The Friend Who Refused to Let Me Play Small
You know you have a real friend when your name is being said in rooms you’ve never stepped into.
That kind of advocacy? It’s intentional. It’s rare. And it’s real.
I have a few friends who move like that—but this one is about Dr. Maurice G. Sholas.
He’s not only an amazing doctor, healthcare advocate, and culture bearer—he’s an amazing friend.
I remember when we talked about social media. Twitter didn’t quite land for him at first. I kept telling him, “Once it clicks, you’re going to love it.” And eventually, it did. He found his rhythm. Then came Instagram. Then TikTok.
Not to follow trends—but to translate his voice across platforms.
That’s who he is.
He’s also the kind of person who sees something in you and doesn’t let you play small.
He asked me to create an illustration—gave me layered, unconventional direction—and trusted me to bring it to life. That illustration ended up published in a medical journal.
Then another.
Then another.
Three in total.
He also asked me to create a video for a Robert Wood Johnson Foundation Clinical Scholars application. Now, I don’t know how decisions were made on their end—but he told me that video helped his cohort, emPOWER NOLA, get selected.
Whether that’s fully true or not almost isn’t the point.
He believed it mattered.
And more importantly—he believed I mattered in the process.
The other day, we went to the last New Orleans Pelicans home game. Just him and me.
I appreciated that more than I probably said out loud.
At first, I did what I usually do—I shrank into the background. Observing. Listening. Staying small.
But something shifted.
I started opening up. Talking. Engaging with people around me. Letting myself be seen in a way I don’t always allow.
And he noticed.
He didn’t say much—but he smiled.
And sometimes, that’s all you need.
And if I’m being honest, I would’ve minimized every single one of those moments if left to myself.
But that’s the difference between shrinking and becoming.
He lives loudly. Not for attention—but for alignment. For impact. For truth.
And I know that kind of visibility isn’t always easy. But he chooses it anyway.
I respect that.
I love that.
I love him.
Because when anyone asks him, “Are you your sister’s keeper?”
It’s never a quiet answer.
It’s “I am.”
