“I will keep serving God until the day that I die”, my friend says that quietly. So now I say quietly, I will keep serving God till the day I die.

Not because I think I have figured everything out.
Not because my life has been some beautiful testimony of consistency. Not because I haven’t made ridiculous decisions, spoken nonsense, procrastinated, wandered, or forgotten God in the middle of my own life.

I say it because I know He sees me. He has seen every version of me. The disciplined one.
The distracted one. The faithful one.
The one who said she would pray and then picked up her phone instead. The one who wanted Him desperately. The one who sometimes tried to make sense of life without Him.

And still, somehow, He remains God.

So I whisper: God, let the fragrance of myself be acceptable before You.
Let the fragrance of my worship be acceptable before You.

Recently, a friend said this words to me on a Saturday morning, and somehow, those words took me back to where I started.

God, I remove every idol I have placed before You. You are my King. You are my only King. And there was a song playing in my ears as I sat there, completely lost in worship.

I remove every idol, I place them before You.
You’re my King, You’re my only King.

I kept singing it. Again. And again. And again.

Then I realized something uncomfortable: I think sometimes I am the idol.

Not because I think I am some self-glorified person. Please, I probably have low self-esteem every other second. But an idol is anything that takes the place of God and sometimes the thing taking God’s place isn’t a relationship.

It isn’t money. It isn’t my phone, it isn’t even procrastination. Sometimes it is me. My plans. My control. My timing. My need to understand. My need to decide what my life should look like. My insistence on doing things my own way and then asking God to bless the outcome.

And perhaps I am the idol that keeps opening the door for the others because my phone isn’t going to kneel before God for me. If my phone has become an idol, I have to submit my phone.

Procrastination isn’t going to repent. I have to submit my procrastination.

My desire for attention isn’t going to lay itself before the altar. I have to lay it down.

My fear isn’t going to surrender itself. I have to surrender it.

We can name every idol occupying our lives, but none of them will submit themselves. We have and that is the uncomfortable part.

Sometimes we want God to remove everything from our lives while refusing to surrender the person who keeps picking those things back up.

Us.

I think I am the idol sometimes and maybe that is why my spirit feels distant. Not because God moved. But because I keep putting myself between us.

My life has been messy.

I won’t come here and pretend otherwise and I certainly won’t give you the beautiful social-media version of it where everything is secretly working out and every difficult thing was “God’s plan.”

No. Sometimes I have simply been inconsistent with God. Sometimes I haven’t sat with Him one-on-one. Sometimes I have gone through an entire day without really being with Him and because I know who I am supposed to be with God, I notice the distance. That is what makes it messy for me.

But even in that mess, God remains at the centre, so I keep coming back.

Because I made a pact with God a long time ago: My life is not going to make sense without You. And every time I forget that and try to make sense of it without Him, I remember. There is nothing to return to but Him. So I sing it again:

I remove every idol,
I place them before You.

You’re my King,
You’re my only King.

Maybe I need to sing it until I believe it. Maybe I need to live it until I become it. Maybe worship is not just removing the idols around me. Maybe sometimes worship is finally stepping off the throne myself.

And saying: God, I am not my own god.

You are my King.

My only King.

~Oluwadunsin

I came across a tweet by Omoyele Sowore that read:

“Nigerians should direct their anger at their real enemies… No one should hold a talented musician like Tyla vicariously liable for the crimes of xenophobia… Tyla’s Lagos concert must go on.”

When I saw it, I paused. Not because I didn’t understand his point, I actually did. But I found myself asking a different question.

What is going on in Nigeria?

A few months ago, I watched the videos of a Nigerian businessman, Musa Yunana Joe popularly known as Big Joe. He was killed. The motive of his killing had not been officially established, but it happened during a period of heightened anti-immigrant tensions and reports of attacks involving foreign nationals, including Nigerians.

Watching those videos was heartbreaking. A man built a business. Built a life. Built something that mattered. Then suddenly, he was gone.

Regardless of how his death is ultimately classified, it happened leavinmany Nigerians feeling unsafe, unwanted, and vulnerable. That should matter.

……..

Now, let’s return to the conversation. One side says:

“Tyla should not perform in Nigeria.”

Not necessarily because she committed any crime or because she is personally responsible for xenophobia.

But because she has remained publicly silent while many Nigerians have suffered or died amid anti-immigrant violence from South Africa. To them, welcoming her to perform feels emotionally disconnected from the pain they carry. I understand that sentiment.

Then there is another side. “She didn’t kill anyone.” “We love her music.” “She should come.” I also understand that sentiment.

Then there is Sowore’s position: “Redirect your anger to Nigerian leaders who have failed to protect Nigerians, and to South African leaders whose failures allowed xenophobic violence to thrive.” Again… I understand that too.

But I think every side is unintentionally exposing something much deeper than whether a concert should hold.

The Tyla debate isn’t really about Tyla. It is exposing who Nigerians have become Or perhaps… who we’ve always been self centered.

Because while we’re debating whether one artist should perform, I’m asking a different question.

Why are our priorities so fractured?

Why do we seem unable to mourn together?

What happened to lighting candles for fallen compatriots?

What happened to collective grief?

What happened to standing still long enough to acknowledge that lives were lost before asking whether the show should continue?

•

This isn’t about blaming Tyla. She is an artist. Artists are not responsible for the failures of governments. But societies communicate values through what they celebrate, what they postpone, what they ignore, and what they insist on moving past. That matters. And I agree her actions show she lacks certain empathy values.

•

And then there are Nigerians saying: “We just want to dance.” “We love her songs.” “She should come.” That response worries me even more.

Not because enjoying music is wrong. But because it reflects something I’ve observed about us as a people. We have become experts at disconnecting ourselves from realities that don’t touch us personally.

If it isn’t my family… If it isn’t my state…. If it isn’t my friend… Then perhaps it isn’t really my problem. Until it becomes mine.

Even me writing this. Even you reading this. We’re all guilty of it in one way or another. That is why this conversation goes far beyond a concert.

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Sometimes I honestly wonder whether I still want to call myself a youth specialist in Nigeria. Because when I look at Nigerian youth, Asides from the fact that I see brilliance. I see creativity. I see resilience. But I also see disconnection.

We know how to trend hashtags. We know how to argue online. We know how to drag people on X. We know how to make memes.

But when it comes to sustained civic engagement, collective memory, and organised action, we often lose momentum. Our voices are loud online. Our actions are frequently quiet offline.

And before you misunderstand me, this isn’t me saying Nigerian youth do nothing. Far from it. Many are organising. Many are volunteering. Many are building. Many are speaking.

But somewhere along the way, we’ve also become incredibly good at moving from one outrage to another without allowing ourselves to truly sit with the weight of what happened. That scares me.

People often say Nigerians are resilient. Sometimes I wonder whether what we’re calling resilience is actually emotional exhaustion.  Because exhaustion also looks like moving on too quickly. It looks like adapting to things that should never become normal.

I remember how, during the COVID-19 pandemic, several countries mobilized resources to evacuate their citizens from different parts of the world. Governments publicly communicated concern for their nationals. That is what it looks like when a state visibly values its people. It makes me ask difficult questions about our own expectations of leadership.

