But you couldn't be more wrong.

I represent the minority. I represent everyone who has ever felt unseen, unheard, misunderstood. I could be anyone. Who I am, what I believe in, or what I choose to wear doesn't matter; it doesn't define the value of my words. For all you know, I could be covered in tattoos beneath my clothes. But does any of this change my right to speak? To work? To exist without fear or judgment?

What matters is that we are all represented equally. We all get a space to exist, to do our best work, and to be recognized for that work.

What matters is that our stories don't disappear. That our lives aren't erased.

Representation matters

You may not see the problem in your own professional life. You may think that hard work or talent alone determines success. But let's take a step back and look at the bigger picture.

Take any industry, any path in life.

Representation isn't just about visibility. It's about opportunities, success, and the ability to shape the world we live in. When people don't see themselves represented in an industry, they are less likely to believe they belong there.

Fewer applications for degrees, fewer candidates for jobs. People feel as less than. Their accomplishments are not recognized, yet their mistakes are inflated. They don't get the praise and the recognition they deserve, but they do get all the blame.

Lack of diversity also leads to groupthink - a phenomenon that appear when a group is made up of people of similar backgrounds, of similar genders, and skin color. People are more likely to think alike and not ask any probing questions or raise objections. It may limit their perspectives, but it may also lead to irrational and dehumanizing actions directed against out-groups. We can see plenty of examples of groupthink in today's world.

But is this the world we want to live in? Where everyone thinks the same, looks the same, and does the same thing?

What does it take to change an industry?

Malcolm Gladwell explored an interesting idea in his book Revenge of the Tipping Point. He questioned cultural and ideological shifts - what it takes to change a group.

I'm most fascinated by how our communities influence us in ways we don't even realize. [...] We should be looking more closely at the communities we are part of and how they shape us unconsciously.

He came up with the rule of magic third. An idea that when outsiders in a group reach a certain threshold, about a third, the whole group dynamic shifts. You don't need half of the group to agree on something or the majority. All it takes is one-third. Why magic? Because we don't quite understand why it happens, but studies suggest it does.

One-third of a group or an industry believing that diversity matters. One-third of leadership roles filled by people that are not white men. One-third of decision-makers reflecting different backgrounds and lived experiences.

One-third.

Don't be too political

You might think that I'm being overly political and you don't care for it. I've been told as much a few times since founding Larabelles. I'm breaking a perfectly good community and politicizing it.

But my very existence is political. The world made it so. And while I have the opportunity to speak, I will.

Diversity is not a dirty word. It's a human power. Let's celebrate our differences and use our skills and talents to build a better world.

Representation doesn't just matter. It transforms lives.

Expertise comes in a lot of different packages, including one that looks like this

I finally gave in. After months, no, years, of seeing MasterClass* ads, I signed up. I’d resisted so long, almost out of sheer stubbornness. Every time one of those perfectly targeted ads popped up, I’d shake my head with a little pride, thinking, "Not today, algorithm. Not me."

But today was different. Today, exhaustion had softened my resolve. After a long, draining day of adulting, I crashed on the sofa. When I woke, still groggy, I reached for my phone and mindlessly opened Instagram. And there it was again, the ad. The same alluring promise of learning from the best, the same list of authors, entrepreneurs, and leaders I admired. Only this time, it caught me off guard. My defenses were down. And, well, the 50% sale didn’t hurt.

So, I signed up.

The algorithm knew me well, too well. It showed me the faces of people who spoke to me directly, women leaders, authors who’d shaped my worldview, entrepreneurs who dared to carve their own paths. Among them was Roxane Gay. That sealed it. Minutes after handing over my hard-earned cash, I was diving into her course on writing for social change.

In the introductory module, she said something that made me pause. Roxane spoke about the scarcity of Black women teaching at the college level, a stark reality that motivates her to be visible, to be present, to claim space on platforms like MasterClass. She said it was important for her to show that expertise doesn’t come in a single, standardized form. “Expertise,” she said, “comes in a lot of different packages, including one that looks like this” a Black woman.

Her words hit me like a quiet, insistent truth I hadn’t fully allowed myself to hold.

I’m not a Black woman, but I am a visibly Muslim one. The scarf on my head, my hijab, has been a conversation starter, a lightning rod, and a silent question all rolled into one. Over the years, I’ve had to field more than my share of doubts and whispered criticisms, many of them echoing the same sentiment:

Should you even be doing this? Wouldn’t more people listen if it weren’t you standing there with your headscarf and your visible faith?

