Professional Troublemaker

Professional Troublemaker Plot Summary

Introduction

The first time I tried to speak truth to power, my voice trembled like autumn leaves in the wind. I was sitting in a meeting where a terrible idea was being celebrated as brilliant, and something inside me refused to stay silent. When I finally mustered the courage to raise my hand and speak, the tremor in my voice betrayed my confidence. Yet somehow, that shaky intervention changed everything – not just the decision at hand, but my understanding of what courage truly means. Fear is not the absence of courage, but rather its prerequisite. In a world that often asks us to shrink ourselves for the comfort of others, standing tall requires us to face our deepest anxieties – about rejection, failure, judgment, and even success. What would happen if we showed up as our authentic selves? What if we spoke our truths even when our voices shake? What if we dared to take up the space we deserve? These questions form the core journey we'll explore together, discovering how to transform from fearful bystanders into professional troublemakers who make positive waves in their worlds. Through personal stories, cultural wisdom, and practical strategies, we'll learn that fighting fear isn't about eliminating it, but about moving forward despite its presence – creating lives of bold authenticity instead of quiet regret.

Chapter 1: The Power of Owning Your Voice

I once received an invitation to speak at a prestigious tech conference in Europe. My lecture agent responded with my standard requirements – my speaking fee, plus coverage for flight and hotel accommodations. Their reply shocked me: they didn't pay speakers and didn't cover travel expenses, but "the exposure would be great." Something felt off. Surely an established conference generating millions in revenue paid their speakers? Rather than silently accepting this response, I reached out to my professional network – a group of 250 influential women in business, technology, and media. Within fifteen minutes, I learned the disturbing pattern: white male speakers received payment and travel coverage, white women typically had their travel covered, but several Black women were told that "exposure" was their compensation. This wasn't just about money – it was about systemic inequality. I had a choice: stay silent or speak out publicly about this pay disparity. My agents warned me that calling out the conference could hurt future speaking opportunities. These fears were legitimate – my livelihood depended partly on these engagements. But after careful consideration, I decided to share the situation on Twitter, which sparked an hours-long conversation with others sharing similar experiences of inequitable treatment. When a Forbes writer asked if I'd go on record about the situation, I agreed. The resulting article, "It's Time to End the Pay Gap for Speakers at Tech Conferences," generated significant attention. The conference organizer's defensive response only further validated my point. Contrary to my fears of professional backlash, this moment of speaking truth to power actually led to more speaking invitations – including my eventual TED Talk. What I learned is profound: our voices are our most powerful tools for change. When we speak truth about injustice, even when our voices shake with fear, we create ripples that extend far beyond ourselves. Every time we choose courage over comfort, we not only transform our own reality but often create space for others to do the same. The power of owning your voice isn't just about personal empowerment – it's about creating collective change in a world that desperately needs it.

Chapter 2: Drawing Boundaries Without Guilt

My grandmother was a force of nature when it came to boundaries. Mama Fáloyin had one clear rule that everyone knew: never raise your voice at her in discontent. Even the most stubborn people honored this line. I witnessed this repeatedly – how Nigerian police officers who typically showed little regard for decorum would yell at someone in one sentence, then speak to my grandmother with warm deference in the next. Once, she attended a seminar at her church to advance in the ranks – the first woman ever allowed to participate. After completing all requirements, the pastor refused to give her the earned certificate. Rather than accepting this injustice, Grandma put on pants (something she rarely wore except when ready to fight), went to the church, and refused to leave until she received what she'd earned. When the pastor locked himself in his office, she stood firmly outside his door, declaring she wouldn't leave without her certificate. My grandfather backed her, saying, "You better give it to her. She will be here all day and I will be right here behind her." Eventually, she walked out with what she came for. Despite her reputation for being formidable with boundaries, my grandmother was deeply beloved at her church. If she missed services for too many weeks, they'd send people to check on her wellbeing. When she passed away, the high-ranking women in her church insisted on being the ones to prepare her body – a sacred ritual of love and respect. I witnessed this final act of care, overwhelmed by the profound respect she had earned in life. In a world that often expects us – especially women – to be endlessly accommodating, drawing boundaries isn't selfish; it's essential for genuine connection. We tend to fear being seen as difficult or unlikable if we establish limits, but my grandmother showed me that respecting yourself teaches others how to respect you too. The people who truly matter will appreciate your authenticity rather than your compliance. Being kind doesn't mean taking no-shit – it means valuing yourself enough to communicate what you need and expect. Through clear boundaries, you build relationships based on mutual respect rather than obligation, creating space for the deepest forms of love and belonging.

