Is Female Friendship Even Worth It?

There is something about female friendship that is both beautiful and terrifying.

Women can love each other so deeply. We can build businesses together, raise our children together, pray together, travel together, celebrate each other’s birthdays, know each other’s deepest secrets and become so intertwined that sometimes the friendship begins to look like family.

And then something goes wrong.

And suddenly, the same woman who once knew your deepest secrets is the person standing online with a microphone, telling the world everything you ever trusted her with.

That is the part of female friendship I have never understood.

I have been watching the recent brouhaha surrounding Dabota Lawson and Diiadem, two women who were publicly associated as friends and collaborators during The Real Housewives of Lagos. At one point, their friendship was even described publicly in terms of mutual support, friendship and empowerment.

And maybe that is what makes these situations so fascinating to me.

How do two grown women go from “my girl” to “let me tell the internet what she did”?

How do you go from knowing somebody’s secrets to using those same secrets as ammunition?

And more importantly, what were you both doing in that friendship in the first place?

Because I genuinely want to know.

If we have reached the point where our friendship has ended and we now need to expose each other online, what exactly were we building all those years?

Friendship? Or a future arsenal?

I have never really understood the need to destroy someone you once loved.

People fight… Of course they do.

Friends misunderstand each other. Friends disappoint each other. Friends grow apart. Friends become jealous. Friends discover that they no longer share the same values.

Sometimes, friendship simply expires.

And honestly, I think that is okay.

You don’t have to turn every failed friendship into a Netflix documentary.

You can simply say, “We are no longer good for each other.”

You can return whatever belongs to the other person, delete the pictures, mute the stories, cry for three business days if necessary, eat your ice cream, complain to your other friend and move on.

But the internet has changed the way we experience conflict.

Now, instead of quietly ending friendships, people sometimes seem determined to leave with a press conference and that is where things become ugly.

Because once you start exposing secrets, you cannot control where the story goes.

Today, you are angry enough to reveal that your former friend allegedly slept with someone’s husband or people’s husband (you even mentioned names)

Tomorrow, somebody is revealing what you did in somebody else’s marriage.

Today, you are telling us she cheated.

Tomorrow, we are hearing about your own private business.

And suddenly, two women who were once taking pictures together are competing to see who can embarrass the other person the most.

For what? Ehn? For what exactly now?

A friendship that is already dead?

At what point do you simply bury it?

Maybe women are just messy.

Let me be honest…Women can be dramatic.

We can be emotional. We can overanalyse. We can remember something that happened in 2017 and bring it up during a completely unrelated argument in 2026.

“And don’t forget what you did to me at this person’s party 3 years ago “

Girl??? Really??? 😂😭

We can be petty.

We can be jealous.

We can compare ourselves.

Sometimes we secretly compete with the very women we claim to love.

And I think we need to be honest about that.

Not every woman who calls you “my sister” or my “bestie” is actually happy when you win.

Not every friend clapping for you is clapping with you.

And not every friendship is rooted in genuine love.

Sometimes there is comparison hiding underneath it.

Sometimes there is envy.

Sometimes there is insecurity.

Sometimes two women are friends because they enjoy the same lifestyle, the same social circle, the same attention or the same access.

And when one person starts feeling threatened, the friendship becomes a competition.

But here is where maturity should come in.

You can be jealous and still choose not to betray somebody.

You can be angry and still keep a secret.

You can be hurt and still refuse to humiliate somebody.

You can end a friendship without destroying the person.

That is emotional maturity to me.

I know what it feels like to question a friendship.

I haven’t really enjoyed female friendship in a very long time.

And I am not saying this because I believe women are terrible friends.

I say it because my own experience taught me to be careful.

I was in university, still very young, and I had a best friend.

At the time, I had a boyfriend.

My boyfriend and my best friend had absolutely no reason to have each other’s phone numbers.

There was no obvious connection between them.

So imagine my surprise one day when we were studying for an exam and I was sitting there with my AirPods in my ears.

I wasn’t actually listening to music.

But she didn’t know that.

I was checking my boyfriend’s WhatsApp status when I saw that he had posted a video of himself singing.

Then, almost casually, I noticed that my friend was also looking at his status.

I pulled my AirPod out.

“Please, play that thing again.”

She looked confused.

“What’s that?”

“Isn’t that my boyfriend’s status?”

“Yes.”

I stared at her.

“How do you have his number?”

Silence.

And then came the explanation.

She told me that one night, he had come around looking for me. He didn’t meet me, so apparently, he asked her for her number.

Okay???

But then I asked the question that really mattered.

“How long have you had his number?”

She said something along the lines of, “About three months.”

Three months???

Three whole months?

My best friend had my boyfriend’s number for three months, and I didn’t know…she didn’t feel it is necessary for me to know.

I didn’t even have her boyfriend number at that time.

That was the moment something inside me changed.

Trust me when i say that the issue wasn’t even necessarily the man.

It was the secrecy.

You were my best friend.

You knew everything.

You knew my relationship. You knew my boyfriend. You knew how I felt about him.

So why couldn’t you tell me that he asked for your number?

What exactly was happening between you two that required secrecy?

Eventually, the argument became bigger.

I found out that they had apparently gotten to a point where something almost happened between them.

According to her, she stopped it because she was my friend.

According to him, she was the one seducing him.

According to her, he was the one making advances.

They both claimed that they never actually slept together.

And to this day, I don’t know exactly what happened between them.

Maybe they genuinely stopped themselves.

Maybe there was more to it.

I don’t know.

But you know what I do know?

I was hurt.

Because even if nothing sexual happened, something had already happened.

The secrecy.

The fact that my best friend could sit beside me for months knowing that she had my boyfriend’s number and never think, “Maybe I should tell my friend.”

That was enough.

And that friendship eventually fell apart..same as the relationship.

And this is why I struggle with female friendship.

Maybe I’m being unfair.

Maybe I have allowed one bad experience to influence how I view friendships with women.

Because I’ve met good women.

I’ve had female acquaintances who are kind, supportive and genuinely lovely.

But there is something about best friendship that has always made me cautious.

My current best friend is actually a man.

And yes, before you ask, men can be dramatic too.

Don’t let them deceive you.

But my friendship with a man has always felt different.

We have our arguments. We misunderstand each other. We annoy each other. Sometimes we probably both need to be banned from speaking for 24 hours.

But there is something about the simplicity of it.

Maybe it’s because there isn’t comparison,jealousy,pretense or hatred.

Maybe it’s because we don’t constantly dissect every tiny emotional shift.

Maybe it’s because I don’t have to wonder whether my friend secretly wants what I have.

Or maybe I’ve just been lucky.

Because friendship isn’t really about gender.

It is about character.

A bad friend is a bad friend.

A jealous friend is a jealous friend.

A disloyal friend is a disloyal friend.

Whether she wears a wig or he has a beard is irrelevant.

But women, pleaseeee.

If you ever loved each other, let the friendship die with some dignity.

Don’t expose somebody’s secrets because you are angry.

Don’t reveal someone’s private life because they hurt your feelings.

Don’t drag their family into an argument between the two of you.

Don’t expose someone’s relationship because your own relationship with them has ended.

And please, for the love of God, don’t turn private information into social-media content.

Because one thing about the internet?

It has no burial ground.

Once you put something online, you cannot truly take it back.

Screenshots exist.

People save videos.

People record lives.

People remember.

And years after you have forgiven each other, somebody can still pull out that old scandal and say:

“Wasn’t this your best friend?”

Some friendships are worth fighting for.

Some are worth repairing.

Some are worth apologising for.

And some are simply worth walking away from.

No announcement.

No Instagram story.

No 47-slide exposé.

No “I have been quiet for too long.”

No screenshots.

No voice notes.

No “Since she has decided to tell her side…”

Just silence.

Sometimes the most powerful response to a broken friendship is to leave with the dignity you had when you entered it.

Because if I ever loved you, I don’t want my greatest achievement after our friendship ends to be proving to the world that you are a terrible person.

I want it to be that I loved you once, we didn’t work anymore, and I still chose not to destroy you.

Maybe that is what growing up should look like.

Maybe friendship doesn’t have to end beautifully.

But surely, it can end quietly.

I honestly think that is the kind of female friendship I want now.

Not the kind where we pretend to be sisters while secretly competing with each other.

Just two women who genuinely want each other to win.

Two women who can disagree without becoming enemies.

Two women who can outgrow each other without exposing each other.

Two women who can say:

“This friendship isn’t working anymore.”

And actually mean:

“I wish you well.”

Maybe female friendship isn’t trash.

Maybe we’ve just been doing it wrong.

Your Favorite Internet Bestie

Cici Tiwa

Dear Besties,

The older I get, the more I understand why people disappear.

Although, I don't think it is always right and I don't think ghosting is suddenly okay.

But I am beginning to understand that sometimes people don’t disappear because they stopped caring about you.

Sometimes, they are just tired.

And I mean really tired….that you just feel like replying to a message is like another task on your to-do list.

The kind of tired where you see someone’s message, tell yourself, “I’ll reply when I’m less busy,” and before you know it, three weeks have passed.

Then you become embarrassed because now it has been too long.

So you don’t reply at all.

And suddenly, you have disappeared.

I used to take things like that very personally.

Someone doesn’t call anymore?, Then it means that they don’t care about me.

Someone stops checking in?… Probably I’ve offended them.

Someone takes days to reply?…They are distancing themselves or they have changed.

Someone suddenly becomes distant?… You ghost them back.

But adulthood has taught me that sometimes there is no dramatic story behind someone’s silence.

Sometimes, life is simply happening to them.

Bills are happening.

Work is happening.

Family is happening.

Relationships are happening.

Their mental exhaustion is happening.

Trying to figure out what they’re doing with their life is happening.

And sometimes, after spending the entire day talking to people, answering questions, working, making decisions and pretending to know what they’re doing, the last thing they want to do is open their phone and have another conversation.

Even with someone they love.

And I think this is one of the hardest things about growing up.