•

Should our anger only be directed at politicians?Absolutely not. Should politicians be held accountable? Absolutely. Should citizens also examine what we normalize, celebrate, excuse, and forget? I think so.

This is why I don’t think the Tyla debate is actually about Tyla. It is about us. About what captures our attention. About what deserves our outrage. About what deserves our silence. About what we are willing to mourn. About whether we still recognize solidarity when it costs us something.

Here’s another thing that fascinates me. Nigerians have become incredibly skilled investigators when it serves entertainment.

Someone steals a phone? We find them.

Someone cheats? Social media becomes the FBI.

Someone trends? Within hours, someone has uncovered their secondary school, family tree, and childhood nickname.

Yet when conversations require collective organisation, civic responsibility, or sustained pressure, we suddenly become spectators.

Who are the Nigerian promoters and organizers of Tyla’s Lagos concert? NIL

Again, this is bigger than a concert. Bigger than Tyla. Bigger than South Africa. This is about the kind of citizens we are becoming. Because countries do not change simply because governments change. Countries also change because citizens change.

•

So before asking whether Tyla should perform…

Perhaps we should first ask ourselves a harder question. When did we become so comfortable moving on that we forgot how to stand together?

What unsettles me isn’t simply that people disagree. Disagreement is healthy What unsettles me is how differently we seem to experience the same reality.

Some Nigerians are mourning. Some are organising. Some are asking difficult questions. Others simply want the concert to go on. It isn’t that one group is necessarily evil and the other righteous. It’s that we appear to be living in entirely different versions of Nigeria.

Our lived realities are becoming so disconnected that we no longer know how to carry each other’s burdens. If your reality is different from mine, does that make my pain less real? If your family is safe, should mine matter less? If your passport, your privilege, your position or your proximity to power shields you from certain realities, does that make those realities disappear for the rest of us?

A nation cannot truly move forward when its people no longer recognize one another’s grief.

I keep asking myself: When did solidarity become optional?  Before tribe… Before political party… Before social class…Before ethnicity….Before ideology…

Were we not first human beings? Were we not first Nigerians? What happened to mourning with those who mourn? What happened to standing beside people simply because they are your own?

Not because they are useful. Not because they think like you. Not because they vote like you. But because they belong to the same country you call home. Somewhere along the way, we’ve become incredibly good at defending our circles while forgetting our comrades.

Leadership doesn’t only shape policy. It shapes culture. It shapes what people think deserves attention. It shapes what becomes urgent. It shapes what quietly fades away.

Sometimes I wonder whether the distance between leaders and ordinary citizens has become so wide that they no longer feel the weight of the same realities. Perhaps that is inevitable. Power often changes perspective.

But leadership should never remove empathy. If anything, it should deepen it. The same question applies to all of us.

•

Whether we are politicians, activists, influencers, professionals or ordinary citizens… Have we become too comfortable discussing people whose lives we no longer truly imagine? Because empathy begins where convenience ends.

I don’t know whether Tyla should perform. I know what my opinion is.

But I also know that one concert cannot possibly be the biggest story in a nation carrying this much grief. So perhaps the real question isn’t whether Tyla should come.

Perhaps the real question is whether we’ve slowly forgotten what it means to belong to one another. Because countries don’t collapse only when institutions fail. Sometimes they quietly unravel when citizens stop seeing each other as comrades.

~Oluwadunsin

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For the past two months, I have won this battle.

Not me, though. God.

Life has been so loud lately that I barely had enough time to think about myself, or pay attention to the monthly reminders from my reproductive system, let alone think about what my hormones were doing. Between work, surviving, trying to eat, trying to pray, trying to keep my head above water, ovulation almost felt… postponed. They probably drowned out the noise. Or maybe God has genuinely been helping me. Either way, I’ll take the victory.

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Now that life feels a little calmer, a little quieter, not because I’ve suddenly become rich, but because I can at least afford two packs of Indomie and one egg (And for the record, I don’t even like Indomie) my body suddenly seems to remember that it has hormones.

Basically my nervous system is calmer and somehow… My ovaries remember they exist and ovulation is back. Here we are again

•

Hear me out. Ovulation is a beautiful thing. I don’t hate it. I genuinely don’t even want to imagine a world without it.

It is one of God’s reminders that my body is alive, healthy, functioning exactly as He designed it to. The warmth. The sensitivity. The sudden desire to be hugged. The way my skin almost feels more awake.

Ovulation isn’t my enemy.

She’s almost my best friend. The way I suddenly remember that I am not just a writer, an advocate, or a project manager, not just a public health girl, not just someone’s daughter. A woman.  And honestly? A very fine one, if I may add. Again! Ovulation isn’t my enemy. She’s my best friend.

Suddenly my breasts look fuller. My nipples look sexy! (Sexy asf!). My skin decides to cooperate. Every mirror suddenly becomes my biggest supporter. My confidence quietly walks into the room before I do. The seductress in me!? Gosh I love her.

Then there’s that feeling. The sudden desire to be hugged. To lean on somebody. To laugh with somebody. To have someone play with my hair. To simply exist beside another human being.

Then I remember that line from Entergalactic:

“Your punani needs attention.” Girl yes! Because, honestly, sometimes my body agrees.

Now my hormones occasionally quote it back to me.

Every. Single. Month. And that’s exactly where the problem begins.

In simpler words, ovulation reminds me that I have sexual desires. It reminds me that I was created with the capacity to desire intimacy. It reminds me that one day, in marriage, those desires will not be something to fear but something to celebrate. But today? Today they require stewardship.

Because somewhere between healthy desire and holy desire lies a very patient spirit called lust.

Lust has controlled me before. Not outwardly. Inwardly. Because ovulation isn’t the enemy. Lust is. Lust has never needed another person to survive. It has survived perfectly well inside my imagination.

Sometimes it looked like fantasy. Sometimes it looked like loneliness. Sometimes curiosity.

Sometimes stress. Sometimes books I knew I probably shouldn’t have been reading that were feeding the wrong parts of me.

Sometimes scrolling just a little too long.  Sometimes simply entertaining thoughts that should have ended the moment they arrived.

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It has occupied my imagination. It has filled my thoughts.. It has made fantasy feel harmless when, in reality, it was quietly shaping my heart. These aren’t things I’m proud of. They’re simply true. And maybe that’s why I’m writing this. Because I don’t think enough Christian women talk about this.

•

People think lust always starts with touching. Mine usually starts with thinking. And thoughts are dangerous because nobody sees them. Including the people sitting beside you in church.

Here’s another thing nobody talks about. Women struggle too. Not just men. We don’t say it enough.

Nobody really prepares Christian women for the fact that your body can genuinely crave intimacy while your spirit is desperately trying to stay surrendered to Christ. Sometimes we speak as though sexual temptation belongs to men alone. It doesn’t. Women know what it feels like too.

Some months are worse than others. There have been months where ovulation felt like my entire body had clocked into work. My uterus aching. My hormones everywhere. My body restless. My emotions louder than usual. My brain trying to negotiate with desires I never planned to entertain.

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There were even days I skipped work because my body simply felt… overwhelmed. People joke about women being “on heat.” I laughed too. Until there were months where I quietly understood the joke.

That’s probably the most embarrassing sentence I’ve ever written. But maybe somebody out there needs permission to know they’re not crazy.