Chapter 3: Failing Forward: Growth Through Mistakes

In 2018, on the day Aretha Franklin died, I carelessly tweeted a dismissive comment about a suggested artist for her tribute. What began as a casual exchange spiraled into the biggest public backlash I've ever experienced. My name started trending on Twitter – and not in a good way. People accused me of being an entitled Nigerian who didn't understand American Black culture, digging through my past tweets for evidence to support their narrative. One person even created an anonymous email account to contact my brand partners and speaking engagements, suggesting they disassociate from me. I was devastated. Whatever tough skin or self-assurance I thought I had was pierced completely. I couldn't eat, losing eight pounds in a week. The worst part? It was my fault. I had been thoughtless with my words. For nearly a year afterward, I withdrew from public writing, questioning my voice and purpose – the greatest gifts I believed God had given me. Then something happened that jolted me awake: Toni Morrison passed away. Her death convicted me deeply. Her words – "If there's a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, you must write it" – had been life instructions for me. I realized that writers don't abandon their craft because they feel misunderstood or have their feelings hurt. They take their mistakes and let them spur them to create even better art. This realization led directly to the idea for this book. Through this painful experience, I learned several crucial lessons: The old me was necessary to become who I am today. None of us belong on pedestals. When moments of reckoning happen, we shouldn't waste them but use them for growth. Most importantly, I learned that we are not our worst moments or mistakes. We must allow grace and accountability to coexist – grace to forgive ourselves and accountability to ensure we learn and do better. Failure is life's greatest teacher, revealing our blind spots and opening paths to wisdom unavailable through success alone. When we fall flat on our faces and rise in the ashes of our old selves, we emerge more compassionate, more humble, and ultimately more powerful. Every face-plant becomes a step stool to higher ground if we're willing to learn from it. The only true failure is learning nothing from the valleys we experience.

Chapter 4: Nigerian Boldness: Cultural Lessons in Courage

Nigerians are world-renowned for their unshakable confidence and flair for taking up space unapologetically. I believe everyone needs a Nigerian friend, play cousin, or auntie in their lives. In a world where fear often rules and many of us cower, surrounding ourselves with this rowdy energy that takes up space unapologetically can transform how we move through the world. One of our greatest gifts is our verbal dexterity. Nigerians don't need to know how to physically fight because our tongues can dismantle opponents before they even think about boxing us. From childhood, we've been subjected to creative insults from family members, learning early how to assassinate with words. Yet this same sharpness is balanced with extraordinary loyalty – we might insult our friends for sport, but heaven help anyone else who tries to come for them. This bold spirit extends beyond words. When you bring fear to your Nigerian friends, they throw it out for you. They make big challenges feel like foregone conclusions. Growing up, our parents normalized excellence with questions like "Did that person have two heads?" when we got a B while someone else earned an A. The message was clear: Why not you? This mindset follows us into adulthood, where we instinctively gas up our friends when they express doubt about opportunities. "Why not you? A whole you like this! Who else would it be?" Even Nigerians with limited resources carry themselves with dignity. A woman selling water in the market for pennies won't think twice about taking up space and expecting respect. This isn't arrogance but rather a deep-seated belief in one's inherent worth. We wake up and cough adversity. We balance this confidence with extraordinary generosity – my grandmother would listen to people's troubles, help if she could, and send them off with food and sincere prayers. What makes this cultural boldness so valuable is how it normalizes taking risks, speaking up, and believing in possibilities. The Nigerian spirit demonstrates that confidence isn't about never feeling fear – it's about pushing forward anyway, knowing your value isn't determined by external validation. By borrowing some of this audacity, we can all learn to take up the space we deserve, stand firmly in our truth, and perhaps most importantly, believe that greatness is our birthright rather than our aspiration.