You realize that love and availability are not always the same thing.

I can love you and still not have the energy to talk to you today.

I can miss you and still not call.

I can think about you and still forget to check on you.

I can genuinely care about you and still be terrible at maintaining the friendship.

And honestly? So can you.

We are all walking around with invisible things happening inside our heads.

Things nobody knows about.

Someone might look perfectly fine on Instagram while quietly trying to figure out how they’re going to pay their bills.

Someone might be posting selfies every day and crying every night.

Someone might be laughing in the group chat while feeling completely disconnected from everyone.

Someone might disappear because they are depressed.

Someone might disappear because they are overwhelmed.

Someone might disappear because they are ashamed that their life isn’t going the way they thought it would.

Someone might disappear because they don’t know how to explain that they are struggling.

And sometimes, someone disappears because they have simply outgrown the friendship.

That one hurts…but it happens too.

Not every friendship is supposed to follow you into every version of your life.

Some people belong to a particular season.

You met at 19.

You were both broke, confused and figuring life out.

You spent every weekend together.

You knew everything about each other.

Then you grew up.

One person moved.

One got married.

One started a business.

One changed careers.

One had a baby.

One moved abroad.

One became religious.

One became less religious.

One started seeing life differently.

And slowly, the friendship changed.

Nobody had a fight.

Nobody cheated.

Nobody betrayed anybody.

You just stopped being the people who used to talk every single day.

And there is something strangely painful about that kind of ending.

Because you can’t even be angry.

There is no villain.

Just time.

And sometimes I think we don’t talk enough about the grief of losing people who are still alive.

Because what do you call it when someone is still somewhere in the world, but no longer exists in your everyday life?

What do you call it when you see their name pop up and realize you haven’t spoken in eight months?

What do you call it when you remember that there was a time you knew everything happening in their life?

Who they liked.

What they ate.

What they were worried about.

What their mother said.

What happened at work.

And now?

You wouldn’t even know if they moved houses.

It’s a strange kind of grief.

And maybe that is why I have become more careful about judging people who disappear.

But here’s the thing.

I also don’t want us to romanticize disappearing.

Because there is a difference between being overwhelmed and being careless with people.

You don’t have to talk to someone every day.

You don’t have to be constantly available.

You don’t owe everyone instant replies.

But if someone genuinely loves you and you know they are worried because you have disappeared for months, sometimes a simple:

“Hey, I’m not doing so well right now. I don’t have the energy to talk, but I’ll be okay.”

can mean everything.

You don’t need a three-page explanation.

Just give people enough information not to sit there wondering if they did something wrong.

Because sometimes the person on the other side of your silence is also struggling.

And they might already be blaming themselves.

I have also realized that protecting your peace can become an excuse if you’re not careful.

Sometimes we’re not protecting our peace.

We’re avoiding accountability.

Sometimes we’re not setting boundaries.

We’re refusing to have an uncomfortable conversation.

Sometimes we’re not “choosing ourselves.”

We’re just running away.

And I say this as someone who has probably wanted to disappear from everyone at least a hundred times.

There are days when I want to turn off my phone, delete every social media app, move somewhere nobody knows me and start again.

No explanations or expectations.

No one asking, “Where have you been?”

Just me.

Quiet.

Peaceful.

Invisible.

Maybe you’ve felt that way too.

And honestly, I think that’s why I understand people disappearing more now.

Sometimes you don’t want to be found.

You just want to breathe.

You want to exist without having to perform your existence for everybody else.

You don’t want to explain why you’re tired.

You don’t want to explain why you’re not responding.

You don’t want to explain why you’re not excited about the things you used to be excited about.

You just want everybody to leave you alone for a little while.

But maybe growing up is also learning that you can ask for that.

You don’t always have to disappear to get space.

You can say,

“I need some time.”

“I’ve been overwhelmed.”

“I don’t have the capacity to talk right now.”

“I’ll reach out when I’m ready.”

And the people who love you should be able to understand that.

I think I’ve become softer with people because I’ve realized that everybody is carrying something.

The friend who doesn’t call.

The cousin who stopped visiting.

The person who takes forever to reply.

The girl you used to talk to every night who suddenly became a stranger.

Maybe they changed.

Maybe you changed.

Maybe life changed.

Maybe all three happened at once.

And maybe not every disappearance needs an investigation.

Sometimes, you just have to accept that people can love you and still leave.

People can care about you and still grow apart from you.

People can miss you and still not come back.

And you can do the same.

That’s probably one of the saddest and most freeing things I’ve learned about adulthood.

Not everyone who disappears is rejecting you.

And not everyone you disappear from is someone you stopped loving.

Sometimes, you’re both just trying to survive your own lives.

So these days, when someone disappears, I try not to immediately ask,

“What did I do?”

Sometimes I ask, “I wonder if they’re okay.”

And if I love them enough, I send the message.

No pride.

No “they should have texted me first.”

Just:“Hey. I haven’t heard from you in a while. I hope you’re okay.”

Because maybe they are waiting for someone to notice.

Maybe they’re not…Maybe they won’t reply.

And that’s okay too.

At least they know someone thought of them.

And maybe that’s all friendship needs sometimes.

Not constant conversation.

Not proving that you’re still best friends.

Just knowing that somewhere in this very chaotic world, someone still cares enough to ask, “Are you okay?”

Maybe adulthood isn’t about keeping everyone.

Maybe it’s about learning how to love people without trying to force them to stay exactly where you left them.

And learning that sometimes...people disappear.

Sometimes they come back.

Sometimes they don’t.

Sometimes you disappear too.

And somehow, life keeps moving.

Your Bestie,

Cici Tiwa ❤️

There is something deeply comforting about being known.

We live in a world where people can know our faces, recognize our voices, follow our lives online, and still never truly know us. We introduce ourselves repeatedly. We explain our intentions. We try to prove our worth. Sometimes we wonder if anyone really sees us beyond what we can offer.

God does.

Long before anyone learned your name, He already knew it. Before you took your first breath, before you accomplished anything, before you made mistakes you wish you could erase, He knew you completely. He knows the dreams you have never spoken aloud. He knows the prayers that never made it past your tears. He knows the questions you carry and the strength you don’t even realize you possess.

The beautiful thing is that God’s knowledge of us isn’t distant or impersonal. It is intimate. It is intentional. It is filled with love.

Isaiah 43:1 says:

“But now, this is what the Lord says…He who created you, Jacob, He who formed you, Israel: ‘Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine.” (NIV)

Pause for a moment and let those words settle into your heart.

“I have summoned you by name.”

God doesn’t address you as another face in the crowd. He calls you personally. Your life is not an accident. Your existence is not overlooked. Your story matters because you matter to Him.

There are seasons when life makes us feel invisible. Doors remain closed. Opportunities seem delayed. Friendships fade. Prayers appear unanswered. In those moments, it becomes easy to question whether Heaven has forgotten us.

Yet Scripture reminds us that God’s silence is never the same as His absence.

Psalm 139:1–4 says:

“You have searched me, Lord, and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue you, Lord, know it completely.” (NIV)

Nothing about you surprises God.

He knows the version of you that smiles in public and the one who cries in private. He understands the disappointment you haven’t shared with anyone else. He knows the weight you carry while trying to appear strong.

And still, He stays.

Jesus illustrated this beautiful truth in John 10:3–4:

“The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep listen to his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes on ahead of them, and his sheep follow him because they know his voice.” (NIV)

The Shepherd knows every sheep individually.

That means your life has never blended into the crowd from God’s perspective. He knows exactly where you are. He knows what you’re facing today. He knows what tomorrow holds. While you may not always understand His timing, you can trust His heart

Even when you feel forgotten by people, you remain fully remembered by God

Perhaps you’ve been waiting for answers

Perhaps you’re praying for healing, provision, direction, restoration, or peace

Hold on

The God who knows your name also knows your future.

Jeremiah 29:11 reminds us:

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” (NIV).

His plans are not built on chance. They are crafted with purpose.

You don’t have to strive to earn His attention. You already have it.

You don’t have to compete for His love. You already possess it.

You don’t have to fear being forgotten. The One who created the stars also remembers your name.

Today, if your heart feels weary, let this truth anchor your soul:

The God who formed you knows every chapter of your story. He walks beside you through every valley and celebrates every victory before you even recognize it. He remains faithful when circumstances change because His character never changes.

Walk into today with confidence.

You are seen.

You are known.

You are loved.

And the One who calls you by name will continue to guide every step you take.

Prayer for everyone feeling Unseen

Heavenly Father

Thank You for knowing me so completely and loving me so deeply. Thank You that I never have to wonder whether You see me because Your Word reminds me that You know my name and hold my life in Your hands. Strengthen my faith when I feel discouraged. Give me peace while I wait, courage when I feel uncertain, and hope that remains steady through every season. Help me to trust Your plans, follow Your voice, and remember every day that I belong to You.

In Jesus name

Amen.

There are days when you wake up, and before your feet even touch the floor, you’re already exhausted.

It’s a few minutes to 11 a.m, and I’m still lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. My alarm has gone off. I have checked my phone countless times. I know I have work to do. I know I should get up. But today… I just can’t.

People often assume staying in bed means you’re lazy. Sometimes, it isn’t. Sometimes you’re simply carrying more than your heart knows how to hold. Sometimes your body is in bed, but your mind has been awake all night, thinking about responsibilities, deadlines, bills, family, expectations, and everything that still needs to be figured out.

Being the first child is a responsibility that never seems to clock out. You’re expected to be strong, dependable, available, and somehow have all the answers. You’re the one people call when there’s a problem. You’re expected to make sacrifices without complaining, to understand everyone else’s struggles while quietly burying your own.

Then there’s work. The pressure to perform. To keep showing up. To keep proving yourself. To keep smiling through meetings, replying to messages, meeting deadlines, and pretending everything is fine, even when you’re barely holding yourself together.

Then there’s family. People you love deeply, but who also come with responsibilities, expectations, and worries that don’t disappear when you close your eyes.

