by Kim Fields
By the time I returned home, I was intrigued enough to tell Art to tell the producers I was thinking about our conversations. No one was more surprised by this than I was. Chris and I went over the pros and cons. We prayed about it. We sought counsel from family and friends, most of whom told us to pass. Then Chris and I were still and quiet so we could listen to God.
I had to admit, after the initial shock, Chris and I saw more positives than either of us imagined. It was an opportunity for our light to shine on a giant stage in a different arena. Real Housewives was a cultural phenomenon, and perhaps we were being given this opportunity to show millions of people what it meant to be dedicated to family, marriage, work, and faith. Last but not least, as I began my fortieth year in the business, I wanted to try new things and challenge myself professionally—go in uncharted career waters.
I knew my fans would wonder why I’d gone into this realm of content. But I felt my reputation could weather any dings, and if people watched, they’d see that I wasn’t going to compromise my personal and professional credibility. I was most concerned about the effect on my family, and specifically, my marriage, if I did the show, but Chris dealt with those worries head-on. “Don’t worry about us,” he said. “We are almost ten years into our marriage. We are strong. We are unbreakable.”
That sealed it for me. “Okay,” I said, “if we’re going to put our toe in the water, it may as well be the ocean; if we’re gonna do reality, it might as well be big—and The Real Housewives of Atlanta is big.”
* * *
From then on, things moved fast. Social media blew up when word got out that I was joining the show. It was September 2015, and fan reaction was all over the map. I learned that RHOA fans let you know exactly what they think. To get ready for the style component of this new world, I worked with my stylist, Victoria, on creating a look for the show that was more couture-ish than I wear in my everyday life.
I was supposed to get acquainted with the season eight cast at an event. But as I got out of my car, two producers hurried over and said the network’s legal department didn’t want me on camera since they hadn’t finished my contract.
They introduced me on the show briefly in the second episode. It was a relatively quiet, sane, and respectful point of entry, and I have to say, I was pleasantly surprised the producers chose to show me in a professional light.
I met the rest of the women at an all-cast event. A producer brought a crew to the house to shoot Chris and me getting ready for the party beforehand. They got a window into the real us. I suggested coming up with a safe word for when we were ready to bounce. “How about discernment?”
Chris could not even. “That is the worst safety word in the world,” he said. “It’s not like you can use discernment in casual conversation.”
* * *
It seemed like my calling it an adventure was a pretty accurate description. There were highs and lows, a couple of fun moments, moments of feeling unsure of where I was going, but still in control…And I suppose no adventure is complete without a bit of danger. I came dangerously close to unleashing the Ruthless Assassin Child Star, another nickname from my Living Single family for my temper, when folks tried to pull one over on me. We all have that part of us in our back pocket, ready and waiting in the wings (yes, even those of us who try to stayed prayed up…Be honest, you know that very prayer is sometimes, “Father, don’t let me whoop nobody verbally or otherwise”). I tried to be still but ready for anything. The truth of the matter was, I wasn’t going to compromise who I am and what I’m about, how I roll, nor my safety for the sake of a story line. I think most people draw their lines in the sand, not only where they will allow themselves to cross, but also where they will let others cross as it relates to them.
Although, when the police and an ambulance entered at one point, I exited. I tried to be still but ready for anything on this adventure. At times, it was hard to see some of the women interacting the way they did on and for the show.
While we were filming, I still continued my responsibilities as a wife, mom, and career woman. None of those things got put on hold because I was doing the show. Unfortunately, getting into bed at the end of the day did not provide relief nor rest. Have you ever been in an environment where you feel like communicating or existing in that space is like doing mental calisthenics? At work, or school, your neighborhood, or even…your church?
As soon as my head hit the pillow, my mind began replaying everything I had said and done in front of the camera. It was an endless scroll of you should’ve’s, I didn’t do’s, and next time I’m gonna’s. It can be tiring dealing with tiresome entities. Yet you have to find the times when you can breathe and laugh…because every adventure also needs laughter.