And sometimes, those voices creep into my own thoughts. I wonder if they’re right. I wonder if I’m really the person for this work.

But, if not me, who then? I ask myself. Because the truth is, I don’t see many women who look like me standing in these spaces. It’s lonely. It’s disheartening. It makes me question if I’m truly qualified or if my presence just adds to the noise.

But hearing Roxane speak about her own journey and her choice to stand in the spotlight despite the resistance and challenges was a moment of quiet comfort. Her words reminded me that I’m not alone in these feelings and that my presence, like hers, matters. Expertise, she reminded me, doesn’t have to come in the package people expect. It can look like me, too.

I may not be everyone’s cup of tea. I may never represent the majority. But I’ll keep going. One word, one step, one action at a time. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that the path is made by walking it.

*This is a guest pass where the first 3 people will get a free 14-day access to all 200+ instructors. I am not affiliated with Masterclass and I receive nothing by you using these guest passes.

The primary goal was simple: write, publish, and keep going. The secondary goal was discovering my voice and what I genuinely enjoy writing about.

How did I do?

I completed the entire six weeks, missing only one day due to a migraine. That means I ended up with 29 posts throughout the challenge.

I didn't plan or research much; instead, I relied on what I already knew. Occasionally, I used Google to check statistics or learn more about someone I was writing about, but that was the extent of my preparation.

During this challenge, my audience on Bluesky grew significantly. I started with 128 followers and ended with 2,293, an incredible leap. This growth was mainly due to engaging with the community and focusing on that platform. In contrast, my Twitter activity dwindled. I posted there only three times, and my follower count dropped slightly from 4,327 to 4,292. My newsletter subscriber count, however, remained unchanged.

(P.S. If you haven’t already, subscribe to my newsletter!)

My articles covered a mix of topics: personal reflections, stories about women in tech, and general musings on writing. A common thread was that I didn't know what I would write about until I sat down to do it. Sometimes, an idea struck me earlier in the day, a quote from a book or a name I came across, but none of the articles were planned. I simply wrote about what felt right in the moment.

What Did I Learn?

I love writing.
Writing helps me clarify my thoughts and emotions. As I said in one of the articles, writing helps me go horizontal; it helps me figure out what I really think or feel about something. It feels like tapping into my unconscious mind, especially when I write freely without overthinking. Often, I surprised myself with what I ended up putting into words. This made the challenge rather fun, each day felt like a new discovery:

What will I learn about today?

I love writing about inspiring people.
I draw a lot from role models, people who motivate and comfort me in this crazy journey called life. These role models don't have to be groundbreaking scientists or wildly successful people; they just need to be relatable in some way. I enjoy looking beyond the familiar narratives of their lives to find something meaningful and personal.

I especially enjoyed writing about women.
Elena Cornaro Piscopia, Mary Somerville, Mary Shelley, Ada Lovelace, Virginia Woolf, Theodora Kroeber, Margaret Masterman, Mary Kenneth Keller, Dame Stephanie Shirley, Maya Angelou, Sylvia Plath, Karen Spärk Jones, Ellen Langer, and Elizabeth Gilbert.

Some articles featured women briefly, while others were entirely dedicated to them, but my research into their stories was extensive regardless. It feels like I gained so many friends, so many role models, so many beacons of light and hope I can turn to when the going gets tough.

What's Next?

I plan to continue writing both short and long-form articles. I'm excited to dive deeper into topics or individuals beyond the constraints of a time limit. At the same time, I'll keep writing those raw, barely researched streams of consciousness because they've taught me the most.

I'll keep publishing even when I'm not entirely happy with the piece. Just because it isn't perfect doesn't mean it shouldn't be shared.

I've also decided to delve into the topic of women in leadership. To that end, I've enrolled in an online course from the University of Cambridge's Institute for Sustainability Leadership. I want to learn how to drive change and help shape the future in my own way. I'm confident this course will help me make a bigger impact through Larabelles and take the community further.

This challenge has been life-changing. I had no idea where it would lead me when I started, but here I am, going with the flow, writing, and learning. I'm excited to see where this journey takes me, and I am committed to sharing it with all of you.

What will I learn about next?

Let's see, shall we?