•

Some of us have woken up from dreams that left us embarrassed. Some of us have had months where our hormones made us feel like we were walking around carrying electricity under our skin.

Some of us have experienced ovulation so intensely that even our fingertips hurt. Yes. The fingertips. My breasts become painfully sensitive. Goosebumps appear out of nowhere. Everything suddenly feels heightened.

For months last year and even a few times this year, I barely wanted to leave my house during ovulation because every sensation felt amplified. Nobody tells you this part.

Nobody tells you that your body can be doing exactly what it was created to do while your mind is desperately trying to stay fixed on Christ. The battle isn’t my hormones. The battle is what I choose to do with them.

•

I’ve learned that there isn’t some magical manual for handling ovulation. The funny thing is… I know there are people I could text. Let’s not pretend. Attention isn’t scarce. Men aren’t scarce. Opportunity isn’t scarce.

Sometimes the only scarce thing is the grace to say no. Not because I necessarily want them. Sometimes I simply want the feeling. The comfort. The closeness. And that’s where lust becomes deceptive.

Because it doesn’t always promise sex. Sometimes it simply promises relief. Sometimes it whispers,

“Just this once.” “Just imagine it.” “Nobody will know.”

BUT!

The battle has rarely been between me and men. The battle has almost always been between me and my own mind.

For me, the greatest strategy has been redirection. One thing God has slowly been teaching me is that I don’t have to pretend these feelings don’t exist. I don’t suppress them. I surrender them. There’s a difference. I pray. I redirect my attention. I work. I go for walks. I laugh. I remind myself that attraction isn’t instruction. Desire isn’t direction.

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Feeling something doesn’t mean I have to follow it.

Not suppression. Not pretending the feelings don’t exist. Redirection. I let the feeling exist without allowing it to become my master. I focus on work. I pray. I laugh. I go outside.

Again attraction is not permission. Feeling something is not the same as following it.

Do I enjoy the feeling? Probably

Could I text somebody? Probably.

There are people whose numbers I know would answer almost immediately.

But thank God for the dignity He has been building in me. Thank God for the kind of self-respect that whispers, “Not like this.”

Not because the desire isn’t real. It is. Very real.

But because I love the woman God is shaping me into more than I love the temporary relief that acting on impulse might bring. But every single time I choose obedience, I love myself a little more afterwards. Not because I denied my body. But because I reminded my body that it doesn’t get to lead my life. The Spirit does. Maybe that’s maturity. Or maybe that’s just grace. Probably both.

Who’s going to win this month? Who’s going to win this time? Me?. Lust that likes to arrive wearing ovulation’s clothes?? The hormones that suddenly think every attractive man deserves a second look?

I honestly don’t know. I just know that every month I have another opportunity to decide who gets to lead. My body. Or the Spirit of God. And so far… God has been faithful. Very faithful. Pray for your sister.

Not me versus ovulation. Ovulation isn’t my enemy. God has been winning. And I pray He keeps winning… “Your punani needs attention.” 🤪

~Oluwadunsin💕

Overeating has always been one of the quietest ways I’ve hurt myself. Not because I love food. I’m actually a very picky eater.

But stress has always had a strange way of changing that. When I’m overwhelmed, I eat.

When I’m trying to outrun a migraine or convince my body not to sleep, I eat.

When I’m discouraged, I reach for anything sweet. When I’m emotionally exhausted, I tell myself I deserve a treat and somehow one snack becomes three, then five, then “I’ll start again tomorrow.” Food has often become my escape.

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The scary part is that it never looked destructive from the outside.

It wasn’t alcohol. It wasn’t drugs.

It wasn’t something people would immediately point at and say, “That’s a problem.”

It was just… food. That’s what makes some struggles so dangerous. They’re socially acceptable. Sometimes they’re even encouraged.

For a long time, I thought I simply lacked discipline. Then I realized something: I wasn’t hungry. I was trying to soothe something else.

A few years ago, my body started paying the price. My digestive system suffered. I experienced severe constipation and developed unhealthy eating patterns that took months to recover from. I’m in a much better place now, but every now and then, I catch myself slipping back into old habits whenever life becomes overwhelming.

Recently I came across a video talking about subtle idols and hidden addictions. It made me pause. Maybe this isn’t just about eating. Maybe it’s about what I’m asking food to do for me.

To comfort me. To distract me. To numb me. To keep me awake. To make me feel in control.

That’s a heavy burden to place on something that was only ever meant to nourish me.

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It also made me rethink fasting.

For a long time, I subconsciously saw fasting as something you do to get something from God.

Now I see it differently. Sometimes fasting isn’t because God needs anything from us.

Sometimes it’s because we need to loosen the grip something else has on us.

Sometimes we fast because our hearts have become too attached to comfort.

Sometimes we fast because we’ve forgotten how to tell the difference between a craving and a need.

Sometimes we fast because our bodies are leading our spirits instead of the other way around.

The beautiful thing about following God is that so much of what He asks of us is ultimately for our good. Not because He lacks anything. But because He loves us enough to teach us freedom. I’m still learning.

I’m still paying attention to what I reach for when life becomes too loud.

I’m still asking God to help me replace unhealthy comforts with His presence.

🫠

So maybe the question isn’t whether you have an addiction. Maybe the better question is this:

What do you instinctively run to whenever life hurts?

Because sometimes the loudest addictions aren’t the most dangerous.

Sometimes it’s the quiet ones.

The ones that don’t look like bondage until you try to live without them.

So what’s your quiet addiction?🫠

~Oluwadunsin💕

22🤍

Cheers to 22.

If I were to talk about 21, I’d talk about the grace. I’d talk about the frustration. I’d talk about the wilderness. I’d talk about the revival. I’d talk about the distance. I’d talk about the humility. I’d talk about the brokenness. I’d talk about the faithfulness. I’d talk about the love. I’d talk about the hurt. I’d talk about the joy. I’d talk about the fear.

I’d talk about the wins. I’d talk about the losses. I’d talk about the abundance.I’d talk about the seasons of lack. I’d talk about the confusion. I’d talk about the discouragement. I’d talk about the encouragement. I’d talk about finding direction.

Twenty-one was many things.

But now I’m twenty-two. And if I were to talk about twenty-two, I think I’d simply talk about Jesus.

I’d talk about the love of Jesus.

The kind of love that led me into solitude so I could learn the depth of His presence. The kind of love that allowed brokenness so I could discover healing.

The kind of love that met me in places where I questioned my worth and gently reminded me that worthiness was never the requirement for being loved.

I think twenty-two will be the chapter where God’s love redefines my understanding of love.

The chapter where His love becomes the standard by which I measure everything else.

The chapter where His love teaches me how to love people, how to love purpose, and even how to love myself rightly.

I’ll talk about a journey that is still ahead of me.

Not just any journey. A journey of faith. A journey I don’t yet feel equipped for. A journey I don’t yet have a vehicle for. A journey whose route I cannot see. I don’t know whether it will take me by land, by sea, or by air. I don’t know exactly where it leads.

But I know the One I’m following.

And for now, that is enough.

As I step into twenty-two, my heart is full of things I cannot quite name.

But gratitude… Gratitude has a name.

Gratitude is a language I know.