Then there are your own dreams.

The dreams that keep getting pushed to tomorrow because you’re too busy surviving today.

The goals you desperately want to achieve. The version of yourself you’re trying so hard to become. The constant feeling that time is moving faster than you are.

It’s overwhelming.

The strange part is that I work remotely. I don’t have to fight traffic or rush out of the house. My office is literally a few steps away. Yet even with that privilege, I still don’t have the energy to open my laptop today. My mind feels tired. My heart feels heavy. My body just wants to stay exactly where it is.

And maybe that’s the part people don’t always understand. Sometimes, It’s about the weight you’re carrying before the work even begins.

Sometimes, you’re not even physically tired. You’re emotionally tired

Tired of always having to be strong

Tired of making difficult decisions

Tired of pretending you’re okay because everyone else expects you to be

Tired of carrying responsibilities that nobody else even notices you’re carrying

Tired of encouraging yourself because you don’t always have someone encouraging you

There are days when you wonder if you’re doing enough. If you’re enough. If all this hard work will eventually be worth it. You question yourself, compare yourself, and somehow still expect yourself to keep moving at full speed

Today isn’t one of those days where I have the right words or a motivational speech to end with

I’m not looking for solutions today. I just needed to admit that this is where I am

Today, getting out of bed feels like a battle

Today, replying to messages feels exhausting

Today, even opening my laptop feels heavier than it should

And maybe that’s okay

Maybe not every day has to be productive

Maybe some days are simply meant for acknowledging that you’re human…that you get tired, overwhelmed, and emotionally drained too

Maybe tomorrow I’ll feel like myself again. Maybe I won’t

But today, all I can do is be honest about how I’m feeling.

If you’ve ever had a morning where getting out of bed felt like the hardest thing you’d do all day, where your heart felt heavier than your body, and you couldn’t explain why…

Please know you’re not alone.

See you in the next letter. Until then, be kind to yourself.

Love,

Your Substack bestie,

Cici Tiwa 🫶🏽

I have been thinking about something lately.

What if we’ve been preparing girls for survival instead of leadership?

Think about it.

From childhood, many of us were praised for being “good girls.”

Don’t argue.

Don’t be too loud.

Don’t question adults.

Share your toys.

Smile.

Be polite.

Don’t offend anyone.

Don’t make people uncomfortable.

None of these things are bad on their own.

Kindness is beautiful.

Respect is important.

But somewhere along the way, many of us started believing that being good meant becoming smaller.

Smaller opinions.

Smaller dreams.

Smaller voices.

Then we grow up, enter the workplace, and suddenly we’re expected to lead meetings, negotiate salaries, challenge ideas, make difficult decisions, and confidently walk into rooms where nobody looks like us.

How?

Nobody prepared us for that.

I recently finished reading Nice Girls Don’t Get the Corner Office by Lois P. Frankel, and I kept highlighting page after page because I saw myself.

Not in every chapter, but in enough of them to make me pause.

The book talks about habits many women develop without even realizing it.

Apologizing before speaking.

Waiting for permission.

Avoiding office politics because we think staying out of it makes us “professional.”

Doing everyone’s work because we don’t want to disappoint people.

Believing that if we just work hard enough, someone will notice.

I wish that were always true.

But life doesn’t always reward silent excellence.

Sometimes it rewards visibility.

Sometimes it rewards confidence.

Sometimes it rewards the person who simply asked.

That realization made me uncomfortable.

Because if I’m honest, there have been moments when I’ve stayed quiet…not because I had nothing to say, but because I didn’t want to sound proud.

I’ve accepted less because I didn’t want to appear “too demanding.”

I’ve overworked myself because saying “no” felt selfish.

And I’m willing to bet I’m not the only one.

Then I came across a video of Millie Odhiambo speaking in Parliament.

One sentence caught my attention.

“Good girls don’t get the corner office.”

At first, I laughed.

Then I sat with it.

She wasn’t telling women to become rude or difficult.

She was challenging the belief that being agreeable all the time is the same as being successful.

And honestly?

That lesson doesn’t stop at the office door.

It follows us into relationships too.

Especially marriage.

I know people don’t like mixing career conversations with marriage, but hear me out.

How many women have entered marriages believing that love means disappearing?

That peace means never expressing what they need.

That being a “good wife” means carrying every emotional burden without asking for help.

That asking for support somehow makes them less capable.

We’ve glorified self-sacrifice so much that some women don’t even know where they end and everyone else’s expectations begin.

You can love deeply without losing yourself.

You can be gentle without becoming invisible.

You can be respectful without silencing your opinions.

Whether it’s your boss, your partner, your family, or even your friends, your voice still deserves a seat at the table.

Maybe that’s what growing up is really teaching me.

Not to stop being kind.

But to stop confusing kindness with self-erasure.

I still want to be compassionate.

I still want people to describe me as thoughtful.

I still want to love people well.

But I also want to negotiate when I deserve more.

I want to speak before I’m 100% certain.

I want to say “No” without writing a five-paragraph explanation.

I want to stop apologizing for existing.

And maybe that’s the version of adulthood nobody prepared us for.

Learning that confidence isn’t arrogance.

Boundaries aren’t cruelty.

Ambition isn’t selfishness.

And taking up space doesn’t make you less feminine.

So here’s what I’m wondering…

How many dreams have we buried because we were trying so hard to be “good”?

I’d love to know your thoughts.

Maybe you’re reading this as a woman who is learning to use her voice.

Maybe you’re reading this as a man raising daughters.

Maybe you’re somewhere in the middle, unlearning things you didn’t even know you were taught.

Either way, let’s talk in the comments.

Because I have a feeling this conversation is much bigger than the corner office.

No one really talks about the silent loneliness of being the first daughter.

People see the title and immediately think of strength. They think of responsibility. They think of someone who has it all together.

What they don’t see is the little girl behind the title.

The girl who is expected to know what to do, even when she’s figuring life out for the first time.

The girl who becomes everyone’s example before she has the chance to become herself.

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Sometimes, I wish I had an older sibling.

Not because I don’t love my younger ones.

But because I wonder what it feels like to have someone who got there first.

Someone who made the mistakes before you did.

Someone who could whisper, “You’ll be okay. I survived this too.”

Someone who could stand between you and the pressure.

Someone who understood the weight without you having to explain it.

As the first daughter, you’re the trial version.

Your parents learn parenting through you.

Family expectations are tested on you.

You’re expected to be mature before your age, responsible beyond your years, and patient even when your heart is screaming.

You become the bridge between generations.

The second mother.

The peacemaker.

The example.

The dependable one.

The one who “should understand.”

But who understands you?

Who checks on the girl everyone depends on?

Who asks if she’s tired?

Who tells her she’s allowed to fail?

Sometimes I imagine having an older sister.

She’d probably tell me to stop carrying the whole world on my shoulders.

She’d remind me that I don’t have to earn rest.

She’d call just to ask if I’d eaten.

She’d tell me that making mistakes doesn’t make me a disappointment.

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Or maybe an older brother.

The kind who would silently step in when life became too heavy.

The kind who would say, “Leave this one for me.”

The kind who would make me feel like, for once, I didn’t have to be the strong one

Maybe that’s why so many first daughters become overly independent.

We learn early that if we don’t do it, it might not get done.

We become uncomfortable asking for help because we’ve spent so much of our lives being the help.

We become everyone’s safe place while secretly wishing we had somewhere safe to fall too.

It’s a strange feeling.

Being the person everyone leans on while quietly wondering who you can lean on.

And yet…

Despite everything, I wouldn’t trade my siblings for the world.

Watching them grow has been one of life’s greatest gifts.

Loving them has taught me patience.

Protecting them has taught me courage.

Being their first friend has been an honor.

I just wish, every once in a while, I got to experience what it feels like to be someone’s little sister.

To be guided instead of always guiding.

To be protected instead of always protecting.

To hear someone say, “I’ve got you.”

Maybe that’s why many first daughters find comfort in mentors, older friends, aunties, and women who choose to love us like sisters.

Maybe life knows we still need someone to hold our hands too.

So, if you’re a first daughter reading this…

I hope you know you’re allowed to be tired.

You’re allowed to ask for help.

You’re allowed to not have all the answers.

You don’t have to carry every burden simply because you carried the first one.

And if no one has told you this lately…

You don’t always have to be the strong one.

Sometimes, it’s okay to be someone’s little sister, even if only in your heart.

For the longest time, I only knew one side of God.

He was Daddy.

He was the God who answered prayers before I even finished praying them. The God who kept opening doors I didn’t even knock on. The God whose favor made life look so effortless that, if I wasn’t careful, I would have thought I had somehow “bribed” Him.

Of course, I didn’t.

It was simply grace.

When I look back at my life, I see His fingerprints everywhere.

In school.

In my career.

In opportunities that should have gone to someone else but somehow found their way to me.

Nothing made this clearer than my early days in music PR.

Those who knew me then can testify that I was a young woman entering an industry largely dominated by men. Yet opportunities kept coming. I met people I wasn’t qualified to meet. Doors opened that I never expected to walk through. It felt like everything I touched prospered.

If I were to explain it naturally, I couldn’t.

The only explanation was God’s favor.

But favor can become so familiar that we forget who is giving it.

Then one day, I encountered God differently.

Not just as Father.

As King.

And everything changed.

A father comforts.

A king commands.

When a king speaks, your opinion is no longer the discussion.

Your obedience is.

God asked me to leave music PR.

Not because the industry wasn’t profitable.

It was.

Not because there were no opportunities.

There were plenty.

The money was good.

The exposure was incredible.

There was a high possibility of working with celebrities and building a name for myself.

From a human perspective, leaving made absolutely no sense.

But when the King speaks, obedience is worth more than opportunity.

I wasn’t told twice.

I left.

Because I couldn’t continue promoting worldly music while claiming to serve Christ wholeheartedly.

That decision cost me something.

But it also taught me something priceless.

Many of us are comfortable with God being Father because fathers forgive.

