Creative, Called and Still Figuring It Out 

Some days, I feel unstoppable. Other days, I stare at my blank laptop screen wondering if I’ve lost my spark. Most days? I’m somewhere in between—actively trying, still figuring it out, still choosing to show up even when I’m not sure how it’s all going to come together.

That was exactly my mindset in the weeks leading up to last year’s Black Girls in Media Conference. Even though I’m usually the one with the mic, imposter syndrome tried creeping its way in before I even stepped foot in the space. So much so, I almost talked myself out of going to the event altogether.

You don’t have the right look for the event. You don’t have enough credits. You’re still figuring it out.

But the more I leaned in, the more I realized: every talented, Black woman in media here right now is figuring it out. We all are. There is no one out here like me and I am more than enough. There’s power in speaking that out loud.

As a host, emcee and content creator, I live in a space that constantly invites—and sometimes demands—feedback, judgment and criticism. It’s a part of the job, but that doesn’t make it any easier. Especially after learning just before my 30th birthday and before hosting the Celebration of Black Music in Film (CBMF)—a huge feat in my career to date—I learned I have inattentive ADHD. This makes it difficult focusing, sustaining attention and organizing tasks.

My diagnosis sharpens the sting of the harsh commentary that often comes with this unforgiving industry. At times, it makes me question whether I even belong in entertainment at all. Every day feels like a battle—not just for my career, but for my sense of self.

My mind might not work like everyone else’s, but with faith, some structure and a whole lot of grace, I’ve learned it doesn’t have to. What I’m learning over and over again is that creativity is a journey, not a destination. There’s no neat and tidy finish line where everything clicks. There are just moments: some high, some low, many in the messy middle.

CBMF came at a crucial time. I can’t say thank you enough to my creative cousins for throwing my name in the hat and tagging me in social media posts about the opportunity to host the show. I reached out directly to James Crump-Wallace, the visionary behind the project, sent in my audition tape and anxiously awaited my chance to co-host the historic event.

I’ll never forget the joy I felt a few weeks later when I found out I landed the opportunity. It was so affirming James and the rest of the CBMF team believed I was the right woman for the job.

After countless team practices, rehearsals and team bonding, January 18th finally arrived—the day of CBMF. I couldn’t have felt better. There was such a calmness and confidence over me because I knew I had properly prepared for the moment. All I had to do was honor God through my gifts.  

I stopped seeing my ADHD as something I needed to overcome and started seeing it as a lens—a unique way of experiencing and expressing the world.

Hosting the show was a dream—a celebration of our sound, our stories, our legacy and our city. But behind the glam and applause, I had my script in hand and butterflies in my stomach. I was triple-checking my lines—names, pronunciations, transitions, hyper-fixating on every detail because my brain wouldn’t let me settle. I was sprinting back and forth from my dressing room to the stage, adamantly making sure I didn’t miss any marks or  delay the show in any way. And yet, somehow, every moment I stepped on that stage, I felt something click. Not because everything was perfect, but because I realized: I didn’t have to be. I wasn’t there by accident. God called me there.

CBMF was a roaring success. It was a sold-out event—with more than 1,800 seats filled—and it was named a BLK RVA Cultural Enrichment Award Finalist.

I remember stealing a quiet moment in the dressing room after the show (my very first, official dressing room too by the way, but with God, it won’t be the last!), makeup smudged, heels off, eyes closed. I whispered, “God, thank You.” That night was a turning point. I stopped seeing my ADHD as something I needed to overcome and started seeing it as a lens—a unique way of experiencing and expressing the world. What once felt like a flaw is feels like a superpower.

I no longer create to be for everyone because I’m not and I never will be.

This mindset shift was everything. I no longer create to be for everyone because I’m not and I never will be. That’s not failure, that’s freedom. It means I get to focus on pleasing the One who gave me the vision in the first place. It means I don’t have to force things that aren’t mine. It means I can embrace the slow, patient work of building something meaningful and aligned.

Yes, I want to be liked. I want people to clap, laugh and repost. But more than that? I want to honor God through my gifts. Because if He gave them to me, then my job is to steward them—not stress over the algorithm.

So where am I in my creative journey? Still trying. Still trusting. Still finding peace in the process.

It’s not always glamorous, but it’s real and it’s mine. Being a creative is one of the bravest things you can do. There’s no playbook. No guarantee. No clear path. But we do it anyway. We keep showing up, heart-first.

And if you’re going to bet on anything in this life—let it be the vision God gave you.

BNicki