interrupted.

There were not many girls who looked like her in that heat. USA Swimming reports roughly 2% of its membership is Black. Two percent. Better than my grandmother’s day. Better than my mother’s. Still small enough to notice.

I do not let Zuri carry that weight. From me, she gets steadiness. Her dream is hers.

My grandmother passed away in March 2024. She never stepped into a pool. But she empowered the next three generations to step forward anyway.

In just four generations, a grandmother was barred from entry, a mother stepped in anyway and a daughter made swimming non-negotiable. Now a great-granddaughter anchors relays and breaks swimming records with her teammates. Four generations of unconditional love. Lifetimes of growth and development.

I miss my grandmother. But she saw the beginning of this change, and that matters more than I can fully explain. Water once represented exclusion. Now, in our family, it represents possibility. And that feels like victory.

Do you have a compelling personal story you’d like to see published on HuffPost? Find out what we’re looking for here and send us a pitch at pitch@huffpost.com.

After an especially busy awards season that’s already gifted us all kinds of memorable moments, it’s time for the mother of them all, the Oscars.

Over the last 98 years, the annual Academy Awards ceremony has been the site of countless iconic scenes – although not every instance of the Oscars making headlines has been for the reasons organisers might have hoped for.

As we gear up for the 2026 ceremony, here are just some of the highs and lows that have defined the Oscars over the last century…

For those who were living under a rock in 2022, here’s what went down at that year’s Oscars.

Comedian Chris Rock presented one of the night’s big awards, during which he made an impromptu joke about Jada Pinkett Smith’s buzzcut after spotting her in the audience, comparing her to “GI Jane”.

Jada had previously spoken about her experiences of living with alopecia, which inspired her to shave her head.

Unimpressed with the comic’s remarks, Jada’s husband Will Smith walked up to the comedian and slapped him in the middle of the broadcast, urging Chris to “keep my wife’s name out of your fucking mouth” upon returning to his seat.

What ensued was months of unescapable media furore and discourse, and although Will won his first ever Oscar just a few moments after the slap for his performance in the film King Richard, he eventually made the decision to resign from the Film Academy, and was later banned from the ceremony for a decade.

During the live broadcast in 2014, HuffPost fave John Travolta was recruited to welcome Frozen star Idina Menzel to the stage, so she could perform her character’s signature tune Let It Go.

Unfortunately, due to John’s apparent struggles reading from an autocue, he instead introduced “the wickedly talented, one and only Adele Dazeem” – a moment he’s still struggling to live down more than a decade later.

In a moment that saw the whole world holding its breath in unison, Jennifer Lawrence took a tumble as she went to accept her Best Actress prize, for her performance in Silver Linings Playbook.

After getting a standing ovation, she joked: “You guys are just standing up ’cos you feel bad that I fell, which is embarrassing, but thank you.”

A year later, Jennifer returned to the Oscars, where she was nominated again, this time for her role in American Hustle.

While she didn’t pull off the Oscars double, she did pull off the falling-over-at-the-Oscars double on the red carpet as she made her way into the event, which… is still something.

The story goes that Joan Crawford wasn’t feeling very well before the Oscars in 1946 and, perhaps sensing that she wasn’t going to win her category, decided to forego attending entirely.

Imagine her surprise, then, when she heard her name being read out as the Best Actress recipient on the radio for her performance in Mildred Pierce.

What followed was an impromptu press conference from the screen icon’s bed, where she was presented with her awards statuette in person (in full beat, naturally).

“You like me, you really, really like me,” is an oft-quoted awards show line, but as it turns out, that’s not what Sally Field actually said.

“I want to say thank you to you,” she told the audience at the 1985 Oscars. “I haven’t had an orthodox career, and I’ve wanted more than anything to have your respect.

“The first time [I won an Oscar], I didn’t feel it. But this time I feel it. And I can’t deny the fact that you like me! Right now! You like me!”

What’s also often overlooked is the fact she did actually make the crowd laugh along with her speech, even if audiences at home were seemingly less impressed.

After appearing in around 20 films, Gwyneth finally picked up an Oscar in 1999, for her performance in Shakespeare In Love, and struggled to get her words out through her tears.

Interestingly, this would prove to be Gwyneth’s only Academy Award nomination (so far!), but at least she managed to get the Oscar on her first try.

It’s fair to say Olivia Colman had not been expecting to beat her peers in the Best Actress category that year, judging from that acceptance speech – which showcased all of her signature charm and a fan-girl moment over Lady Gaga.

The 1989 Academy Awards went down in the history books for cooking up a chaotic opening number that felt like a bit of a fever dream. The performance saw Rob Lowe duetting with Snow White, as well as featuring appearances from stars as varied as Lily Tomlin and Vincent Price.