We are comfortable with His mercy.

Comfortable with His patience.

Comfortable with His blessings.

Comfortable with His grace.

But we often forget that the same God we call Father is also King.

He deserves reverence.

He deserves surrender.

He deserves obedience.

Not partial obedience.

Not delayed obedience.

Immediate obedience.

And that realization brought another thought to my heart…one that has stayed with me ever since.

There is one way I never want to experience God.

As Judge.

Think about an earthly courtroom.

When you stand before a judge, your excuses don’t matter.

Your emotions don’t change the verdict.

The judge doesn’t ask what you intended.

He judges according to the law.

Now imagine standing before the perfectly holy and righteous Judge of all the earth.

That is not a day anyone should take lightly.

God has done everything possible to save humanity.

He didn’t withhold His Son.

He gave Jesus willingly.

The Father watched His Son suffer so that you and I could receive mercy instead of the judgment our sins deserved.

That is love beyond comprehension.

But love rejected has consequences.

Grace ignored has consequences.

The invitation of salvation refused has consequences.

The cross is proof that God wants to save, not condemn.

Yet He will not force anyone to receive the gift He has offered.

Today, while we have breath, we can know Him as Father.

We can bow before Him as King.

We can receive His Son and walk in His grace.

But none of us should presume upon that grace.

My prayer is simple.

May I never become so familiar with God’s kindness that I forget His holiness.

May I never enjoy His blessings so much that I ignore His commands.

May I never call Him Father while refusing to submit to Him as King.

Because the God who lovingly calls us His children is the very same God before whom every knee will bow.

So don’t wait until eternity to discover what you could have known on earth.

Know Him now.

Love Him now.

Obey Him now.

While His invitation still stands.

Your Life Is Being Shaped Every Day

There is a truth many of us overlook: our lives are not only shaped by the big decisions we make, but also by the small habits we repeat every day.

We often pray for God to change our circumstances while ignoring the environments, conversations, thoughts, and routines that quietly influence us. Yet Scripture consistently reminds us that transformation begins from within before it becomes visible on the outside.

The people you spend time with matter. The words you speak matter. The music you fill your heart with matters. Even the thoughts you entertain when no one is watching have the power to shape the direction of your life.

If we truly desire to walk closely with God, we must become intentional.

Pay attention to recurring patterns in your life. Sometimes what looks like coincidence is actually an invitation to become more spiritually aware. Ask God for discernment instead of assuming everything is ordinary. Not every battle is physical, and not every opportunity is from Him. Wisdom is learning to recognize the difference.

There is also value in silence.

Our generation is constantly surrounded by noise. Notifications, opinions, entertainment, and endless distractions make it difficult to hear the gentle voice of God. But throughout Scripture, God often spoke when His people became still enough to listen. Create moments where you intentionally step away from the noise to pray, meditate on His Word, and simply listen.

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Your atmosphere matters too.

Fill your home with things that point your heart toward God. Let worship replace anxiety. Let thanksgiving replace complaining. Let the Word of God become more familiar to your ears than fear.

Another discipline that is becoming increasingly rare is forgiveness.

Bitterness has a way of convincing us that holding on protects us, when in reality it keeps us imprisoned. Forgiveness does not excuse what happened, but it releases your heart from carrying a weight God never intended you to bear. Sometimes you’ll have to forgive repeatedly, choosing obedience every time the hurt resurfaces.

Generosity is another reflection of God’s heart.

Don’t only give when you expect something in return. Bless people who cannot repay you. Show mercy because you have received mercy. The Kingdom of God has always operated differently from the systems of the world.

It is equally important to guard your conscience. Never become so comfortable with compromise that your convictions grow silent. If something continually steals your peace, don’t ignore it. Bring it before God. He is faithful to give wisdom to those who ask.

And finally, remember that your mornings often set the tone for your day.

Before reaching for your phone, reach for God. Before consuming the world’s opinions, fill your heart with His truth. A few intentional moments with Him can strengthen you for everything the day may bring.

Following Christ is not just about believing in Him. It is about allowing every part of your life…your thoughts, your relationships, your words, your habits, and your decisions…to come under His leadership.

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The closer we walk with Him, the more our lives begin to reflect Him.

May we become people who don’t simply hear God’s voice occasionally but cultivate lives that are always ready to respond when He speaks.

One of the greatest mistakes we can make is separating our spiritual lives from our everyday lives. We pray on Sunday, but our decisions on Monday tell a different story. We read the Bible in the morning, yet our words throughout the day contradict what we have read.

God is not only interested in moments of worship; He desires a lifestyle of obedience.

The condition of your heart will always influence the quality of your life. That is why Scripture tells us to guard our hearts, because everything we do flows from it. If your heart is filled with envy, bitterness, fear, or pride, those things will eventually become visible in your choices. But when your heart is filled with God’s truth, your actions begin to reflect His character.

This is why we must regularly examine ourselves.

Ask yourself difficult questions.

What has been shaping my thinking lately?

Who has the greatest influence over my decisions?

What am I consuming every day that is quietly pulling me away from God?

Am I becoming more like Christ, or simply becoming more comfortable with the world?

Honest reflection is not condemnation. It is an invitation to growth.

We also need to stop chasing what looks successful while neglecting what is spiritually healthy.

The world celebrates popularity, influence, and wealth. God, however, looks at faithfulness.

Never become so impressed by what someone has that you ignore who they have become to get it. Not every open door is God’s door. Not every opportunity deserves a “yes.” Sometimes the greatest act of faith is walking away from something that feeds your ambition but starves your soul.

Contentment is a spiritual discipline.

When your identity is rooted in Christ, you no longer need to compete with everyone around you. You can celebrate others without feeling threatened. You can wait without becoming anxious. You can trust God’s timing without forcing your own.

Another lesson worth embracing is the importance of community.

God never designed us to walk this journey alone. There are seasons when you need people who will pray with you, correct you, encourage you, and remind you of God’s promises when your own faith feels weak.

Choose relationships that draw you closer to God, not relationships that constantly require you to compromise your convictions. The right people won’t pull you away from your purpose; they will strengthen you in it.

And when God speaks to you, don’t treat His instructions casually.

Write them down.

Throughout the Bible, people built memorials to remember God’s faithfulness because memory fades. The promises God gives you in a season of peace may become the very words that sustain you in a season of waiting.

Your journal may become a testimony tomorrow.

Finally, remember that spiritual maturity is not measured by how much Scripture you can quote but by how much of it you live.

Anyone can know Bible verses even Lucifer the devil does. Transformation happens when those verses become the foundation of your decisions, your relationships, your speech, and your character.

The goal is not simply to know about God.

The goal is to know Him so deeply that His presence becomes evident in the way you love, forgive, serve, speak, and live.

So today, slow down.

Invite God into every part of your life…not just the parts you think are “spiritual.” Let Him shape your thoughts before they become words. Let Him shape your words before they become actions. Let Him shape your actions before they become habits. And let Him shape your habits until your life becomes a testimony of His grace.

A transformed life rarely happens overnight. It is built one surrendered day at a time.

May we be people whose lives quietly preach the Gospel long before our mouths ever do.

Bible Verses For The Day:

“Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind…” -Romans 12:2

“Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.” -Psalm 139:23–24

Sometimes we are not buying the product. We are buying the feeling of being “better.”

There is one thing Nigerians understand almost better than anything else: STATUS.

Not quality.

Not value.

Not necessity.

Status.

The easiest way to sell almost anything in this country is not to convince people that it is useful. Convince them that it is exclusive. Tell them it is not for poor people. Tell them that “not everyone can afford this.” Sprinkle in a little bit of classism, make people feel like buying it proves they have arrived, and watch wallets open.

We have become a society where people are constantly trying to prove they are not struggling, even when they are.

Someone once joked that if you packaged pure sachet water in a black bottle, called it “Luxury Hydration,” sold it for ₦25,000 and announced that only successful people understood the brand, Nigerians would start queuing.

The funny thing is… it doesn’t even sound impossible anymore.

A few months ago, there was a lady on TikTok who became popular after marrying a white man. Suddenly, she wasn’t just someone’s wife anymore; she became an “expert.” She began selling access to a group where she claimed she would teach women how to meet white men. Entry reportedly cost tens of thousands of naira, with some people paying ₦50,000 and above.

People rushed in.

Why?

Because the dream wasn’t just finding love. It was the image attached to it. An international husband. A passport out. A different life. A different class.

Reports later surfaced that many of the men some women met through the group weren’t serious partners at all. Some were simply looking for explicit pictures or casual online attention. The backlash was loud, and many people felt they had paid for false hope.

Yet the money had already been made.

Then there was another trend.

An influencer documented her BBL journey and later began selling an e-book teaching other women how to “start theirs.”

The irony?

The clinic where she had the procedure reportedly offered free consultations. Information that was already available became a paid product simply because it came from someone people admired online.

Again, the product wasn’t really information.

It was aspiration.

It was proximity to a lifestyle.

It was buying the illusion that following the exact same steps would produce the exact same results.

Social media has made aspiration look like a shortcut.

Everyone wants to look expensive.

Designer bags before emergency savings.

Luxury shoes before rent is complete.

The newest iPhone with borrowed money.

Apartments with outrageous rent simply because the address sounds impressive.

Cars that spend more time at the mechanic than on the road because maintaining appearances matters more than maintaining peace.

Sometimes we are chasing a life we cannot comfortably sustain simply because we don’t want anyone to think we are “behind.”

The pressure is exhausting.

You scroll online and see people flying business class every other week. Someone is posting shopping bags from luxury stores. Another person is filming “soft life” vlogs from hotels every weekend.

You begin to wonder if you’re the only one whose account balance still needs motivational speeches before payday.

But social media rarely shows the full story.

Some people are sleeping peacefully in modest apartments while steadily building wealth.

Others are taking luxury pictures in apartments whose rent keeps them awake every night.

Some people proudly show off designer labels while owing everyone around them.

Some people are living in houses that impress strangers but terrify their bank accounts.