A few minutes ago, I found myself praying something that sounded almost absurd:

“Lord, sometimes it feels like I hold on to You more than You hold on to me.”

Then I heard the words,

“I curse every spirit of rejection.”

And I realized perhaps what I was wrestling with wasn’t Your love. It was my fear of losing it.

So tonight, my prayer is simple.

God, help me understand Your love.

Not only through answered prayers.

Not only through provision. Not only through miracles. But as a reality that settles my heart.

Teach me to believe that I am loved because You say I am.

Thank You for twenty-one.

Show me the beauty of twenty-two.

Cheers to twenty-two.

And cheers to the God who has carried me through every chapter so far.

Sometimes coming home is quiet. Sometimes it sounds like worship, tears, dancing, and the whole world noticing that God has found you again.

“God calls you back in subtle ways,” I used to believe that.

But lately, I think God calls us back very loudly, just patiently and progressively.

God is not quiet about His loved ones. The whole world often witnesses restoration. Think about it.

Remember that classmate in secondary school who suddenly started carrying a Bible everywhere? The one who started posting scriptures.

The one who became active in church. The one who began sharing worship songs and talking about God openly …..

Remember that auntie who suddenly started praying out loud. That uncle who began carrying his Bible every Sunday morning.

That celebrity who started speaking about Jesus. That friend who started attending Bible study. We all noticed. Because God has never been ashamed of transforming His people.

People often say God is subtle and perhaps sometimes He is. But I think He can also be incredibly loud. Not loud in noise.

Loud in evidence. Loud in restoration. Loud enough that everyone can see that something has changed.

Because when God begins to reclaim someone, He does not only speak to the person. He announces freedom to everything that once held them captive.

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Recently, I woke up feeling afraid, I had a bad dream. I remembered people saying that if you can feel God’s presence, you can also feel the devil’s presence. It was sleep paralysis aka ugly demon of paralysis…

For a moment, I was confused. Because there was a time when fear ruled me. But I remembered something. The blood of Jesus settled that battle long ago.

And recently, as God has begun speaking to me again, correcting me, comforting me, drawing me back to Himself, I found myself doing something unexpected.

I prayed, I stood up. I worshipped, I danced.

Not because I felt perfect. Not because everything was fixed. But because I wanted every fear, every spirit, every voice that once convinced me otherwise to know: I belong to God. I have been delivered. This house belongs to God. This heart belongs to God. This mind belongs to God. And I do not need to return to old prisons simply because they remember my name.

AS FOR ME AND MY HOUSE! WE SHALL SERVE THE LORD

God is patient. God is gentle. God is forgiving. But He is also proud of His children.

The Scriptures tell us to rejoice. To sing. To dance. To praise.

When Jesus entered Jerusalem, people spread garments, waved branches, and shouted. Heaven has never been ashamed of celebration. So perhaps God does call us patiently. Perhaps He restores us progressively.

But sometimes restoration is so visible that everyone can see it.

Sometimes your testimony becomes loud. Sometimes your return becomes public. Sometimes your freedom becomes undeniable. And there is nothing subtle about that.

Perhaps that is why God is not subtle, because coming home has a sound.

~Oluwadunsin🌸

For a long time, I thought I had commitment issues. I thought I detached too quickly, I thought I left friendships too easily, I thought I pulled away because I was avoidant, selfish, dramatic, or emotionally unavailable.

But lately, I have arrived at a different conclusion: “I need your consent to remain available to you.”That sounds absurd…. Yeah?

…………

Friendship does not come with contracts, nobody sits you down and says, “You may now care for me“ or sends an official notice withdrawing your right to check in, to call, to ask how they are doing. And yet, somehow, we all know when it happens.

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Sometimes it is in delayed replies, sometimes it is in one-word answers, sometimes it is in never being asked, “How are you?”. Sometimes it is realizing that every conversation begins with you and ends with you.

Eventually, you begin to ask yourself a question that has nothing to do with friendship and everything to do with belonging: Am I still welcome here?

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Because I have learned that care also needs consent. Not the spoken kind, the emotional kind. The kind that says:

You are allowed to reach me. You are allowed to check on me. You are allowed to take up space in my life. And when that permission disappears, something inside me slowly begins to leave too.

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For a while, I struggled to understand why I disconnect. Why I stop calling, why I stop checking up, why I walk away from friendships that once felt permanent.

There was someone who was supposed to be one of the closest people to me. The last time we spoke was because I called, the last time anyone checked on me, it was me checking on them. This article is not about that friendship, but it taught me something important!!!!.

There was another friendship where I found myself constantly checking in because my friend was going through a very difficult period. There was always a reason to call, a reason to ask how things were going, a reason to stay close. But after some time, I stopped, not because the difficult season ended, not because I stopped caring. But because I no longer felt I had the permission to care. That sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? Yet I think many of us understand it.

I am someone who reads replies. I read pauses. I read energy. I read voice notes. I read texts. I read what people say and what they do not say.

I am also someone who gives people the benefit of the doubt because otherwise my mind would never rest. But eventually, there comes a point where your body asks a question your heart refuses to ask: Am I still welcome here?

And if the answer becomes unclear, your body begins to conserve energy. I think this has a lot to do with trauma.

There was a time I became afraid to text someone I loved because I did not know what version of them I would receive. Work frustrations entered the relationship. Stress entered the relationship. Silence entered the relationship. And suddenly, reaching out became something that carried risk.

……

You begin to associate love with uncertainty. Care with anxiety. Checking up with fear. And before you know it, you start withholding the very things that come naturally to you.

The truth is, I cannot care for you the way I want to if I do not feel emotionally safe doing so.

ARE YOU HEARING THE WORDS OUT OF MY MOUTH!

I cannot be the version of myself that is naturally sweet, naturally attentive, naturally available, naturally caring if my mind has learned to expect rejection. I cannot keep pouring into places where I do not know if I am still wanted.

But there is another side to this. I need my own permission too. Because somewhere along the way, self-love taught me that there are limits.

I can genuinely love people. I can care without expecting anything. I can show up wholeheartedly.

But eventually, my mind, my body, and my heart have a meeting without me. And they simply decide: No more. Not because I stopped loving you. But because I forgot to love myself. Sometimes we call this detachment. Sometimes it is simply self-preservation.

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I think many people want to receive love without carrying the responsibility of giving it. And I do not mean grand gestures. I mean basic human decency.

Checking in. Remembering. Asking questions. Returning care. Because life can be difficult for everyone, and you never know who is quietly surviving because someone remembered to ask how they were doing.

…….

Ironically, people rarely struggle to show up for the people they truly value. That realization hurts. Because if I need permission to care for you, perhaps what I am really saying is this: I do not feel valued here. I do not feel respected here. And respect, to me, is emotional consent.

Consent is a beautiful thing. We often think of consent as verbal, spoken, explicit.

But there is emotional consent too. Psychological consent. The silent permission that says: You are welcome here. You matter here. You can reach for me.

Sometimes people withdraw that consent without ever saying it aloud. And perhaps one of the kindest things we can do is not keep people close whom we no longer value.

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Because I have experienced being emotionally dismissed while verbally reassured. “I’m fine.” “We’re okay.” “Nothing is wrong.”