Briefly looking back on the whole season, here’s some of what I discerned:
Being myself, sharing my reality in a quasi-real reality, can be a bizarre vibe.
Many times as a person with values, home training, or faith we wonder, Why do I have to be the person to take the high road? Why—for just a moment, to put someone in their place—can’t I go low when they go low? They can stay there (if they choose to) while I come back up to my regular place. Have you ever felt that way? Why is it that the only time it’s acceptable to go down to someone’s level is to pick them up? Is the answer as simple as hearing the Lord say, “Because that’s what I ask of you, what I expect as your Father, what I require as your creator”? Food for thought…
Being true to yourself starts with one word: True. Truth…opposite of lie. It’s not healthy (and to me, there’s no reason) to lie to yourself. Be you, do you, boo-boo. As we grow and develop over our lifetimes, I think there are elements that are at our core that are deeply rooted in our soul, so that when we are tried and tested, by people and/or circumstances, that which has taken root grounds us in those moments. Everyone has the ability and power to change whatever they don’t like that may have taken root in the negative way, if they choose to. It boils down to choice. What do we choose to take root and why? What do we embrace as our truth, our “true colors” and why? As an actor, we are constantly asking “What’s my motivation (to do or say something)?” There were brief moments on the show when I know my face was looking at cast members wondering what in the world motivated them to do or say something. Because it’s their job? This is the persona they’ve carved out for themselves and ID’ing it as their truth?
In my scripted world, we call that acting, making a character you’re own. Part of an actor’s process is being true to the person you’re creating. Remember when I said that process is what drew me in as a little girl at the theater watching Hello, Dolly!? Ms. Pearl Bailey was true to herself at the end of every performance of acting as Dolly Levi, when she would talk to the audience from the stage after the curtain call. Once, when she knew I was in the audience, she passed me some cookies from the stage during her time with the audience. That was the performer and friend she truly was.
For much of the filming, I felt like I was in a chess game, constantly ready for and even trying to anticipate the moves of those in front of and behind the camera, while being strategic with my own, while staying a few moves ahead in my mind. Who has the time or desire to communicate and operate like that? Not me. Which is why I opted for being true to myself. My truth, what is deeply rooted in me, is what Mom placed in me: home training, manners, and not selling my soul to the highest bidder. It’s what my heroes like Brett Favre and Misty Copeland placed in me, depositing inspiration in my core. My truth is not confrontation but compassion, which enveloped me in my post-9/11 work with the Red Cross at ground zero for the workers in the respite areas.
My deeply rooted strategic thinking efforts don’t serve me nearly as well in the “she said-she said” playground, as much as they do in social and cultural arenas, the way Ossie and Ruby, Barack and Michelle, and Bill and Melinda have. I finished my mental calisthenics on rules and safety in the ’80s when I navigated my teen years against the backdr
op of fame and drugs. So by the time I got into this journey, not being true to myself was never an option. Before I’d made an official statement about doing the show, I quietly cheered so many times when I would see comments on social media when people said they knew I was not gonna let anything or anyone change me.
Yes, I was trying something new, something to stimulate me creatively, professionally, and even a bit personally. While that was attractive to me selfishly speaking, I honestly liked the idea of using my platforms, my voice or celebrity to encourage others to try new things, learn something new, be open…Yet know who you are, so when negativity comes against you, it comes but it doesn’t land.
This was a Note to Self I made while filming: When you are strong in who you are and know your truth, it can make those who aren’t become a touch unhinged. Hence, be still but ready for anything, wherever you may be being true to yourself.