Some people constantly post their “rich boyfriend” while crying behind closed doors because the relationship is full of manipulation, disrespect or violence.

Others proudly declare “small girl, big God,” while conveniently leaving out that the sponsor financing the lifestyle is someone’s husband, a politician, or someone else’s source of heartbreak.

Not every luxury comes with peace.

Not every expensive lifestyle is honestly earned.

Not every beautiful picture tells a beautiful story.

Classism has become one of the easiest marketing tools in Nigeria because many of us have tied our self-worth to appearances.

We don’t just want nice things.

We want people to see us with nice things.

We don’t just want success.

We want visible success.

Success that photographs well.

Success that trends.

Success that silences people.

The result is a generation constantly performing wealth instead of building it.

The sad part is that contentment has become almost embarrassing.

People are afraid of looking “local.”

Afraid of repeating clothes.

Afraid of using affordable products.

Afraid of saying, “I can’t afford that right now.”

As if financial wisdom has somehow become a personality flaw.

The truth is, real wealth rarely needs to announce itself every five minutes.

The loudest lifestyle isn’t always the richest one.

Sometimes the genuinely wealthy person is driving an ordinary car while investing millions quietly.

Sometimes the person wearing no designer labels owns the building everyone else is trying to impress.

Sometimes the richest person in the room doesn’t feel the need to prove anything.

Maybe we’ve spent too much time trying to pass our neighbours that we’ve forgotten to ask ourselves a simple question:

“Am I actually living well, or am I just trying to look like I am?”

Because peace is still luxury.

Financial freedom is still luxury.

Sleeping without debt hanging over your head is still luxury.

Building quietly is still luxury.

And perhaps the greatest flex of all is no longer needing strangers on the internet to validate that you’ve made it.

I don’t know if I’ve ever admitted this out loud.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m just someone who starts things.

Not because I lack ideas. God knows I have too many.

But because somewhere between surviving life and paying bills, I lose pieces of myself.

I started a podcast.

I was excited. I had conversations I wanted the world to hear. I imagined people listening on their morning commutes or while washing dishes. I imagined building something that would outlive me.

Then life happened.

Not the dramatic kind.

Just… life.

Work became demanding.

Responsibilities became heavier.

I became tired.

And eventually, the microphone stayed where I left it.

Then I started writing.

Writing has always been my safest place. It has never judged me. It has held my joy, my grief, my unanswered prayers and my deepest fears.

For a while, I was consistent.

Then one day, I opened a blank page and had nothing to give.

Not because I had nothing to say.

But because I had spent so much of myself trying to survive that there was nothing left to pour onto paper.

So I stopped.

Then came book content.

I bought books.

Highlighted pages.

Dreamed about becoming someone people trusted for honest reviews and thoughtful conversations.

I could already see the future I wanted.

Then somehow, I disappeared from that too.

Every time this happens, I tell myself the same story.

“You’re inconsistent.”

“You never finish anything.”

“Look at everyone else. They’re building. They’re growing. They’re showing up. Why can’t you?”

Those words have followed me for years.

But recently, while rereading some of the things I wrote months ago, I noticed something.

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Every season I thought I had “quit” was actually a season where I was carrying more than anyone could see.

Some seasons I was grieving.

Some seasons I was drowning in work.

Some seasons I was trying to figure out how to pay bills.

Some seasons I was simply tired.

The kind of tired that sleep doesn’t fix.

And I wonder how many of us have mistaken exhaustion for failure.

We celebrate consistency so much that we rarely make room for survival.

We clap for people who never stop.

But what about those of us who had to pause just to breathe?

What about the people who kept choosing to stay alive when creating felt impossible?

Maybe our stories deserve kindness too.

The hardest part isn’t stopping.

The hardest part is the shame that follows.

It’s opening Instagram and seeing everyone else’s wins while your dreams sit quietly in drafts.

It’s wondering if you’ve missed your moment.

It’s asking yourself whether you’ve wasted your potential.

I’ve asked myself those questions more times than I can count.

But here’s what I’ve realized.

Every single thing I’ve loved has continued to call me back.

Writing still finds me.

Books still comfort me.

Storytelling still excites me.

Even the podcast still lives somewhere in the back of my mind, waiting patiently.

Maybe purpose doesn’t leave.

Maybe it waits.

Maybe the dreams God gives us are far more patient than we are.

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So today, I’m choosing to stop calling myself inconsistent.

I’m choosing to believe that I wasn’t quitting.

I was surviving.

And surviving is not something to be ashamed of.

Maybe this newsletter is my way of coming home.

Not because I suddenly have everything figured out.

Not because life has become easier.

But because I’m tired of believing that every pause is the end of the story.

Maybe it isn’t.

Maybe this is just another beginning.

And if you’re reading this while carrying the guilt of all the things you’ve started but couldn’t continue…

I hope you give yourself the grace you’ve been giving everyone else.

The dream is still there.

Your voice is still there.

You are still there.

Sometimes, that’s enough.

We’ll begin again.

One quiet step at a time.

This is probably one of the most uncomfortable newsletters I have ever written.

And before anyone starts fighting me, let me say this first:

I am a lover girl.

I believe in love. I believe in marriage.

I believe in healthy relationships.

I believe in finding your person and building a beautiful life together.

This is not an anti-men newsletter.

This is an anti-losing-yourself newsletter.

This is not an attack on love.

This is about something else.

Something that has been bothering me for days.

Lately, I have been watching some women defend things that should never be defended, and honestly? It is annoying.

Why do some women choose men over children?

Why do some women defend men who are clearly wrong?

Why do some women stay loyal to men even when those men are hurting innocent children

Last week, I came across multiple stories that left me staring at my phone in disbelief.

In one case, a successful woman got married to a man who had previously been convicted of sexually abusing a minor. Not only did she marry him, she brought her own young daughter into that environment.

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And I sat there wondering:

At what point does keeping a man become more important than protecting a child?

As a mother, how do you take that risk?

How do you knowingly place a child around someone who has already shown a sexual interest in children?

Maybe she believes he has changed.

Maybe she believes everyone deserves a second chance.

But when children are involved, should “maybe” be enough?

Then there was another story.

A man’s family reportedly warned his wife about his attraction to young girls before she married him.

Later, a child accused him of inappropriate behavior.

She stayed.

Then another child accused him.

She stayed.

Then a 13-year-old girl became involved in a case serious enough for authorities to step in.

Instead of standing with the child, she reportedly spent her energy trying to get her husband released.

And I found myself asking the same question again:

When did protecting a man become more important than protecting children?

I genuinely do not understand it.

Because childbirth is painful.

Motherhood is sacrificial.

Women know what it means to nurture, protect, and care.

So how do we get to a place where some women will excuse the very people hurting children?

Why is the reputation of a grown man more important than the safety of a child?

Why is keeping a husband more important than seeking justice?

Why are some women willing to sacrifice other people’s daughters just to avoid becoming single?

The answer, I think, is that many women have been taught that having a man is an achievement.

Not having one is seen as failure.

From childhood, some girls are conditioned to believe that marriage is the prize.

So when they finally get a husband, they hold on at all costs.

Even when the cost is their peace.

Even when the cost is their dignity.

Even when the cost is their children.

Even when the cost is justice.

And that’s terrifying.

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Then I remembered the story of Ochanya.

A young girl whose abuse continued for years while adults around her failed to protect her.

People knew.

People ignored.

Her aunty tried to cover up to protect her son and her husband.

And a child paid the price.

The more stories I hear, the more I realize that predators rarely operate alone.

Sometimes what protects them isn’t their power.

It’s the silence around them.

It’s the excuses.

It’s the people who say:

“Let’s not destroy his future.”

“Think about his family.”

“He’s still your husband.”

“Let’s settle it privately.”

And somehow, the child becomes an afterthought.

Can we talk about how terrifying that is?

Because children depend on adults to protect them.

When adults fail, who is left?

I also think this is why financial independence matters.

Not because money solves every problem.

Not because every woman should leave her marriage at the slightest inconvenience.

But because having your own income gives you options.

It gives you the ability to walk away from situations that threaten your safety or your children’s safety.

Dependence can sometimes trap people in places they know they shouldn’t be.

And when survival becomes the priority, principles often become negotiable.

But here’s the part that confuses me the most.

The same men some women are desperately trying to keep would never tolerate half of what they tolerate.

Many men protect their peace fiercely.

Many men leave relationships the moment their standards aren’t met.

Many men put themselves first without apology.

Yet some women are sacrificing everything just to keep a relationship alive.

Why?

Why are we acting as though being single is the worst thing that can happen to a woman?

Being single is not worse than being unsafe.

Being single is not worse than protecting a predator.

Being single is not worse than sacrificing a child.

Being single is not worse than losing your self-respect.

Love should never require you to abandon your conscience.

Marriage should never require you to abandon your values.

And no relationship should ever require you to choose a man over the safety of a child.

If keeping a man means defending the indefensible, then the problem is no longer the man.

The problem is what you’ve allowed that relationship to turn you into.

And that should scare all of us.

What do you think?

At what point does loyalty become dangerous?

Love,

Cici Tiwa

Today, I want to celebrate the men who chose responsibility.

Happy Father’s Day to the fathers who wake up every day determined to give their children a better life.

To the fathers who work long hours, make sacrifices in silence, carry burdens they rarely talk about, and still find a way to show up for their families…we see you.

To the first sons who became fathers long before they had children of their own. The ones who stepped into leadership roles, helped raise younger siblings, carried responsibilities beyond their age, and became pillars for their families. Today, we celebrate you too.

To the stepfathers who chose love when they didn’t have to. The men who stepped into lives already in motion and decided to stay. Thank you for proving that fatherhood is more than biology…it is commitment, presence, and love.

To the uncles, brothers, mentors, guardians, and father figures who have guided, protected, corrected, encouraged, and supported others along the way, thank you for making a difference.

To the young men who became fathers earlier than they expected, life may not have gone according to plan, but many of you chose to rise to the occasion. You learned while growing, stumbled while trying, and carried responsibilities you never imagined. Your effort matters.