While everything had already changed. That experience can make people question themselves: “Am I too much? Did I do something wrong? Should I become less?”

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And sometimes we become versions of ourselves that were never ours to begin with. I often tell people that one of my own communication issues began years ago.

I dated someone who was always online but rarely replied. His phone was always nearby. The notifications were always there. The availability existed. The response did not. But he said “You’re too online, always available” That hurt me more than I realized. Because unconsciously, I became that person… Now I’m hardly available.

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Now there are times when I see messages and cannot respond. Not because I hate people. Not because I am busy. Sometimes I simply cannot.

And I wonder if we all become people who hurt us in one way or another. Not intentionally. Not maliciously. Just quietly.

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This is why I no longer believe this article is only about permission. Perhaps it is also about mirrors. Perhaps we become reflections of people we once survived. And perhaps healing is noticing that

I do not like talking every day, I do not like constant communication, I enjoy my space. I enjoy my cocoon.

………

And yes, some of that is personality. But some of that is fear: Fear that if I become available, I will become disposable. Fear that if I care too deeply, I will be left carrying the entire relationship. Fear that if I show up fully, I will once again discover that I was standing alone.

So where is the balance? How do we keep people who value us? How do we feed relationships without overcompensating? How do we remain kind without abandoning ourselves? How do we stay available without becoming exhausted?

I still do not know.

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But I think the answer may simply be reciprocity. Not equal effort every day. Not perfect communication. Not constant availability. Just mutuality. The understanding that relationships survive because both people continue choosing them.

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And perhaps that is why this question matters so much: Am I still welcome here?

Because maybe all human beings want the same thing. Not perfection. Not constant attention. Not endless conversation….

Just the quiet reassurance that our love still has somewhere to land.

~ Oluwadunsin 🌸

“The Holy Spirit doesn’t like tardiness or disorganization.” A small thought crossed her mind, and that was all it took. She began putting things in place. Organizing a room that looked like Depression Level 005.

“You like to prepare your outfit before meetings. What are you going to wear tomorrow?” the Holy Spirit whispered. What a privilege it is for my Creator to pay such close attention to the details of my life. God, I don’t want to do that now. I’ll figure it out in the morning.

“Okay. Then wash your face before bed. Remember your reactions.” Oh God.

If someone had told me yesterday that I’d be picking my life back up and putting things in order a few minutes before 2 a.m., I wouldn’t have believed them. Thank You, God. And she broke into tears.

The Holy Spirit, reading her thoughts: “You know that saying that people don’t really know what you go through?” “They don’t need to know.” “I know. And that’s all that matters.”

I broke down again. Because what a privilege it is to be loved like this. To be cared for like this. I don’t deserve it, God ….. She said

When everything was finally done, she sat down to write. God…

You know I’m broken. You know I’m tired. You know I struggle. You know the flaws I beat myself up over every day. You know my weaknesses and how desperately I try to turn each one into a strength. You know my softness. My eagerness to love. My desire for peace. For purpose. For kindness. For greatness. For serenity. For faithfulness. For Long suffering. You know it all.

And somehow, You still see me trying. You see the failures that become fresh beginnings. You see every attempt. Every surrender. Every small act of obedience. You see it all.

Going into this new week, my prayer is simple:

Atmospheres, shift.

Chains, be broken. Break out.

Holy Spirit, come down.

Heaven, open. Heaven, open.

Love You, God.

~ Oluwadunsin 🌸

But not the kind of hungry that requires immediate intervention, it’s the kind where I could probably go to bed and be perfectly fine. Honestly the healthiest thing would be to sleep.

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But right now, I want to go to the kitchen and make a really nice plate of pasta, not because I’m starving. Because it makes sense.

Because if I eat that pasta at 4 a.m., it defeats the whole point of trying to lose belly fat. And sometimes, giving myself reasons to be disappointed in my body feels easier than learning how to work with it.

Easier than discipline. Easier than patience. Easier than accepting that my body is not my enemy. Sometimes self-sabotage feels more familiar than self-cooperation.

Why can’t I just work with my body? Why can’t I pick up the parts of myself that are struggling and celebrate them instead? Why can’t I lie down and thank my body for carrying me this far, then get up tomorrow and do the work?

My heart feels out of place.

Wait.

Let me check. No, it’s still beating.

Thank you, God. Thank you for life.

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Sometimes I wish You would tell me You love me or maybe show me. Then I remember that I am writing. I am speaking.

I am seeing.I am feeling. I am dancing. I am laughing. I am crying. I am touching my own face. I am alive. Isn’t that enough evidence?

Maybe God has been saying “I love you” all along, and I’ve been waiting for subtitles.

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I am so filled with love for Him. So why can’t I pick up my Bible?

Why can’t I put in my earphones and pray like I usually do?

Why can’t I pray in tongues?

Why can’t I move?

Does love itself require participation?

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I always thought “love is not enough” was something people said about relationships.

But perhaps it applies here too.

God can love me endlessly, and still I must choose.

He can heal me, but I must sit with the Word.

He can call me, but I must answer.

He can love me, but He will not force me.

And what a frightening gift that is.

Freedom. Choice.

The ability to walk toward Him or away from Him.

How dare I call it a curse when it is also a blessing?

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Maybe that’s why I keep surrendering my life.

Again. And again. And again.

Not because the first surrender wasn’t real, but because my actions sometimes outrun my intentions.

My mouth says, “Take everything, Lord.”

Then my habits quietly negotiate new terms.

My heart feels numb tonight. Not broken.

Just numb and I’m trying to understand myself.

Who I am. Who I think I am. Who I am becoming.

And whether I’ve become more interested in understanding myself than becoming who I’m called to be.

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I keep wondering why I care so deeply. Why I give so freely. Why expectation seems absent whenever I’m the one initiating.

I don’t love because I expect. I don’t give because I expect. I don’t even remember that expectations are supposed to exist. But when something good is done for me or given to me, I feel obligated to meet the expectation of returning that back.

And somehow that hurts too.

What exactly am I expecting from people when I often fail to meet my own expectations?

Maybe that’s why discipline feels like a mountain.

I see. I try. I fail. I try again.

How long will it take?

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How long before I finally take life by the horns and hold on? This is probably the fifteenth time I’ve written about leaving my job.

I wanted to finish the project. I really did. But I keep seeing cracks. Flaws. Limits.

And maybe I’m learning that not every project gets the ending we imagined. Maybe trying my best is allowed to count. Maybe leaving doesn’t always mean quitting. Maybe sometimes it means choosing differently.

Then there’s him. The boy I like. Not love. Like.

And I’m strangely detached from the outcome.

He’s not out of my league. And I’m not out of his.

That’s not the issue.

The issue is that what I want isn’t attention. It’s connection. But his is with someone else #latecomer ;). I’ve never really been the girl who texts first. Who cares first….at least that’s what I tell myself.

I’ve never really been the girl who initiates first.

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And now that I am, I feel like medicine trying to convince someone to swallow it. That’s a terrible analogy… ;). But it’s 4 a.m. and I’m doing our best.

We’ve had conversations. Good conversations.

The kind people remember. Few times he spoke more. Most times I did. But I am tired of searching for something that simply doesn’t exist inside another person’s heart.

And maybe that’s okay. No, really. Maybe that’s okay.