Without a host, the routine served in place of an opening monologue, but it went down so badly it would be a full 30 years before the Oscars would go ahead without a host.

After Miss Piggy warmed up the crowd (seriously, what an intro), there wasn’t a dry eye in the house when Kermit The Frog performed Rainbow Connection in 1980.

The Muppet Movie’s opening number had been nominated for Best Original Song, but lost out to It Goes Like It Goes from Norma Rae, a decision which was rubbished by many critics at the time.

Eventually, Kermit and co did finally win an Oscar, although it took more than 40 years, when Man Or Muppet scooped Best Original Song in 2011.

It was the performance the world had been waiting for when Bradley Cooper and Lady Gaga finally sang Shallow from the A Star Is Born soundtrack together.

The pair had actually only performed the track live together once prior to the Oscars (when Bradley was a surprise guest at one of Gaga’s Las Vegas shows), but you wouldn’t know that from the sheer chemistry between the two of them while they sang to one another.

Back in 2000, Angelina won her first Oscar for her role in the film adaptation of Girl, Interrupted.

Her win was somewhat overshadowed on the night by her red carpet appearance with brother James Haven, who she kissed on the lips and declared she was “so in love with”.

Years later, she admitted she was “disappointed” with the “circus” that surrounded the incident, explaining that she and James had always relied on one another as the children of divorced parents.

Yeah, Ryan Seacrest really wasn’t loving this, was he?

Gone With The Wind star Hattie McDaniel’s Best Supporting Actress win at the 12th Academy Awards was a particularly important one, as she became the first African American performer to take home an Oscar.

While this is often referred to as a progressive moment in Oscars history, it should be noted that Hattie’s win came at a time when segregation was still in place. This meant she was not permitted to sit with her Gone With The Wind co-stars during the ceremony, with film producer David O. Selznick having to call in a favour for her to be allowed to attend at all.

Precious actor Mo’nique paid homage to Hattie McDaniel when she picked up the same award 70 years later, sporting a similar ensemble to the Gone With The Wind star.

“This moment is so much bigger than me,” Halle Berry began in her acceptance speech, before listing off the names of the Black women in the acting industry who had come before her, including Dorothy Dandridge, Lena Horne, Diahann Carroll, as well as her peers, Jada Pinkett, Angela Bassett and Vivica Fox.

She said she hoped her win might represent “a chance” for “every nameless, faceless woman of colour”.

Halle’s victory came 39 years after Sidney Poitier became the first Black winner in the Best Actor category. His successors have included Forest Whitaker, Jamie Foxx and Denzel Washington.

Sadly, the Monster’s Ball star remains in 2026 the only Black woman to have been been given the Best Actress title, lamenting 15 years later that she felt her win “meant nothing”, as so little had changed in the time that followed.

In 2023, Michelle Yeoh became only the second woman of colour in history to receive the Best Actress award – which was poignantly presented to her by its past recipient, Halle herself.

The Everything Everywhere All At Once star made history as the first Asian performer to win the award, and enthused during her speech: “For all the little boys and girls who look like me watching tonight, this is a beacon of hope and possibilities. It’s proof – dream big, and dreams do come true.”

“And ladies, don’t let anybody tell you you are ever past your prime,” she added. “Never give up.”

Kathryn’s efforts at the helm of The Hurt Locker, which also landed Best Picture that year, made her the only woman to have won in the Best Director category at that time.

In the years that have followed, only six more women – Greta Gerwig, Chloé Zhao, Emerald Fennell, Jane Campion, Justine Triet and Coralie Fargeat – have been nominated in this category.

Chloé became the second woman, and first woman of colour, to accept the accolade in 2021, while Jane became the third the following year.

Ahead of this year’s ceremony, Chloé is in the running once again for her work as the director of Hamnet.

Marlon Brando’s win for The Godfather was, without doubt, a Big Deal, so when he refused to show up to collect his award, it raised a lot of eyebrows.

Instead, the acting legend had Native American performer Sacheen Littlefeather collect the award on his behalf, explaining that he wasn’t present in protest of Hollywood’s portrayal of Native Americans on the big screen.

Who could forget him chucking his chewing gum in his partner’s direction on his way up to the stage, too?

Well, she was never going to pass by unnoticed, was she?

Björk was nominated for an Oscar in 2001, for her contribution to the Dancer In The Dark soundtrack.

As she made her way into the event that year, the Hyper-Ballad singer made headlines for her swan-inspired dress, leaning into her attire by dropping eggs along the red carpet.