Chapter 5: Dream Audaciously, Live Authentically

Growing up, I knew exactly what I wanted to be: a doctor. But when I started college and took Chemistry 101, I earned the first D of my academic career. After a come-to-Jesus moment with myself, realizing I didn't even like hospitals, I dropped the premed track. Meanwhile, friends had peer-pressured me into starting a blog – something I initially saw as just a hobby. For years, I was afraid to call myself a writer. WRITER? WHERE? I was afraid of that title and all the dreams that could come from it that I would be unable to fulfill. Toni Morrison, Maya Angelou, Zora Neale Hurston – those were writers. I was just a girl putting up blog posts. Even when I won awards for my writing and had a substantial following, I still couldn't embrace the identity. This changed dramatically in February 2012 when I was credentialed to do press coverage at the Academy Awards. There I was, backstage at the Oscars, next to journalists from major networks – all because a producer loved my blog. That experience shifted my world: I was in that room breathing that air because of my gift, my words. How was I NOT a writer? I might not be Toni or Maya, but I was Luvvie, and the fear of claiming the writer title had kept me from truly honoring my purpose. When I finally overcame my fear of calling myself a writer, I wrote my first book at age thirty, which hit the New York Times bestseller list. This achievement allowed me to accomplish another major dream: telling my mother she could stop working because I could now handle the bills for both of us. The greatest pleasure of my life was showing her that her sacrifices weren't in vain. Dreams require audacity – the courage to envision possibilities beyond what seems reasonable. Many of us fear dreaming too big because we don't want to face disappointment. Yet the lives we live are filled with people's realized dreams. The things we use every day were born from someone's audacity to imagine what seemed impossible. When we dream boldly, we give others permission to do the same. When our dreams come true, we expand the worlds of others because now they know theirs can too. The only way we truly fail is by allowing fear to keep our dreams small, living a life of "what if" instead of "oh well." Dream anyway – because that's how we create the impossible.

Chapter 6: Taking No Shit: Kindness vs. Niceness

We often waste our time trying to be nice – smiling, being agreeable, avoiding conflict – because we fear being ostracized or labeled difficult. This fear keeps us swallowing our words and feelings while plastering fake smiles on our faces. In our desperate need for acceptance, forced niceness betrays us as we prioritize others' comfort over our own truth. I don't think "nice" should be our goal. Instead, we should aspire to be kind. There's a profound difference: being nice might mean saying positive things, but kindness means doing positive things. Nice is talking about the weather; kind is caring whether someone has an umbrella in case it rains. Kindness is generous, fair, honest, helpful, and service-driven. When someone describes you only as "nice," it tells me nothing of substance – it's the saltine cracker of adjectives. This distinction matters deeply in how we confront injustice. In June 2018, when children were being separated from parents at the U.S. border, Maxine Waters spoke truth to power, saying: "We don't know what damage has been done to these children. All that we know is they're in cages." The next day, her own party called her comments "divisive," insisting on "civility." But as Waters understood, justice doesn't come just because we're nice about asking for it. When people aren't being treated as full humans, civility can become complicity. Someone convinced us that if we were more respectable, we'd be more worthy of justice, love, or good things. This is a lie. We are worthy TODAY, even when we cuss and swear, even when we aren't perfectly polished. The goal isn't to never ruffle feathers – sometimes a good "WHO DO YOU THINK YOU'RE TALKING TO?" is warranted. Taking no shit doesn't make you a bad person; it means you made a decision to engage with someone as they asked for it. My grandmother exemplified this balance perfectly. She was one of the kindest people I've ever met – helping neighbors, feeding strangers, praying for everyone – while being feisty and taking no nonsense. When she died, she died deeply loved by countless people. A life well lived isn't about avoiding friction or maintaining false harmony; it's about connecting your humanity to others while honoring your boundaries. Be kind, absolutely – but take no shit. The first person you need to be kind to is yourself.