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Because I am not lacking. I am beautiful.

Smart. Funny. A builder. A dreamer. A child of God.

A daughter of a King. There is nothing deficient about me.

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And perhaps the lesson is this: Wanting someone is not the same as loving them.

Attraction is beautiful. Love is beautiful too.

But they are not the same thing.

Attraction says, “I notice you.”

Love says, “I want to know all of you.”

Not just your texts. Not just your voice notes.

Not just the version of you that appears when it’s convenient. All of you. The inside. The outside.

The hidden rooms. The unfinished places. Which is funny, because I don’t even know if I have the keys to all my own rooms.

People think I’m expressive. I suppose I am.

But there are walls inside me that even I don’t understand.

Locks whose mechanisms I haven’t figured out.

Doors I haven’t opened.

And maybe that is why vulnerability feels terrifying.

How do you hand someone your heart when you’re still learning its language yourself?

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I’m tired,

I went to the gym. Everything hurts.

I’ve been noticing unhealthy patterns with food and emotions. I’m trying to be honest about that.

Trying to be better. Trying to be kinder to myself. I want to cry. But maybe what I really want is comfort.

Maybe God isn’t tired of my tears. Maybe He’s simply sitting with me in them.

This is the rant of a twenty-one-year-old who keeps telling everyone she’s twenty-two (she is in a month) while trying to figure out life. And honestly? That’s okay too.

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Now, I might still go make that pasta.

Or I might go to sleep.

Either way, the sun will rise.

And somehow, by the grace of God, so will I.

~ Oluwadunsin 🌸

When people hear “World Menstrual Hygiene Day,” the first thing that usually comes to mind is pads.

Sanitary pads. Tampons. Menstrual cups. Reusable products. Hygiene. And yes, those conversations matter.

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But I think reducing menstrual hygiene to products alone is one of the biggest ways we oversimplify the realities of girlhood. Because menstruation has never been just about blood, It has always been about dignity. About education. About access. About fear. About silence. About shame. About class. About safety. About whether a girl experiences her changing body with understanding… or with embarrassment. And the truth is, girlhood does not begin equally.

Some girls start their periods in homes where their mothers have already prepared them emotionally. They are sat down gently and told: “This is normal.”“This is healthy.” “This is womanhood.” Some girls are taught how to use pads before they even begin menstruating. Some girls are reassured, comforted, educated, and cared for properly. Some girls begin menstruation and immediately have access to clean bathrooms, sanitary products, pain relief, spare underwear, warm water, and emotional support.

Some girls even grow up having their right to complain about the color or brand of pad they prefer. And honestly? It shouldn’t be but that itself is privilege. Because some girls never even get the opportunity to choose. And sometimes, privilege is more complicated than people think. Because yes, some of us were privileged enough that the first time we menstruated, somebody bought us pads.

But access alone does not always mean emotional safety.

I remember when I first started mine.

I did not even tell my mother initially. Not because she was a bad mother, but because at that phase of my life, I had somehow become used to handling things alone. I tried to figure it out by myself first.

And even though I eventually navigated it, I realize now that many girls experience their first period not with comfort, but with confusion. Not with warmth, but with caution.

Eventually, she found out. And although she was a little upset that I had hidden it initially, she still helped me. She got me better pads. She showed up in the way she knew how to.

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Then my dad found out too and one of the first things I remember hearing was: “You have to be careful around boys now.” Looking back, I understand that my parents were not trying to harm me. They were speaking from the realities, fears, traditions, and experiences they themselves inherited.

But sometimes, the way girls are introduced to menstruation quietly shapes the way they begin to see themselves. I remember hearing statements like:“Be careful now.” “Stay away from boys.” And suddenly, menstruation no longer felt like a biological process. It felt like a warning. With fear. With hyper-awareness. With sudden caution.

Suddenly, your body no longer belongs entirely to you. It becomes something people monitor. Something people warn about. Something people fear could “cause trouble.” No

Like I had unknowingly crossed into a world where becoming a girl also meant becoming something people feared could go wrong.

Nobody intentionally meant harm, but sometimes the way society introduces menstruation to girls quietly shapes the way they begin to see themselves.

For some girls, menstruation is introduced with care. For others, it is introduced with shame. And then there are girls whose realities are much harsher than awkward conversations or uncomfortable warnings.

Girls who do not have pads at all. Girls who miss school monthly because of periods. Girls who stay home because they are afraid of staining their uniforms. Girls who use old cloths repeatedly because they cannot afford disposable products. Girls who use tissue, leaves, mattress foam, newspapers, sand, or unsafe alternatives simply because there are no better options available.

Girls without access to clean water.Girls without privacy. Girls who sleep through painful cramps in silence because pain has become so normalized that nobody even checks anymore. Girls who grow up believing suffering is simply part of being female.

And sometimes, the most painful thing about privilege is that it can make certain struggles invisible.

Many of us who had access to pads, water, or education do not always realize how unequal the experience of menstruation truly is.

We speak about periods casually because for us, periods may have been uncomfortable but manageable. But for some girls, menstruation affects education, confidence, mobility, safety, and dignity all at once.

Imagine trying to focus in class while worrying about staining yourself. There is also the social shame many girls experience publicly. The stain on the chair. The stain on the uniform. The stain in the classroom. The stain in somebody’s car.

I remember moments of staining accidentally and being spoken to harshly about it, almost as though it was carelessness instead of humanity. And unfortunately, words stay.

Not because people intentionally mean harm, but because shame has a way of attaching itself to memory.

Sometimes when a girl stains herself publicly, people give her pity. Sometimes disgust. Sometimes irritation. Sometimes the “you should know better” look. And what is interesting is that many of these reactions are so normalized that we rarely stop to question how emotionally damaging they can be. Menstruation is already physically uncomfortable enough. Why do so many girls also have to carry embarrassment alongside it?

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Imagine having to choose between buying food or buying pads. Imagine being mocked for something your body naturally does.Imagine beginning womanhood with shame before understanding.

That is why conversations about menstrual hygiene cannot begin and end with “use a pad.” Because menstrual hygiene is not just hygiene. It is infrastructure. It is poverty. It is healthcare. It is education. It is access to clean water. It is economic stability. It is emotional support. It is the difference between confidence and humiliation.

And even now, despite awareness campaigns, advocacy work, NGOs, and social media conversations, many girls are still left behind. Some still cannot afford sanitary products consistently. Some still hide pads inside black nylon bags before entering bathrooms. Some still whisper when asking for menstrual products. Some still feel embarrassed buying pads publicly. Some still grow up in homes where periods are treated as something dirty or secretive.

And strangely enough, there are also girls who had the products but not the emotional safety. Girls who had pads but were never properly educated. Girls who had access but still felt ashamed. Girls who had mothers physically present but emotionally absent in those conversations. Girls who learned to hide pain early. Girls who learned to “manage” instead of understand.

I think one of the hardest things I have grown to realize is this: many people parent from survival, tradition, fear, and inherited silence.

Not necessarily from emotional understanding. And that reality shapes how many girls experience the beginning of womanhood. Some girls begin girlhood feeling educated and safe. Others begin it feeling monitored and ashamed. And both experiences can exist inside privilege at the same time. And maybe that is another thing we rarely talk about: there is a difference between access and comfort. A girl can have pads and still feel alone. A girl can have hygiene products and still experience shame. A girl can have resources and still not feel emotionally safe in her own body.