Today, I had an epiphany. I was out horse riding in the grey, wet, cold English countryside when it hit me: I’m living my dream. The very life I once imagined, hoped for, and worked toward for years had quietly become my reality, and I hadn’t even noticed.

Horses have always been my passion. Ever since I can remember, I’ve been obsessed with them. As a teenager, I spent my weekends and holidays at the stables, going to horse shows and watching sunsets from the saddle. But then life happened, school, responsibilities, and except for the occasional horse-related fix, I drifted away from that world until my late 30s.

Yet the dream never faded. The vision of owning or at least being around horses remained lodged in my heart. Some dreams are only ever meant to stay dreams, but not this one. When my kids grew older and I had some financial freedom, I decided to invest in myself and book horse riding lessons to get back in the saddle, so to speak (pun intended). Before long, through friends, I became part of a wonderful group of women who co-own four incredible horses. I had dreamed of having one horse, and now, I have four!

This morning, while riding, I suddenly realized the enormity of it. The weather was awful, cold, drizzly, but there I was, on horseback. Alone. Walking, trotting, cantering, moving in harmony with a powerful animal that could, quite frankly, kill me if it wanted to.

I was living what I had wished, hoped, and prayed for my whole life. And yet, it would have been so easy to miss this realization, to be distracted by the miserable weather, my fatigue, or the stresses of life.

Coding is another one. Eight years ago, when I started learning how to code, all I wanted was to get a job. I wanted someone to believe in me and give me a chance, even though I was in my mid-30s, a mother of three with a whole lot of responsibilities but no relevant tech experience and very little coding knowledge.

Eight years ago, it felt impossible.

Eight years later, I not only have the job I wished for, but I also have an amazing community of people around me who believe in me, encourage me, and want me to succeed.

How many special moments have I overlooked because I was too consumed by life’s demands to recognize them? How often have I dismissed magical experiences because my mind was already chasing the next thing?

I'm not going to be too hard on myself for missing these moments, that’s just the nature of being human. But that doesn’t mean I won’t try harder to notice them.

Even when the weather is awful, and the code doesn’t work, I’m still living my dream.

What if I told you that there was a time when a female company founder had to change her name to a male one just to be taken seriously? Would you believe me?

I couldn't imagine it being true when I learned about this story. As a woman in tech, I'm well aware of the issues women face: discrimination, the glass ceiling, and various biases. But changing your name to get a chance? Seriously?

Well, it did happen.

Dame Stephanie Shirley (1933) was a mathematician working in tech companies in 1950s London. Like many women in a male-dominated industry, she experienced her share of sexism and various gender-based obstacles: different pay scales for men and women, being unable to be promoted because men refused to promote a woman to a management position, being fondled or physically pushed against a wall. Eventually, Stephanie had enough and resigned from her job. She founded Freelance Programmers in 1962, a software company she ran from her dining room.

Her approach was quite revolutionary, if I may say so. In many ways, the society was very different back then. For example, women could not open their own bank accounts, and they were expected to stop working when they got married or had their first child. This meant there were a whole lot of qualified women that traditional employers overlooked: married women, mothers, and people with disabilities. Stephanie hired them to give them the chance to earn their own money and use their well earned skills. And even more radically, they all worked from home, which was pretty much unheard of then. Stephanie would pay her employees not by the hour but by their completed tasks, the original freelancers.

But getting clients wasn't easy. Potential customers often ignored business propositions from a woman. When she signed letters as "Stephanie Shirley," almost no one responded. Interestingly, when she signed her correspondence as "Steve Shirley," the very same people responded, doors opened, and contracts followed. This makes me so angry, but I'm comforted by the fact that her company ended up being extremely successful, making her a millionaire in her 60s. Since then, she has given away most of her wealth to various charities - almost 70 million pounds! Stephanie was appointed a Dame in 2000 for her contributions to technology and philanthropy.

While this is an amazing and inspiring story, it's also sad that not much has changed at all. We still have sexism; we still have a glass ceiling, and we also have the glass cliff. Women can open their bank accounts and have a family and a career, but, as Stephanie said:

Today's women have a much more difficult fight against cultural difficulties. [...] They are much more subtle, nuanced, but equally as hard.

I only found out about Stephanie today, in a foreword of a book I'm currently reading. I can't believe I didn't know about her before. She is such an inspirational woman, one who wasn't afraid to go against the societal norms and expectations of her time and created a life that worked not just for her but also for her employees.