Chapter 7: Building Your Squad: Community Over Fear

Although we spend our lives seeking approval, we're also afraid of building community outside our families. Many pride themselves on being movements of one, afraid to need others. But humans aren't meant to do life alone – we need people to cheer for us, encourage us, challenge us, and love us. What holds us back? We fear betrayal and rejection – the pain of giving people power to hurt us. Those whose parents taught them to "trust no one" carry that trauma into adulthood. Yet this fear, however valid, prevents us from accessing the richness that community provides. My grandmother, despite being fiercely independent, surrounded herself with a squad of equally bold Nigerian women. They didn't discourage her from taking up space but affirmed her when she needed to stand her ground. At her sixtieth birthday celebration, they stood beside her, looking like the proud, territorial friends we all need. Bold women rock with other bold women because we create space for each other and affirm identities society often denounces. The communities we belong to shape our identity and provide essential support. I have multiple squads that serve different purposes: Day Ones who knew me before any success, the Professional Crew I've met through work, Mentors who open doors, the Play Group for adventures, and the True Blues who know all my secrets. Each group plays different roles and fills different gaps. Not everyone can fulfill all our needs, and that's okay. Yes, building these communities involves risk. I've had Day Ones I no longer speak to and professional friends who became adversaries. But if I had closed myself off after my first friendship disappointment, I wouldn't have been emotionally available to meet the friend who later moved mountains for me when I truly needed it. Some people will come and go – not everyone is meant to accompany us on our entire journey. The important thing is to remain open to connection despite past hurts. Be intentional with building a squad that will ride for you, challenge you, hold you accountable, and pick you up in the valley moments. Show up as the friend you would want, be vulnerable, focus on quality over quantity, ditch your spirit of competition, level up yourself, and make yourself vouchable. Our friends are part of the fabric of our lives – choose the best people you know and hold on to them. Because life's adventures are meant to be shared, and its burdens are too heavy to carry alone.

Summary

At the heart of fear-fighting lies a fundamental truth: courage isn't the absence of fear but the decision to move forward despite it. Throughout these stories and lessons, we've seen how transformative it can be to acknowledge our fears while refusing to let them dictate our choices. Whether it's speaking truth to power, setting boundaries, learning from failure, dreaming audaciously, or building meaningful communities – the path forward requires us to say "fuck fear" even as our hearts race and our voices shake. The professional troublemaker understands that fear serves a purpose – it keeps us from putting our hands in open fires or jumping off cliffs without parachutes. But that same mechanism can paralyze us when we need to ask for a raise, stand up against injustice, or simply show up authentically in spaces that weren't designed for us. By recognizing fear as a constant companion rather than an enemy to defeat, we can develop the practices that help us function alongside it: owning our voices, embracing our authenticity, learning from our failures, and surrounding ourselves with people who remind us of our worth. These aren't one-time achievements but daily choices that build a lifetime of courageous living. As we practice saying "yes" when fear screams "no," we discover that the most terrifying steps often lead to our greatest moments of growth, connection, and impact.

About Author

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Luvvie Ajayi Jones

Luvvie Ajayi Jones is a 4-time NYT bestselling author, speaker and entrepreneur who thrives at the intersection of culture, business and leadership. She's CEO and Chief Creative Officer of Awe Luv Media, and founder of The Book Academy.She has written 4 critically acclaimed bestselling books (including her banner book Professional Troublemaker: The Fear-Fighter Manual and her children’s book Little Troublemaker Makes a Mess), establishing her as a literary force with a powerful pen. With a passion and proven track record of creating and launching successful books, Luvvie founded The Book Academy (TBA), as a platform to help others do the same. TBA is a masterclass and coaching suite designed to guide students from the initial idea to the final reality of a published book. http://thebookacademy.com

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