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Which is why World Menstrual Hygiene Day matters beyond aesthetics or campaigns. It matters because no girl should experience her body with fear before understanding it with care. No girl should feel less human because of a biological process.

No girl should lose confidence, education, or dignity because she menstruates. And no girl should have to “earn” cleanliness through privilege.

The unequal beginning of girlhood is something many women carry silently. Some carry it in memories. Some carry it in embarrassment. Some carry it in trauma. Some carry it in gratitude. Some carry it in comparison.

But perhaps one of the most important things we can do now is continue speaking honestly. Not just about periods. But about the unequal realities surrounding them.Because menstrual hygiene is not a luxury conversation. It is a human conversation.

Maybe true progress begins the moment every girl, regardless of class, location, religion, culture, or income, is allowed to experience womanhood with dignity instead of shame.

— Oluwadunsin Debo-Adesanya

Right now, I crave a vulnerable conversation with a stranger I’m attracted to… over the phone.

My phone resting against the window sill while I stare at the trees, feeling the soft breeze kiss my chest and brush against my bare thighs beneath an oversized shirt.

Talking about the mysteries of life, opportunities within our workspaces, the risk of love, and the dare of intimacy. With jazz playing softly in the background and a glass of Veuve Clicquot Rosé in my hands.

I crave the kind of depth that makes it feel like I’m face to face with the most strikingly handsome man I was only ever meant to meet once. And maybe the most beautiful part of it all is knowing I might only ever meet him once.

~Oluwadunsin 🌸.

Some said elegant. Some said expensive.

Some said I looked like “money.” One person called me an angel.

And that’s the funny part. Because internally, I felt like the ugliest person in the world.

Which is ironic, considering bone straight wigs are practically marketed as luxury itself. They are the hair equivalent of “soft life.” Expensive. Desired. Feminine. Polished.

So technically, I should have felt prettier. But I didn’t.

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And that confused me.

Not because I think I am actually ugly. I don’t. In fact, I think calling myself ugly feels like insulting God’s craftsmanship. It feels disrespectful to the Creator to constantly reduce His work to temporary insecurity.

I genuinely believe I was beautifully created. So where exactly does this feeling come from? That’s the part I’m still trying to understand.

Sometimes I blame hormones. Sometimes I blame my cycle. Sometimes I blame exhaustion. Sometimes I convince myself I just need to “glow up” harder. Sometimes I stand in front of the mirror feeling masculine, tired, unfinished.

Meanwhile, outside, someone is calling me “fine girl.”And I almost want to laugh because surely they cannot be talking to me. Or maybe they are speaking to the version of me they can see, while I am trapped inside the version of myself I can feel.

And maybe that is the real problem. Because beauty might not actually be about appearance alone. Maybe beauty is perception. Maybe beauty is emotional. Maybe beauty is confidence. Maybe beauty is internal safety.

Or maybe beauty is the complete package and deep down, many of us fear we only possess fragments of it. That fear becomes even heavier as a woman.

Because society does not simply ask women to be beautiful. It asks women to justify their beauty with achievement.

If you are beautiful but not successful enough, people reduce you to appearance.

If you are beautiful but struggling financially, people look down on you differently.

If you are beautiful but still “figuring life out,” your beauty almost becomes suspicious—as though femininity without visible success is somehow unserious.

And strangely enough, beauty can become one of the quickest ways people belittle women. Not because beauty is bad. But because society has weaponized it.

Some people see a beautiful woman and immediately assume:

• manipulation

• privilege

• seduction

• dependency

• prostitution

• vanity

• unseriousness

As though beauty itself must always come with corruption attached. And maybe that is why some women struggle to rest inside their beauty peacefully.

Because the world keeps demanding proof that they are “more” than their appearance.

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So now the woman is no longer just trying to be beautiful.

She is trying to be:

• beautiful

• intelligent

• accomplished

• humble

• desired

• respected

• independent

• feminine

• soft

• hardworking

all at once.

No wonder so many women are tired. And maybe that’s why the bone straight wig unsettled me.

Because it forced me to confront a question I still do not fully know how to answer:

If I am already beautiful, why do I still feel the need to earn the right to feel worthy?

I do not know. I really don’t. But what I do know is this:

I like my face. I like the way God created me.

And maybe learning to rest in that without constantly negotiating my value with the world… is the real beauty I am trying to find.

~Oluwadunsin 🌸

I would want to speak about Your wonders, Your beauty, Your strength, and Your wisdom.

But then I pause… What don’t You already know?

What haven’t You already seen? Who haven’t You already heard?

The whispers of those who lack?

The praise of the bribers… The shout of the adulterer… The cry of the fornicators…

The songs of the broken and the rebellious…The hands of the corrupt… The hearts of the wandering…

The lives of those we judge, and those we overlook?...

Nothing is hidden from You.

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And still… If I had anything to say, God, I would scream: Thank You. Use me. Build me. Lead me. Break me if You must. Love me deeply.

But if I had only one thing left to say… I would whisper: Take me. God, take me.

Because that is all I have to offer.

I am not grateful that I was simply spared certain experiences, as though blindness, lack, or limitation defines worth. Every life carries its own assignment. Even what looks like weakness carries instruction.

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You are the God who gives purpose to all things. And I am grateful, not for comparison but for calling. For the fact that I was formed with intention. That I was not random.

Because the greatest blindness is not physical. It is the absence of understanding. And the greatest disability is not what is seen on the outside… but what is unformed within.

The world calls some people powerful.

Some wise. Some wealthy. Some ahead. But You see all things differently.

Because the one who thinks they are strong… is still held by You. The one who thinks they are above… is still sustained by You. And the one who thinks they are in control… is still breathing by Your mercy.

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All I have been able to do…

all I have built… all I have been led through… all I have been carried in… all I have survived… all I have become… is because of You. And I do not want to forget that.

~Oluwadunsin🌸.

People say “women should stay single to succeed.” But I think what they should say is: some forms of love arrive too early for who a person is still trying to become. And honestly? That’s valid.

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Not because relationships are bad. Not because love destroys women. But because for many women, emotional intimacy can become mentally central very quickly, not even intentionally. Especially when they deeply care, nurture, build, support, pour.

So what they shouldn’t say is: “A man should leave me alone.”

What they should say is: “If you truly see my potential, don’t interrupt my becoming just because you desire closeness.” And that’s actually very intelligent.

Because some people love from possession: “Be mine now.” While others love from vision: “Become fully who you are, I’ll still respect your process.”

Now, do I think every relationship stops a woman from succeeding? No. But I do think timing matters. Emotional capacity matters. Identity formation matters. Ambition matters. Especially in your twenties when you’re still building internal structure.

And I also understand what people mean by: “a man who truly loves me would support me without forcing exclusivity immediately.”

Because sometimes exclusivity comes with emotional weight:

• constant communication

• emotional responsibility

• attachment

• reassurance

• expectation

• future-thinking

• emotional shifts

And for someone deeply focused on building, that can genuinely redirect energy. Especially for women who love intentionally.