To the fathers who are doing their best, even when they feel like they are falling short, your children may remember more of your love than your mistakes.

And to every responsible man quietly doing the right thing when nobody is watching, thank you.

The world often celebrates loud achievements, but some of the greatest acts of love happen in the everyday moments: school runs, late-night prayers, bills paid, advice given, lessons taught, hugs offered, and sacrifices made.

Today, we honor those moments.

Happy Father’s Day to every man who has embraced the responsibility of fatherhood, whether by birth, choice, circumstance, or love.

May you be appreciated, celebrated, strengthened, and blessed.

With love,

Cici Tiwa

Today is my birthday. 🎂🌹

And if this newsletter somehow landed in your inbox today, I have one small favor to ask:

Please say a prayer for me.

Not a long prayer.

Not a perfect prayer.

Just a simple one.

A prayer that God continues to guide me.

A prayer that He protects me.

A prayer that He gives me wisdom for every decision I make.

A prayer that I never lose sight of who I am and who He has called me to be.

Because truthfully?

This new age feels different.

Not scary or overwhelming.

Just… different.

I am officially entering my late twenties.

For some people, that sentence means nothing.

For me, it feels like standing between two chapters.

One chapter filled with lessons, mistakes, growth, heartbreaks, answered prayers, disappointments, healing, laughter, and moments I never thought I would survive.

And another chapter waiting to be written.

A blank page.

A fresh start.

A new year of my life.

If you’ve been reading my newsletters for a while, then you know I spend a lot of time dreaming.

I dream about the future.

I dream about the woman I want to become.

I dream about the life I’m building.

I dream about the stories I want to tell.

And every birthday reminds me that time is moving.

The little girl who thought adulthood would come with a manual is now a grown woman trying to figure things out one day at a time.

Some dreams have happened.

Some are still loading.

Some have changed completely.

And somehow, God has remained faithful through all of it.

This year, I don’t have a dramatic birthday speech.

I don’t have a list of achievements to impress anyone with.

What I have is gratitude.

Gratitude for life.

Gratitude for growth.

Gratitude for every lesson.

Gratitude for every person who has supported me.

And gratitude for you.

Yes, you.

The person reading this right now.

Thank you for opening my emails.

Thank you for reading my stories.

Thank you for supporting my writing.

Thank you for allowing me to show up in your inbox and share little pieces of my heart.

You may never fully understand how much that means to me.

So today, as I celebrate another year of life, I am choosing hope.

Hope that this will be a beautiful year.

Hope that God will exceed my expectations.

Hope that every seed I’ve planted will bear fruit in its season.

Hope that every closed door was protection.

Hope that every delay was preparation.

Hope that the best chapters are still ahead.

And if you’re reading this while carrying your own dreams, fears, disappointments, or unanswered prayers, I hope you choose hope too.

We’re all figuring things out.

We’re all becoming.

We’re all growing.

And maybe that’s enough for now.

Before I go, let me ask one more time:

Please say a prayer for me today.

And while you’re at it, leave me a reply telling me one thing you’re praying for this season.

I’d love to pray for you too.

Here’s to another year.

Here’s to growth.

Here’s to grace.

Here’s to becoming.

And here’s to my rose gold year. 🌹✨

With love,

Cici Tiwa

Your Virtual Bestie

Imagine waking up one morning and your phone is blowing up with notifications.

Thousands of people are missing.

A pilot disappears in the middle of a flight.

A mother is looking for her child.

A husband is calling his wife’s name, but she is nowhere to be found.

A wife returns home and finds her husband missing.

Workers are standing in a field. One person is there, and the next second, they are gone.

Two friends are walking together. One remains. The other disappears.

Sounds like a movie plot, right?

The scary thing is that Jesus already told us this would happen.

In Matthew 24:40-41, Jesus said that two men would be working in a field; one would be taken and the other left. Two women would be grinding at the mill; one would be taken and the other left.

The Bible never presents the rapture as a fairy tale or a myth. It presents it as a certainty.

One day, without warning, Jesus will come for His people.

Not next year.

Not when everyone is ready.

Not after one final announcement.

Not after a countdown timer appears in the sky.

The Bible says He will come like a thief in the night.

And that is exactly why so many Christians are unprepared.

We know about the rapture.

We talk about it.

We hear sermons about it.

But many of us live as though we still have unlimited time.

We keep postponing repentance.

We keep postponing obedience.

We keep postponing prayer.

We keep postponing our relationship with God.

We say things like, “I will take God seriously later.”

But what if later never comes?

One of the most sobering parables Jesus told was the story of the ten virgins in Matthew 25.

Five were wise.

Five were foolish.

All ten were waiting for the bridegroom.

All ten looked prepared from the outside.

All ten had lamps.

All ten were expecting His arrival.

But only five had enough oil.

When the bridegroom finally arrived, the wise virgins entered with him.

The foolish virgins were left outside.

Think about that for a moment.

The difference was not church attendance.

The difference was not appearance.

The difference was preparation.

The wise virgins prepared before the bridegroom arrived.

The foolish virgins waited until it was too late.

I sometimes wonder how many Christians today are carrying lamps with no oil.

We know Christian songs.

We know Bible verses.

We know church language.

But do we truly know Jesus?

Do we spend time with Him when nobody is watching?

Do we obey Him when it is inconvenient?

Do we choose Him over the things this world keeps offering us?

The reality is that the end times are not meant to scare believers.

They are meant to wake us up.

The Bible tells us that difficult days will come.

There will be deception.

False prophets.

False teachings.

Persecution.

Confusion.

And eventually, the rise of the Antichrist.

Many Christians spend so much time trying to identify who the Antichrist is that they forget to focus on Christ Himself.

The goal is not to become experts on the Antichrist.

The goal is to know Jesus so deeply that no counterfeit can deceive us.

When bank workers are trained to identify fake money, they do not spend all day studying fake notes.

They spend most of their time studying the real thing.

That way, when a counterfeit appears, they immediately recognize it.

The same applies to believers.

Know Jesus.

Know His Word.

Know His voice.

Because deception becomes dangerous when people do not know the truth.

This newsletter is not written to make you afraid.

It is written to make you aware.

There is a difference.

Fear says, “Panic.”

Awareness says, “Prepare.”

The rapture should not be a horror story for believers.

It should be a blessed hope.

The promise that one day Jesus will return for those who belong to Him.

But hope does not cancel preparation.

A student who hopes to pass an exam still studies.

A bride who hopes for her wedding day still prepares.

A Christian who hopes for Christ’s return should also be ready.

So let me ask you something.

If Jesus returned today, would you be ready?

Not your pastor.

Not your parents.

Not your church members.

You.

Would you be ready?

Would there be oil in your lamp?

Would you recognize His voice?

Would your heart be ready to meet Him?

Nobody knows the day.

Nobody knows the hour.

But every passing day brings us one day closer.

So pray.

Read your Bible.

Repent when God convicts you.

Stay close to Jesus.

Do not drift.

Do not become comfortable.

Do not become distracted.

And do not assume there will always be more time.

Because one day, the headline will no longer be imaginary.

One day, the rapture will happen.

And when that day comes, may we be found ready.

With love,

Cici Tiwa

There is something we do as a society that I don’t think we talk about enough.

We tell men to be strong.

We tell them to provide.

We tell them to protect.

We tell them to lead.

We tell them to carry everyone else’s burdens.

But when exactly do we allow them to put those burdens down?

When do we allow them to rest?

When do we allow them to admit that they are tired?

When do we allow them to say, “I am not okay”?

For some reason, many men grow up believing that vulnerability is weakness. They are taught to hide their pain, suppress their emotions, and keep moving no matter how exhausted they feel.

So they smile when they are hurting.

They joke when they are struggling.

They isolate when they need support.

And sometimes, the people around them never even realize how much they are carrying.

I think that is unfair.

Because men are human beings before they are providers.

Human beings before they are husbands.

Human beings before they are fathers.

Human beings before they are protectors.

And human beings get tired.

Human beings cry.

Human beings need help.

Human beings need love.

If you are a man reading this, I need you to know something.

You do not have to carry everything alone.

You do not have to pretend to be okay all the time.

You do not have to suffer in silence because you are afraid of looking weak.

If you need to cry, cry.

Tears do not make you less of a man.

Pain does not make you less of a man.

Asking for help does not make you less of a man.

You deserve support just as much as everyone else.

You deserve people who check on you.

You deserve friends who listen.

You deserve safe spaces where you can be honest about what is happening in your mind and heart.

And while we’re here, can we also talk about how men are often expected to be the givers all the time?

The giver of money.

The giver of solutions.

The giver of emotional strength.

The giver of protection.

The giver of everything.

But who is giving back to them?

Who is asking how they are doing?

Who is pouring into them?

Who is supporting them when life becomes overwhelming?

The truth is that healthy relationships should not be one-sided.

You deserve to receive too.

Receive love.

Receive care.

Receive kindness.

Receive encouragement.

Receive support.

You are not a machine built to serve everyone until you break.

You are a person.

And another thing?

Please do not settle.

Do not settle for relationships where you are only valued for what you can provide.

Do not settle for friendships where you are only contacted when someone needs something.

Do not settle for environments that constantly drain you without pouring anything back into you.

Do not settle for people who make you feel like your emotions are inconvenient.

You deserve genuine love.

You deserve respect.

You deserve reciprocity.

You deserve peace.

Men’s Mental Health Month is not just about raising awareness.

It is about reminding men that they matter too.

Their feelings matter.

Their struggles matter.

Their healing matters.

Their happiness matters.

Their lives matter.

And if nobody has told you recently, let me say it now:

Take care of yourself.

Rest when you need to.

Talk when you need to.

Cry when you need to.

Ask for help when you need to.

Choose yourself when you need to.

Because strength is not pretending nothing hurts.

Strength is having the courage to acknowledge when something does.