I keep returning to "You can't be who you can't see." These are the role models I was and still am missing out on. Not because they don't exist but because I simply didn't know that they did.

My yesterday's post resonated with people.

Why is it that the most personal, vulnerable posts get the most attention? The posts that I'm a little bit embarrassed to write, the thoughts and feelings I'm a little bit ashamed to admit to. The ones that expose the parts of me I'd rather keep hidden.

I think it's because human beings crave connection. Deep down, we all want to be understood, feel seen, and know we're not navigating life alone. We long for shared experiences, even if they come from someone else's struggles and insecurities. Or, maybe, especially from those.

Vulnerability creates that bridge between people.

When I share something personal, it's really scary. There's always a voice in my head warning me about judgment or rejection. What if I'm shutting the door to some amazing opportunity? What if this is the time I'll be exposed as a fraud? What if people don't want to be friends with me anymore?

So childish, right? Yet, very true.

My mind goes into an overdrive, coming up with all sorts of reasons and scenarios why publishing this post is a really bad idea. Career-ending. My name will be tarnished forever. I'll have to move to the mountains and never speak to anyone ever again.

When I finally overcome this irrational fear and hit "publish," something amazing happens. I wake up to an outpouring of love and support. People respond—not just with likes or comments but with stories and reflections sparked by my words. They can relate, they understand and feel understood.

I've learned that vulnerability is like a magnet; it brings people together because it is honest, real, and stands out from the perceived perfection of social media. It reminds me that behind every polished online presence is a person with doubts, dreams, and messy emotions.

Just like me.

This challenge is nearly over, and I haven't written a single post about coding, PHP, or Laravel. That's surprising because until recently, that's all I ever did. I would work during the day and then work some more at night. I listened to industry podcasts and dreamed about SaaS (Software as a Service) projects that could potentially earn me money. I imagined that success would allow me to do what I wanted, spend time with my family, and live happily ever after.

But I don't do that anymore. Somewhere along the way, my priorities shifted, and I realized that chasing the next big idea was no longer fun.

It's not that I've lost my passion for coding. I genuinely love my job. I find it incredibly creative, challenging, and satisfying. I love how there's a way to solve almost anything with code (within reason). What once seemed magical to me now feels accessible. Every complex app boils down to a sequence of simple steps woven together. There is no magic. It's just code.

I still enjoy podcasts where people discuss their tech side hustles, how they grew them, what they learned during the process, and how they earned enough to live the lives they always wanted. To an extent, I still wish I had a side hustle like that.

But things have changed.

Coding has become work, an inevitable reality since it's how I earn my living, day in and day out. But I can no longer code into the night and only code a little during the weekend, mainly to improve this website.

Maybe it's age, maybe disillusionment, maybe it's something else entirely. But I stopped hustling. I realized that the hustling lifestyle no longer served me. Don't get me wrong; it served me well in the past. Thanks to the hustling mindset, I learned how to code while having a newborn, got the jobs I did, spoke at the conferences I did, and started Larabelles. If I hadn't hustled, none of it would have been possible.

But it took a toll on me. Mentally and physically.

The migraines I suffer from? They're most likely from my posture and sitting at a desk (or on the couch) for long hours every day. The anxiety I experience? I didn't even know what anxiety and burnout was until I got into tech.

That's not why I went into tech in the first place. I did it to have a creative, flexible job that I could do around my family. But I lost sight of that somewhere along the way. The job became my life. I had to make some changes.

I've accepted that I may never be a successful entrepreneur, and that's okay. Not every tech person needs to have a successful side hustle, however tempting it may seem. I do have the knowledge at my fingertips, after all. It seems like such a waste not to do something with it. But maybe now isn't the right time.

Letting go of this SaaS dream is a bit sad but also very freeing. It means releasing the constant pressure I put on myself to create something good enough that other people might want to pay for it.

Who knows, maybe the big idea will come to me once I stop looking. And if it doesn't, that's ok too. Some dreams were only ever meant to be dreams.

This title suggests that I see myself as someone who has achieved success. And since success is inherently subjective, perhaps I have! I can definitely point to some achievements I'm proud of. But to be honest, this title wasn't my idea. AI suggested it after picking up on my (apparently very obvious) tendency to overthink.

Still, I really like the title and have seriously considered writing more about overthinking. A book? Probably not. But who knows! It could have been a bestseller!