After five months of filming, the social adventure and its reunion all ended. It was the end of February. I was chairing a Black History Month celebration at Sebastian’s school and had to be at chapel at 7:30 a.m. to lead the program. I had two Tuskegee airmen come in and speak to the students. Our theme, which I’d selected, was African American explorers. I’d never compare myself to our Tuskegee heroes, but honestly, I felt like I had done a bit of exploring myself. Doing that brand of TV had been a journey into the unknown, that’s for sure. I’d stepped out of my comfort zone and learned new things about myself. I’d tried something new. I hadn’t compromised my values in the process. My sense of self and humor had remained intact. I stayed true to myself. Like Chris told me months earlier, “Baby, you have to remember you weren’t invited to fit in. You were invited to be yourself.”
Ultimately, that was my takeaway and the lesson I had learned and hoped I conveyed to the audience.
#ToeInWaterDidNotDrown
#truetomyself
21
Dancer
While we go through life chronologically, our pasts return randomly and without warning. Memories surface seemingly on their own accord, when needed or necessary. One of my reality cast mates once asked me, “What do you do for yourself? Where’s your happy place?” I didn’t know what to say. My natural inclination was to take care of people. The postscript on my emails was Proverbs 11:25: “Whoever refreshes others will be refreshed.”
I wanted to answer her, but I didn’t have an answer for myself. As I continued to think about it, I came to realize that, like so many women, I had missed a crucial step as I focused on a career, added a husband, and had babies by not also making myself a priority—a priority in the deep, emotional, searching, and spiritual way that would enable me to know myself better, to feel better about myself, and, by doing so, to share myself better.
I’d had “me” time back in the late ’90s when I came out of my Dark Ages. That was my time to work on me. I’d made myself the priority. I’d known I had to focus on myself in order to move forward in my life. But this was a revelation. It had never occurred to me to make sure I still occasionally made myself a priority, even now—or especially now. If I didn’t, I couldn’t be at my fullest for anybody else.
So what was I supposed to do? It was December, and Chris and I were spending every free hour finishing the Holiday Love show. Then, a few days later, Art called and said Dancing with the Stars had invited me on the next season. “What do you think?”
I didn’t have to think. As soon as I heard the word dancing, it triggered an immediate response. I was in. I was stunned. But I was in.
I marveled at the timing. One show was ending, and the other was getting ready to go into production. Better yet and even more significantly was the way I felt when I thought about doing the show. I’d never danced in my life. I didn’t know if I could. And I had to think back to Battle of the Network Stars, all the way back to the ’80s, to remember the last time I’d been in an athletic sort of competition. But all of a sudden my inner voice was shouting at me. Pay attention! It desperately wanted me to listen. This is exactly what you need to do. This is what my cast mate was talking about. This could be your happy place.
Skeptical at first, I dialogued with myself, asking, Really? and hearing a clear response: Yup, you’re going to dance—and you’re going to love it. If the words weren’t exactly like that, the feeling I got when I pictured myself doing the show and putting myself out there, in a new, uncertain place, was all positive, and even exciting. I liked the idea of walking to the edge of life’s diving board. You have to do that sometimes in order to discover new facets of yourself, and new passions, especially if you want to continue to grow—and I did.
That was why I did Housewives. In my fortieth year in show business, I’d wanted to try something new, and I said the same thing about Dancing. But it quickly became obvious to me that Dancing with the Stars was more, starting with the connection it would give me to my grandmother, who’d been a professional dancer. I thought about her ripping it up in Harlem’s Savoy Ballroom, working with Billy Eckstine, and backing up Pearl Bailey. Perhaps she was the one whispering to me, “You’re going to dance—and you’re going to love it.”
My husband was also a superb dancer—or “a helluva dancer,” as my friend Blair Underwood had once said. The show would work with my schedule, meaning I could train in Atlanta. And finally, as everyone knew, doing Dancing with the Stars got you in great shape.
So it was like check, check, check—check all the boxes. I was in. I was excited. I was ready to get my dance on.
