Meet Karolina Fellows

Alright – so today we’ve got the honor of introducing you to Karolina Fellows. We think you’ll enjoy our conversation, we’ve shared it below.

Karolina, we’re so excited for our community to get to know you and learn from your journey and the wisdom you’ve acquired over time. Let’s kick things off with a discussion on self-confidence and self-esteem. How did you develop yours?

By doing the exact opposite of what I was taught back in Eastern Europe. I was born in the part of the world where self-confidence is often mistaken for arrogance, and showing your happiness or success could be seen as almost… impolite. You don’t brag, you don’t shine too brightly, you don’t talk too loudly about the good things — because “what will people say?” And if you do, chances are someone will remind you to stay humble, stay quiet, and not tempt fate.

But here’s the thing: staying small never protected anyone. In my opinion it only kept people from realizing their own potential. At some point, I decided to test the waters and speak about my wins, my joy, and my ambitions — and yes, sometimes it backfired. Not everyone claps when you succeed, especially if they were taught that shining is somehow shameful.

Call me crazy, but I love seeing people succeed. I don’t see it as threatening; I see it as inspiring. So why would I hide my own success? Why would I lock my achievements in a closet just to make someone else more comfortable? To me, celebrating what you’ve worked for isn’t arrogance — it’s gratitude in action. It’s proof that the work, the risk, the courage meant something.

Confidence, for me, has been about rewiring that cultural script. And slowly, I built a narrative that made space for pride, joy, and ambition. Not the performative kind — but the grounded kind that says: I know who I am, I know what I’ve done, and I’m not afraid to own it.

I think hiding success doesn’t make the world kinder. But sharing it? That can spark something in someone else. And if my confidence makes even one other person feel braver about stepping into their own light — then it’s not just confidence anymore. It’s contagious.

Great, so let’s take a few minutes and cover your story. What should folks know about you and what you do?

My story starts in Wołomin, a small town just outside Warsaw, Poland, where I grew up in a home stitched together with grit, warmth, and quiet resilience. My mom — a former professional basketball player — raised me on her own. She didn’t give pep talks or speeches about discipline; instead, she just showed up, every single day, with a kind of strength that didn’t need an audience. Her faith in me was steady and simple, and it made me brave enough to chase things I didn’t even know how to name yet. My grandparents filled in the rest: love disguised as structure, sacrifice, and endless stories. My grandfather gave me curiosity. My grandmother, once a Polish language teacher, gave me words — she showed me that writing wasn’t just about pretty sentences, but about weight, meaning, and memory. Those early lessons shaped everything that came after. Journalism didn’t just happen to me — it was the most natural continuation of the life I’d been raised into.

Along the way, I picked up a degree in Political Science from Collegium Civitas and studied Documentary Filmmaking at the University of Warsaw — because I’ve always believed that understanding power and learning how to capture reality are two sides of the same storytelling coin.

Over twelve years ago, I filed my first deadline story from a Warsaw newsroom, and I haven’t stopped chasing them since. Over the years, I’ve covered everything from royal protocol to red-carpet politics, writing for leading media outlets in Poland. Sometimes the work has been serious, sometimes sparkling, but always intentional. Because here’s the thing: I don’t believe in filler. I believe in stories that make you think, feel, or at least smirk before you scroll away.

Deadlines don’t scare me — they caffeinate me. Culture is my playground, and I love exploring how fame, identity, and influence shape the way we see ourselves. My sweet spot is where editorial depth meets entertainment sparkle — making something smart feel accessible, and something fun feel meaningful.

At the end of the day, I see my work as a bridge: between places I’ve lived, audiences I write for, and that ever-blurry line between influence and meaning. And if there is a carpet to host, I will make it red.

Looking back, what do you think were the three qualities, skills, or areas of knowledge that were most impactful in your journey? What advice do you have for folks who are early in their journey in terms of how they can best develop or improve on these?