We love when a star really knows how to turn heads, and that’s exactly what Pose actor Billy Porter did on the red carpet in 2019.

On the subject of his much-discussed tuxedo dress, Billy told Vogue that year: “We wanted to play between the masculine and the feminine. This look was interesting because it’s not drag. I’m not a drag queen, I’m a man in a dress.

“My aunt Dorothy used to always say, ‘Dress for the job you want, not the job you have.’ That’s why I look good every time I leave the house. I want to run shit. From this [Oscars] moment, I want people to understand that you don’t have to understand or even agree with other people’s authenticity or truths, but we must all respect each other.

“People are going to be really uncomfortable with my Black ass in a ball gown—but it’s not anybody’s business but mine.”

In hindsight, the reaction to Angelina Jolie’s so-called “leg-bomb” might have been a little OTT.

Back in 2012, though, her errant right leg really felt like a moment, inspiring countless memes in those halcyon early days of Twitter (as it was still known in those days).

There’s Angelina again, this time in a huge selfie with a star-studded cast including Meryl Streep, Lupita Nyong’o and Bradley Cooper (alongside some somewhat more regrettable inclusions).

The photo – shared on host Ellen Degeneres’ Twitter page – quickly broke records as the most retweeted image in the site’s history, beating an image previously shared by then-President Barack Obama.

Remember, even the word “selfie” was quite a new thing back in 2014, let alone the act of taking a group shot like this, so while the furore around this photo might seem a bit silly almost a decade later, we promise it genuinely was a big deal at the time.

In 2001, this unexpected shocker was voted the “most memorable” moment in Oscars history.

We’re particularly fond of host David Niven’s quick-thinking response, as he declared: “The only laugh that man will ever get in his life is by stripping off and showing his shortcomings.”

British singer-songwriter Sam Smith made a huge blunder during their Academy Awards acceptance speech, erroneously describing themself as the “first openly gay man to win an Oscar” (they came out as non-binary a few years later).

Sam’s comments sparked a huge backlash, particularly from members of the LGBTQ+ community, including past Oscar-winning screenwriter Dustin Lance Black.

Many at the time called for the star to learn their LGBTQ+ history before speaking out on such a public platform – and to Sam’s credit, they’ve since proved they have done their homework on queer trailblazers.

No one could quite agree back in 2023 whether Hugh Grant was being outwardly rude or just a bit awkward when this exchange with Ashley Graham on the red carpet went viral.

Hugh did sort of make up for it during the ceremony, though, when he had the room howling by comparing his face to a “scrotum” while presenting an award with one-time co-star Andie MacDowell.

Many picked up on the fact that when presenting Casey Affleck with his Oscar in 2017, Brie Larson did not applaud for the actor, which many took as a response to the accusations of workplace sexual harassment that he’d faced years earlier.

She later told Vanity Fair: “I think that whatever it was that I did onstage kind of spoke for itself. I’ve said all that I have to say on that topic.”

Spoiler alert: It wasn’t La La Land.

Fancy watching it again? Oh, go on then…

Energy security secretary Ed Miliband has refused to outline any clear details about potential support if bills start to rise.

But the senior minister told broadcasters that “if it’s necessary to intervene we will”, depending on how long Donald Trump’s war in Iran rumbles on for.

He insisted his Labour government would not let the energy bills reach £3,500 a year on average again, a shocking high seen during Liz Truss’s time in government.

The former Tory prime minister then spent taxpayers’ money to cap it at £2,500 a year to mitigate the effects of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine and a rise in global wholesale gas prices.

It remains unclear if the current Labour government would offer the same universal support were the Iran conflict to continue.

The war in the Middle East has already pushed the cost of oil to over $100 a barrel as the Iranian regime has effectively closed one of the world’s most important shipping lanes, the Strait of Hormuz.

Bills are expected to come down in the short-term because the energy price cap has already been set for April through to July.

However, regulator Ofgem may end up hiking them after that to reflect the turbulence around oil pricing.

Miliband told the BBC’s Laura Kuenssberg: “We took action in the Budget to cut bills because we know the cost of living crisis is the number one issue facing the British people.”

He continued: “We are preparing for all eventualities. It’s right we do that preparatory work, learning the lessons of the last crisis when Russia invaded Ukraine and – the best I can say, Laura – is if it’s necessary to intervene, we will.

“As the regulator said, we don’t know what will happen to the energy price cap in July.”

Miliband did meet with energy firms this week over how the government could help with bills.

The government is trying to discourage fuel retailers from hiking prices, without directly responding to markets.

Chancellor Rachel Reeves said earlier this week: “We are working on different ways to protect people, including more targeted support.”