* * *
But who was going to lead me around the dance floor? Val Chmerkovskiy? Tony Dovolani? Mark Ballas? I had fun anticipating the choice, knowing whoever the producers chose would be right for me; they really don’t tell you until the cameras are rolling, and indeed, that’s what happened. The show’s cameras were at home with me in Atlanta when there was a knock on the front door. I opened it and there stood Sasha Farber, a smile on his face and a bouquet of flowers in his hands. I liked him immediately and even more as we got to know each other.
Born in Russia, he grew up in Australia and was a top competitive dancer starting in his early teens. We had that in common: Both of us had worked since we were kids, and we were still doing what we loved. We discovered other shared traits. We were driven, goal-oriented, and hard workers. We laughed easily. Our birthdays were three days apart. I admitted to being nervous. I wasn’t a dancer. Sasha explained that dance was about overcoming obstacles.
Moments later, we moved the living room furniture to the side and Sasha began working with me on basic combinations. He introduced me to the cha-cha. It seemed a little quick, but he said, “You can do this,” and there, dressed in my knotted I Love Lucy–style work shirt and leggings (I was channeling Lucy auditioning for Ricky at his club) and Chuck Taylors, I said, “Yes, I can.”
I wasn’t a dancer. But I had no doubt that I would become one.
A week later, my body had second thoughts. On the morning I was supposed to fly to Los Angeles to tape the opening titles and other promotional assets, I woke up feeling dizzy and nauseous. As I soon as I got out of bed, I vomited. “Your body is in shock,” my husband said. “Baby, this is the first day you’ve had off in a week and your body is mad at you. It wants to know what is going on.” Sasha said the same thing when I called him in LA to tell him what was happening. “You’ll be fine,” he said. “You’ll adjust.”
Just to be sure, Chris took me to the doctor before I got on the plane. She gave me a similar diagnosis. “Drink plenty of water,” she said. “Stay hydrated. Get enough rest. Have fun. And good luck.” On the plane, between several stretches of sleep, I caught myself smiling at my aching, rebelling body. This was my work ethic kicking into high gear. It was only going to get harder and better, if that makes sense, and if I pushed myself, if I committed to a higher level of excellence, which was my intention, I knew that I would emerge harder and better, too.
By the time I got to Los Angeles, I felt better and eager to see
the other celebrity dancers. The field included Marla Maples, meteorologist Ginger Zee, NFL players Antonio Brown and Von Miller, model and activist for the deaf community Nyle DiMarco, former Full House and Fuller House actress Jodie Sweetin, UFC fighter Paige VanZant, and my dear old friend from Boyz II Men, Wanya Morris, who poked his head into one of my rehearsals and shouted, “You got this!” I offered him similar encouragement. “I’m so proud of you,” I said. From the beginning, all of us newbie dancers shared an esprit des corps—if not shared aches and pains. I thought Ginger, Jodie, and Paige looked like the frontrunners, but Sasha didn’t want me comparing myself to anyone. “There’s no room for those thoughts here,” he said. “You have to stay focused on your journey.”
Wow, where had he been twenty years earlier? Stay focused on your journey. Not anyone else’s. Your journey. Great advice.
The hardest was getting used to Sasha being in my personal space. I’d always been self-conscious, to some degree or another, about my body, and partner dancing is very up close and personal. It’s all about the body—moving it, using it, accepting both your gifts and limitations, and in my case, allowing someone else to touch, spin, guide, and lead. It was jarringly intimate. For over a decade the only person (let alone only man) to be in my personal space was Chris.
But this was my issue. It was part of partner dancing, and I adjusted. I had to. During hours and days of rehearsal, my shock turned to surprise and then laughter, and finally acceptance, which was where I had to get in order to compete at this high level. I had to give up some control—actually, a lot of control—to Sasha, and simply let go of those longtime inhibitions and fears about my body. As I told my husband, it was a whole new level of surrender.
I learned, If it don’t kill ya, it makes you stronger, better, wiser, and able to laugh at yourself.