With love,

Your Virtual Bestie,

Cici Tiwa

I started watching The Polygamist on Netflix because I heard people talking about it.

One episode became two.

Two became twenty- two episodes.

Then suddenly, I was emotionally invested in the lives of people who kept making the same terrible decisions over and over again.

The show, which is based on the bestselling novel The Polygamist by Zimbabwean author Sue Nyathi, follows the life of Jonasi Gomora, a wealthy businessman whose entire world is built on lies, affairs, manipulation, and women who keep giving him chance after chance. The story revolves around Joyce, his wife, Matipa, his ambitious mistress, Essie, the woman who stood by him before he became successful, and other women whose lives become tangled in his web.

But the more episodes I watched, the more frustrated I became.

Not because Jonasi was terrible.

That part was obvious.

I was angry at the women.

Now before anyone comes for me, yes, Jonasi is the villain.

Absolutely.

Jonasi was selfish.

Jonasi was manipulative.

Jonasi was a serial cheater.

The man is a walking red flag factory.

We all knew that.

But as I watched, I found myself becoming increasingly frustrated with the women.

What I couldn’t understand was why the women kept staying.

Why?

At what point do you look at the situation and choose yourself?

I know life is more complicated than simply leaving.

I know there are financial pressures, cultural expectations, children, history, and emotional attachment.

But there comes a point where staying becomes a choice.

And some of these women kept choosing suffering.

They kept choosing humiliation.

They kept choosing a man who had already shown them exactly who he was.

At some point, I found myself shouting at my screen:

“What is wrong with you women?”

Joyce, the first wife, spent years fighting for a marriage that was publicly humiliating her…Eeeewwww 🤮🤢

Matipa especially frustrated me.

Beautiful. Young. Smart. Full of potential.

Yet she attached her entire future to a man who was actively cheating on his wife with her.

A man who had already demonstrated that loyalty meant nothing to him.

And somehow she believed she would be different. That she would be special. That she would be the exception.

She could literally have built a life with anyone.

Yet she spends so much energy trying to take another woman’s husband.

And for what?

A title?

A house?

A ring?

A temporary victory?

You cannot build lasting happiness on another person’s heartbreak.

And even when she got what she thought she wanted, was she ever truly secure?

No.

Because deep down she knew exactly who she was dealing with.

A man who had already proven loyalty wasn’t one of his strengths.

Here’s a lesson I keep seeing in real life:

If someone betrays another person to be with you, do not be shocked when they eventually betray you too.

You are not witnessing a miracle.

You are witnessing a pattern.

The same man who lies for you can lie to you.

The same man who cheats with you can cheat on you.

The same man who abandons someone else can abandon you too.

A lot of women think they are the chosen one.

Sometimes they are simply next in line.

And then there was Essie.

The woman who supported Jonasi before the money.

Before the power.

Before the success.

The woman who invested in his future when nobody else could see it.

Watching her story made me think about how many women spend years building men only to become forgotten chapters in their success stories.

How painful must that be?

To help someone climb a mountain only to discover there was never room for you at the top.

And every single one of them seemed trapped in the same illusion:

“If I love him enough, he’ll finally choose me.”

But why are we fighting for someone who has already shown us who he is?

Then there was the daughter’s friend.

My goodness.

That storyline annoyed me so much.

Every episode felt like watching people walk directly toward red flags and then acting surprised when disaster happened.

The older I get, the more I realize something:

Love is not enough.

Potential is not enough.

History is not enough.

Children are not enough.

Sometimes the strongest thing a woman can do is leave.

Not stay.

Leave.

Because staying isn’t always strength.

Sometimes staying is fear disguised as loyalty.

But perhaps the thing that disturbed me most was not the marriages.

It was the children.

Because while I was watching, I kept thinking about something people say:

“A fruit does not fall far from the tree.”

Or as we often hear:

“The child who watches becomes the adult who repeats.”

Look at the son.

Look at the patterns already forming.

Look at the decisions.

Look at the behavior.

It’s heartbreaking.

Because unresolved dysfunction rarely disappears on its own.

Children watch.

Children learn.

Children normalize what they repeatedly see.

One generation’s wounds often become the next generation’s habits.

The ending quietly asks a terrifying question:

What happens when children inherit not only wealth but also dysfunction?

That’s why the story felt bigger than polygamy.

It wasn’t really about multiple wives.

It was about choices.

The choices we make.

The standards we lower.

The lies we tell ourselves.

The things we tolerate because we’re afraid of starting over.

What made the series so addictive is that it forces us to confront uncomfortable questions about power, money, marriage, self-worth, and the lengths people will go to avoid being alone.

And maybe that’s why I couldn’t stop watching.

Not because the story was unbelievable.

But because parts of it felt painfully familiar.

We’ve all seen versions of this story.

The woman who stays hoping he’ll change.

The side chick convinced she’s different.

The man who keeps getting away with everything because everyone around him keeps accepting it.

The show also reminded me of something I wrote in a previous newsletter.

When a woman finally decides to teach you a lesson…even the devil will sit calmly and take lessons from her.

People talk a lot about men cheating.

They talk about men leaving.

They talk about men betraying.

But they underestimate what happens when years of hurt finally catch up with a woman.

Pain has consequences.

Betrayal has consequences.

And eventually, even the strongest people get tired.

What makes The Polygamist interesting is that it is not really about one cheating man.

It is about power.

It is about validation.

It is about people desperately wanting to be chosen.

And maybe that is why it made me so angry.

Because while I was watching, I kept asking:

Why are all of you fighting to be chosen by someone who isn’t worth choosing?

Why are you competing for a man who keeps proving he cannot love any of you properly?

Why are you battling for a position that should have been vacated years ago?

My biggest takeaway?

Choose yourself.

Every single time.

Not your title.

Not the relationship.

Not the ring.

Not the image.

Yourself.

Because the moment you stop choosing yourself, someone else will start making your choices for you.

And that’s usually when the real tragedy begins.

Your Virtual Bestie,

Cici Tiwa

There is a question I’ve been afraid to ask God.

Not because I don’t have faith or because I don’t love God

The question keeps showing up whenever I hear another heartbreaking story.

A young person dies.

A wife becomes a widow before her marriage has barely begun.

A mother spends years praying for her children only to die before she sees them succeed.

A father works his entire life to build a future for his family and leaves before enjoying any of it.

A child prays.

A church prays.

Family members fast.

People believe.

People declare healing.

And then the person dies anyway.

And somewhere in the middle of the funeral service, while everyone is saying “God knows best,” a question quietly forms in my heart:

God, Why?

He is unquestionable, but why?

Because You could have stopped it.

You could have healed them.

You could have performed a miracle.

You could have changed the doctor’s report.

You could have added ten more years.

Twenty more years.

You could have.

He is a powerful God

We believe He raises the dead.

We believe He heals the sick.

We believe He parts seas.

We believe He makes impossible things possible.

So when He doesn’t intervene the way we hoped, grief becomes mixed with confusion.

And sometimes even disappointment.

I know Christians don’t talk about that part often.

We talk about grief.

We talk about loss.

But we rarely talk about the confusion.

The frustration.

The uncomfortable questions.

The moments when faith and heartbreak collide.

The moments when you sit in church singing about God’s goodness while trying to understand why someone you love is gone.

I’ve wondered if God gets tired of those questions.

I’ve wondered if He is offended by them.

But then I remember that Scripture is full of people asking hard questions too

David asked.

Job asked.

Jeremiah asked.

Even people who loved God deeply sometimes looked toward heaven and said,

“I don’t understand.”

Maybe faith isn’t pretending to understand everything.

Maybe faith is continuing to trust God when you don’t.

Because the truth is, I don’t know why some people are healed and others aren’t.

I don’t know why some prayers are answered exactly the way we hope and others aren’t.

I don’t know why some stories end sooner than they should.

I don’t know why death visits some homes earlier than expected.

I don’t know.

And honestly, I think some of the pain we carry comes from trying to force answers where God has only given us trust.

That isn’t satisfying.

I know.

I wish I could tell you that every death makes sense.

I wish I could explain every tragedy.

I wish I could tie every loss into a neat little bow and tell you exactly what God was thinking.

But I can’t.

What I do know is that Jesus Himself stood at a grave and wept.

Not because He lacked power.

But because He understood grief.

The God we serve is not distant from sorrow.

He entered it.

He felt it.

He carried it.

And somehow that comforts me.

Not because it answers my questions.

But because it reminds me that God is not standing far away from our pain asking us to “get over it.”

He is present in it.

Still, there are days when death feels cruel.

There are days when heaven feels selfish.

There are days when I look at stories cut short and wonder why God couldn’t have waited a little longer.

A few more birthdays.

A few more anniversaries.

A few more memories.

Just a little more time.

Maybe that’s why death hurts so much.

Not because love ended.

But because we wanted more of it.

More conversations.

More laughter.

More moments.

More life.

And perhaps that’s the part that points us toward eternity.

Because no amount of time would ever feel like enough with the people we truly love.

Not ten years.

Not fifty years.

Not even a hundred.

Love always wants one more day.

One more hug.

One more conversation.

One more chance.

Maybe that longing itself is evidence that we were created for something beyond this world.

I still don’t understand death.

I still don’t understand why some people leave too soon.

I still don’t understand why some miracles happen and others don’t.

But I am learning that faith is not the absence of questions.

Faith is choosing to trust God even when His decisions confuse us.

And perhaps one day, on the other side of eternity, the questions that break our hearts now will finally make sense.

Until then, we grieve.

We remember.

We love.

And we trust as best as we can.

Even through tears.

Your Bestie,

Cici Tiwa

I have accepted something about myself.

I enjoy delusion.

Before you judge me, hear me out.

Life is already doing too much. The economy is doing too much. The news is doing too much. Even opening my banking app sometimes feels like a spiritual attack. So if I choose to spend my free time believing that a brooding billionaire is one apology away from changing his life for the woman he loves, please allow me.

I am a romance reader.

I am a romance writer.

I watch romance movies like they are part of my daily nutritional requirements.