It would certainly be a fun way to financially benefit from my life-long battle with my over-active mind.

Being an overthinker isn't always fun or easy, though. I learned to downplay it when meeting new people:

"Hey, I'm a bit of an overthinker. And a perfectionist, too. But who isn't, right? Ha ha."

What's funny is that I still feel the need to tell people I'm an overthinker, like it's some disclaimer. Maybe it's because it's such a big part of my personality, whether I like it or not. It's almost like how I mention being tall to avoid the inevitable, "Wow, you're way taller than I thought you'd be! What's the weather like up there?"

By the way, people still find me way taller than they thought I'd be, despite me telling them.

The disclaimer may not work after all.

Overthinking is definitely a double-edged sword. On one hand, it fuels my creativity, improves my analysis, and helps me solve problems in ways I might not have considered otherwise. My mind is constantly scanning for possibilities and outcomes.

On the other hand, overthinking can be a paralyzing spiral of doubt and second-guessing. Every decision feels monumental; every potential outcome is a complex puzzle that must be solved before I take a single step.

Given how much time I spend overthinking, I should turn it into my superpower. I should channel that constant stream of thoughts into action, turn analysis into strategy, and reframe uncertainty as an adventure.

Maybe this book would be less of a guide and more of a reflection, a story about how I've learned (and am still learning) to balance the chaos in my mind with the clarity of purpose. And maybe, just maybe, overthinking isn't such a bad thing after all.

If you wanted to have a guess at how tall I actually am, Ben Holmen created a fun little app called How Tall Is. Have a go and, for crying out loud, never ask me what the weather is like up here, or if I play basketball.

Day 25.

I've been writing for 24 working days (I missed one due to a migraine), and I have just one more week left to complete the challenge.

Honestly, I'm not sure how I feel about it. On one hand, I can't believe it's almost over. On the other, I'm amazed that I've managed to write consistently for the past five weeks, and I'm definitely ready for a break. But I know I'm going to miss it. These late-night writing sessions have become a nice way to end my day. I would often stumble upon a thought or idea that surprised me, something to mull over as I drifted off to sleep.

This week felt a bit different, though. I didn't have a plan. Each day, usually after 10 p.m., I sat down and wrote. Starting from nothing, I wrote articles I'm genuinely proud of. They surprised me; I surprised myself.

There are two types of writers: outliners and discovery writers. George R.R. Martin calls them "architects" and "gardeners," while Stephen King describes them as "planners" and "pantsers."

Outliners (or architects and planners) know exactly what they are going to write and how the story will end. They carefully plan and structure their work before putting pen to paper.

On the other hand, discovery writers (or gardeners and pantsers) don't plan. They plant a seed and watch it grow, letting the story guide them wherever it wants to go. They write by the seat of their pants.

I've realized I lean more toward being a discovery writer. Sure, I can outline and plan when needed, and it works well enough. But for this 30in30 challenge, I rarely knew what I was going to write about. Instead, I let the words take me on a journey, learning to trust the process along the way.

I'm looking forward to the last week and the journeys I'm going to take.

Do you use Spotify? Have you seen your Spotify Wrapped yet? If you're not familiar, Spotify Wrapped is a personalized recap of your listening habits over the past 12 months.

My Spotify Wrapped is hilariously skewed because my teenage daughter hijacks my account whenever we're in the car. Thanks to her, my top artists this year include Chase Atlantic and Conan Gray, not exactly my choice of music. I'm more of a Disco Funky Soul / Easy Rock girl according to my favourite playlists.

This got me thinking: what if there was a "My Year in Life Wrapped"? Not just a self-reflection on what I did or didn't do over the past year, but an account from someone else's perspective. How different would their version of my year be from mine?

Of course, relying on others to interpret my life probably isn't the healthiest idea. Still, an outside perspective would definitely help to, well, put things into perspective. Highlight the wins I missed or overlooked. Tone down the failures or near misses that still weigh heavily on my mind. Remind me that it's okay not to always be at my best. That not every project will succeed, not every contract will be a good fit, not every conversation will be one to remember.

I am more than the sum of my actions. Much more than that. I forget that sometimes.

Spotify Wrapped gives you hard data, numbers that don't lie. But life doesn't work like that. Human existence isn't measured in tidy stats. It ebbs and flows through highs and lows. Life is messy.

And maybe that's the beauty of it.