I Was Skeptical Of Going On A Reality Show To Find Love. I Had No Idea How Radically It'd Change Me

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. 

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