My playlists are filled with songs that make me believe somebody is staring at my picture while it rains dramatically outside their window.

I know it is fiction.

I know Prince Charming is not riding into Lagos traffic on a white horse.

I know nobody is standing outside my gate with a handwritten love letter and a bouquet of flowers.

Trust me, I know.

But for a few hours, I get to live somewhere softer.

A place where people communicate.

A place where misunderstandings get resolved.

A place where love wins.

A place where somebody actually says, “I was wrong,” without needing a committee meeting first.

And honestly?

I love it there.

When I am watching a romance movie, I become a citizen of that world.

I believe every glance.

I believe every grand gesture.

I believe every airport chase scene, even though I know if someone tried that in real life, airport security would probably escort them out.

For those two hours, life feels lighter.

Then the movie ends and reality immediately sets in.

Suddenly, there are responsibilities.

There are deadlines.

There are bills.

There are unanswered emails.

There is laundry sitting somewhere waiting for me to fold it.

Real life knocks on my door like, “Hello, ma’am. Your break is over.”

And I hate that part every single time.

Sometimes I wish I could stay in those stories forever.

Reality can be exhausting.

The world feels so heavy these days.

People are tired.

Everyone is fighting battles we cannot see.

Hope feels expensive.

So forgive me if I occasionally disappear into a romance novel where the biggest problem is whether the couple will finally admit they are in love.

That is my vacation.

That is my self-care.

That is my emotional support genre.

Maybe that is what fiction is for.

Maybe it is not about escaping life completely.

Maybe it is about borrowing enough hope, enough magic, and enough beauty to survive real life when we return to it.

And if that is delusion, then respectfully, I would like to renew my membership.

But I think what hurts the most is that deep down, I do not even want the castles, the crowns, or the dramatic movie moments.

What I want is what those stories make me feel.

Safety.

Hope.

Tenderness.

The belief that somebody can see all the messy parts of you and choose you anyway.

The belief that kindness still exists.

The belief that good things still happen to ordinary people.

The belief that life can surprise you in beautiful ways.

Maybe that is why I keep returning to romance.

It is not really about the love stories.

It is about possibility.

Every romance novel is essentially a person standing in front of disappointment and saying, “Maybe things can still get better.”

And I need that reminder more often than I would like to admit.

Because real life has a way of making people cynical.

The older you get, the more bad news you hear.

The more people disappoint you.

The more dreams change shape.

The more you realize that adulthood is mostly just solving one problem before another one introduces itself.

Some days, it feels like everybody is barely holding it together.

And on those days, I understand exactly why I run toward stories.

Stories remind me that being soft is still an option.

Stories remind me that there is still beauty in the world.

Stories remind me that people still fall in love.

People still get second chances.

People still heal.

People still find happiness after heartbreak.

People still laugh after crying.

People still find light after very dark seasons.

And maybe that sounds naive.

Maybe it sounds unrealistic.

Maybe it sounds like the ramblings of somebody who has spent too much time reading romance books.

But I would rather be the girl who believes in good things than the girl who expects the worst from everything.

I would rather be disappointed occasionally than spend my life convinced that nothing beautiful can happen.

I would rather hold on to wonder.

I would rather hold on to hope.

I would rather hold on to love.

Even if it makes me look a little delusional.

The truth is, the world gives us enough reasons to be hard.

Enough reasons to be guarded.

Enough reasons to stop believing.

I do not think I need to help the world do that job.

So I choose softness.

I choose stories.

I choose romance.

I choose happy endings.

Because sometimes fairy tales help me survive real life.

Maybe that is why, after every book, after every movie, after every fictional man who raises my standards and ruins my expectations, I still come back.

I close the book.

I shut down the movie.

I return to reality.

And somehow, I return carrying a little more hope than I had before.

A little more faith.

A little more courage.

A little more belief that maybe life is not finished surprising me yet.

So yes.

I love delusion.

The kind that helps me endure it.

The kind that allows me to imagine better things.

The kind that reminds me that even when the world feels bleak, beauty still exists somewhere.

And until reality figures out how to become less stressful, less exhausting, and less expensive, you will probably find me curled up with a romance novel, watching two fictional people fall in love while I giggle, kick my feet, and temporarily forget that adulthood exists.

Yours faithfully,

A girl who will never stop believing in happy endings,

Cici Tiwa

P.S. If loving romance this much is a crime, I expect my fellow book lovers to join me in prison. At least our prison library will be excellent.

First of all… Happy New Month… Welcome to the month of June

A few days ago, I was doing what I always do when I’m working on a story…reading. Researching. Falling into rabbit holes I never planned to enter.

And somehow, I found myself reading about child brides.

I wish I hadn’t.

One particular story has refused to leave my mind.

A little girl…around six or seven years old was crying because it hurt when she tried to urinate.

Read that again.

A child.

Not a woman.

Not a bride.

A child.

A child who should be arguing over cartoons, losing pencils in school, asking for sweets, and falling asleep with stuffed toys.

Instead, she was experiencing pain that no child should ever know.

And I sat there staring at my screen, wondering:

What kind of adult looks at a child and thinks, “Yes, that’s someone I want to marry”?

What kind of adult looks at a child and sees a wife instead of a daughter?

What kind of society watches that happen and calls it tradition?

I genuinely do not understand it.

Every time conversations about child marriage come up, people rush to defend it with culture, religion, history, or customs.

But there is one question nobody seems eager to answer:

What about the child?

What about her fear?

What about her body?

What about her future?

What about her right to simply be a child?

Because that’s what gets lost in these discussions.

People argue about laws.

People argue about traditions.

People argue about beliefs.

Meanwhile, a little girl is carrying a burden that should never have been placed on her shoulders.

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Children are not miniature adults.

They are children.

Their bodies are still developing.

Their minds are still growing.

Their understanding of the world is still forming.

A child cannot meaningfully consent to marriage.

A child cannot fully understand the consequences of marriage.

A child should never be expected to carry the responsibilities of marriage.

Yet millions of girls around the world continue to face this reality.

And every time I read about it, I feel the same thing:

Anger.

Because somewhere, right now, a little girl is losing her childhood while adults debate whether she should have been allowed to keep it.

That should disturb all of us.

I don’t care how normalized something becomes.

I don’t care how many generations have practiced it.

I don’t care how many people defend it.

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If a practice harms children, then the practice deserves to be questioned.

Children deserve protection.

Children deserve safety.

Children deserve education.

Children deserve opportunities.

Most importantly, children deserve the right to remain children.

Maybe that’s why this topic makes me so emotional.

Because every child deserves a chance to grow up before the world starts demanding things from them.

A chance to discover who they are.

A chance to dream.

A chance to live.

And every time a child is forced into marriage, a piece of that chance is stolen.

I was supposed to be researching for a story.

Instead, I ended up sitting with a heavy heart, thinking about children who deserved so much better than the adults around them gave them.

And honestly?

That’s a story I wish didn’t exist.

Love,

Cici Tiwa ❤️

When I was younger, I thought dreams were enough.

I thought that if I dreamed hard enough, prayed hard enough, worked hard enough, everything would somehow fall into place.

And to be fair, dreaming is important.

Dreams give us direction.

Dreams give us hope.

Dreams give us something to hold on to when life feels repetitive.

But growing older has taught me something nobody really talks about:

Dreams are free.

Opportunities are not.

Sometimes opportunities have to be created.

Sometimes opportunities have to be chased.

And sometimes, opportunities have to be afforded.

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I learned this lesson the hard way.

There have been events I wanted to attend but couldn’t because transportation cost money.

There have been courses I wanted to take but couldn’t because the enrollment fee wasn’t something I could comfortably pay.

There have been books I wanted to read, conferences I wanted to attend, and projects I wanted to start, but wanting them wasn’t enough.

The opportunity existed.

The dream existed.

The passion existed.

The money didn’t.

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Nobody likes talking about this part because it sounds uncomfortable.

We prefer stories that begin with a dream and end with success.

We love hearing, “I believed in myself and everything worked out.”

What often gets edited out is the amount of money, sacrifice, preparation, and access that happened in the middle.

The reality is that two people can have the exact same dream.

One person has access to resources, connections, and opportunities.

The other person doesn’t.

One person gets a faster route.

The other person has to build the road first.

That doesn’t mean the second person is less talented.

It doesn’t mean they’re less hardworking.

It simply means they’re carrying extra weight.

And if that’s your reality right now, I hope you stop measuring your progress against people who started from a different place.

Because comparison rarely tells the full story.

The person you envy may have resources you don’t see.

The person whose success looks effortless may have support systems you never had.

The person who appears ten steps ahead may simply have had access to opportunities earlier.

Life is not always an equal race.

And acknowledging that isn’t negativity.

It’s honesty.

But here’s the beautiful thing I’ve also learned:

Sometimes you cannot afford an opportunity today.

That doesn’t mean you’ll never afford it.

Sometimes the season you’re in is not the season for arrival.

It’s the season for preparation.

It’s the season where you’re saving.

Learning.

Building.

Practicing.

Showing up.

Growing quietly.

I’ve seen opportunities I couldn’t touch years ago become opportunities I could comfortably embrace later.

Not because the opportunity changed.

But because I changed.

My skills improved.

My network expanded.

My finances grew.

My confidence matured.

The version of me that once felt locked out eventually became the version that belonged in the room.

So if you’re currently watching doors open for other people while yours remain closed, don’t assume your story has ended.

A closed door today is not always a permanent rejection.

Sometimes it’s simply a reminder that you’re still building the key.

Keep dreaming.

But don’t stop there.

Create opportunities where you can.

Volunteer.

Network.

Learn.

Start before you’re fully ready.

Save for the things that matter to you.

Invest in yourself whenever possible.

And when an opportunity finally arrives, be prepared enough to walk through it.

Because dreams may be free.

But the life you dream about is often built through the opportunities you create, pursue, and eventually become ready to afford.

Until next time,

Your Virtual Bestie,

Cici Tiwa