Looking back, there are three things that changed the game for me — and not just professionally. These aren’t the kind of tips you pick up in a classroom or from a vision board. They’re hard-won lessons from jumping into the deep end, sometimes sinking a little, but always figuring out how to swim with better form next time.

First, instead of “I hope I can,” start thinking: “I’m going to make it happen.” I know, this one sounds motivational-poster-simple, but don’t let that fool you — it’s rocket fuel. “I hope” is passive. It’s polite. It waits for permission. And I was tired of waiting for permission. The second I stopped waiting to be chosen, endorsed, or discovered — and instead decided to make things happen for myself — things moved. You’d be surprised how often doors start opening when you stop standing in front of them hoping, and instead grab the handle and walk in.

Second, the art of winging it (with confidence). I wish I could say I always had a perfect plan. Nope. Half the time, I was making it up as I went along. But here’s the thing: being comfortable figuring things out on the fly is priceless. Life rarely hands you a neatly printed instruction manual. The ability to stay calm, improvise, and say, “I don’t know… but I’ll figure it out,” has saved me more than once. For anyone starting out, practice leaning into that discomfort. Put yourself in situations where you don’t know all the answers — then focus on solving the puzzle instead of panicking. With enough practice, you can even make chaos look intentional.

And finally: be scared and do it. This one might be the most important of all. Every big leap I’ve taken — every job I wasn’t “ready” for, every project that felt way too big, every situation where imposter syndrome was screaming in my ear — I was scared. But I did it anyway. And here’s the thing: courage doesn’t feel like confidence. It feels like fear, with action layered on top. The people who move forward aren’t the ones without fear; they’re the ones who decide to move even while their stomach is in knots. So if you’re just starting out, don’t wait until you “feel ready.” Spoiler: you probably never will. Do it scared. That’s where growth lives.

So if I could give advice to anyone at the beginning of their journey, it would be this: stop waiting for permission, get comfortable being uncomfortable, and be scared and do it anyway. Plans will fall apart, but adaptability will keep you moving forward. And courage? That’s the secret ingredient that gets you across the threshold in the first place.
You don’t need to have it all figured out. Just be brave enough to wing it — and when fear shows up, take it by the hand and go anyway. The rest has a way of falling into place.

Alright, so before we go we want to ask you to take a moment to reflect and share what you think you would do if you somehow knew you only had a decade of life left?

When I was younger I used to live saying, “I’ll do it later.” And even thought I still was in my 20s, my little and quiet life became one huge “later”. To be honest, that “later” became the storage closet where I shoved all the things I was too scared, too tired, or too distracted to do. And where I come from — Eastern European culture — that closet fills up even faster. We are being raised to be “good girls” because “what will people say?” We are being taught not to mention that we are happy or successful because “people don’t like it.” So you learn to shrink a little, wait a little longer, swallow the spark in case it offends someone. Before you know it, your whole life is politely waiting on the shelf.

If I had ten years left, I’d burn that closet down. I’d say: Later is cancelled. Permission is cancelled. Approval is cancelled.
But (and maybe I will surprise you here) I wouldn’t make a Hallmark movie-style bucket list. I wouldn’t rush to check off landmarks or collect Instagram-perfect memories. Honestly, I think the most radical thing I could do is live a decade that feels unapologetically mine.

I’d make the ordinary extraordinary. I’d take Tuesday afternoons and make them feel like holidays. I’d turn small conversations into deep ones, shallow hellos into real connections. I’d let myself be proud out loud, instead of apologizing for joy. I’d create things just because they burn inside me to exist, even if no one claps. And most of all, I’d stop saving things for “later.” Because later is a myth. Later is where courage goes to die. If I had a decade, I’d live it like proof that happiness isn’t selfish, fear isn’t fatal, and life doesn’t have to be impressive to anyone else to be worth everything.

So no, I wouldn’t make a wish list. I’d make a life list: laugh louder than feels polite, speak the truth even if my voice shakes, and never again trade authenticity for approval. Because if I only had ten years, I’d finally live like ten years is enough.

Contact Info:

• Instagram: @sheskaro