What I’d challenge slightly though is this: A good man is not necessarily the one who stays emotionally distant until you “arrive.” Sometimes a good man grows with you. The real question is: does his presence expand you or consume you?

Because some relationships become distractions. Others become grounding. Some men want access to your becoming. Others genuinely help protect it.

And honestly, I think the fear is not love itself. I think the fear of losing momentum, losing identity, losing focus, or shrinking your potential to accommodate somebody else emotionally. Which… is understandable.

I’d often say: I want a man that would watch me win, watch me fall, encourage me, be there every step without forcing intimacy…” and that’s actually beautiful if you ask me.

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Because I want a love that is patient enough to not rush access. A love that sees my future and doesn’t compete with it.

That’s not unreasonable at all 🤍.

But then again, life is different for everyone. Timing is different for everyone too. Some women build better in love. Some women become more stable in partnership.

So no, this is not a universal truth. Just an honest thought inspired by a video… and a season of becoming.

~Oluwadunsin🌸

If I were to feel like I am not enough, I would be insulting Your faithfulness.

If I were to feel unloved, I would be insulting Your very being.

If I were to feel ashamed, I would be insulting Your image in me.

If I were to feel guilty, I would be insulting Your mercy.

If I were to feel dirty, I would be insulting Your cleansing grace.

And yet, I still find myself thinking these thoughts… even when I know they are not the truth of who You say I am.

Lord, I bring You my mind, the part that overthinks, the part that questions, the part that forgets easily what You have already spoken over me.

I bring You my emotions, the ones that rise and fall without warning, the ones that sometimes feel too heavy to explain.

I bring You my distractions, the noise, the rush, the restlessness that pulls me away from stillness.

Teach me how to be still without feeling like I am falling behind.

Teach me how to continue without always needing to restart.

Teach me how to trust You even when I feel emotionally scattered.

Because sometimes, Lord, I do not feel strong.

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Sometimes I feel like I am functioning, but not fully anchored.

Sometimes I feel like I am present in life, but not fully present in myself.

But even in that place, I know You do not leave me there.

You do not withdraw when I am inconsistent.

You do not abandon me when my emotions are loud.

So I ask for grace not just to be better, but to be steady. Not just to restart, but to remain. Not just to feel okay, but to be rooted in You beyond how I feel.

And when I forget who I am, remind me gently, not with condemnation, but with love that brings me back home to You.

~Oluwadunsin🌸.

There are days when I look at my life and I am functioning… but not fully living. Sometimes the body continues, but the mind and emotions quietly stop coordinating with life so I’ve concluded that It is possible to be alive and still feel internally paused.

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I wake up, I move, I respond, I do what needs to be done. On the outside, everything looks intact. But internally, it sometimes feels like something is slightly misaligned: like my mind, my emotions, my body, and even my spiritual life are not moving in the same rhythm.

And what confuses me most is that nothing is necessarily “wrong.” Life is still happening. I am still present. I am still trying. But there is this quiet internal pause that I cannot always explain. It feels like being alive, but not fully coordinated with life.

I started thinking about it differently: almost like sound.

In every environment, there are sounds we learn to recognize. The sound of movement in a village. The rhythm of daily life in a home. The way certain moments announce themselves before they even fully arrive. And in the same way, I’ve started noticing that life also has “emotional sounds.” Not literal sound, but patterns we begin to recognize internally.

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There is a kind of emotional noise that feels like clarity but is actually confusion. There is a kind of silence that feels like peace but is actually withdrawal.

There is a kind of productivity that looks like progress but is actually avoidance. And slowly, these emotional patterns begin to shape how we live, without us fully noticing.

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I’ve also started to realise that what we casually call “emotions” are not just feelings passing through us. They are tied to systems in the body that quietly influence how we think, respond, and even survive daily life. There is a reason why certain seasons of life feel harder to control than others. It is not always lack of discipline or lack of desire. Sometimes it is the body responding to internal overload.

For example, stress is not just a mental state, it is also chemical. When the body stays under pressure for too long, it releases hormones like cortisol, which is meant to help us respond to danger. But when it stays elevated for too long, it begins to affect focus, sleep, emotional balance, and even motivation. So what feels like “I am not doing enough” is sometimes the body simply trying to cope with too much.

There is also dopamine: the part of the system linked to motivation and reward. In today’s world, it is constantly being triggered. Messages, notifications, stimulation, expectations, even constant thinking. And sometimes, instead of grounding us, it fragments attention. So we are not always lazy. Sometimes we are overstimulated but internally scattered.

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Serotonin, which plays a role in emotional balance, is also affected by lifestyle, environment, and internal stress. And when it is disrupted, even simple things can start to feel heavier than they should. Which makes me realise that emotional states are not always as simple as “I am fine” or “I am not fine.” They are layered, chemical, spiritual, and environmental all at once.

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And beyond all of this, there is the nervous system itself, constantly interpreting safety, pressure, emotional load, and patterns we repeat daily.

It means that over time, even our reactions can become learned responses. Not always intentional. Not always conscious. Just trained over time.

Which is why I’ve started thinking that emotional paralysis is not always dramatic. Sometimes it is subtle. Sometimes it looks like routine. Sometimes it looks like prayer without presence. Sometimes it looks like living, but not fully feeling aligned with what you are living.

When I bring this back to my own life, it starts to make more sense in a different way. There are moments where I want to pray, but my mind feels scattered. Not because I don’t believe, and not because I don’t care but because I am mentally, emotionally, and sometimes even physically overstimulated.

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It feels like there are too many tabs open in my head at once. Thoughts about work, about life, about relationships, about expectations, about everything I still need to figure out. And I’ve noticed something about myself: I often feel the urge to restart. To pause everything, restructure everything, and begin again with a “better version” of discipline or spirituality.

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But I am also beginning to understand that sometimes, the constant need to restart becomes its own kind of paralysis. Because in trying to find the perfect moment to begin again, I sometimes delay the simple act of continuing.

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My relationship with God in this season has also not always felt linear. Some days it feels clear and grounding. Other days it feels like I am trying to return to something I have not fully lost, but also not fully held consistently.

And yet, there is still this quiet understanding that I don’t always need a dramatic restart to reconnect. Sometimes it is just about continuing, even in fragments.

I’ve also realised that I am deeply affected by words and emotional energy, even when I try not to be. Not necessarily in a way that changes my entire personality, but in a way that lingers. Words stay. Interactions stay. Even when I move on externally, something internally still processes it.And over time, I’ve started to believe that what people say in moments of heat often reveals more than what they say when they are calm. Not because people are always intentional with harm, but because emotions, especially anger: tend to remove the filters we usually hide behind.

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So sometimes, when conflict happens, I don’t only see it as confrontation. I also see it as clarity. A moment where things that were unspoken or hidden unintentionally come to the surface. It doesn’t make me hate people. It doesn’t make me dramatic about relationships. But it does give me information about how someone might see me, feel about me, or process me internally. And I’ve learned to treat that information carefully, because it helps me protect my own peace without needing to assume or overthink.

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At the same time, I am also learning that everyone is entitled to their perception of you. Not every perception needs to become a battle. Some just need to be acknowledged and placed where they belong outside of your identity.

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And so I find myself sitting in this in-between space. Not fully overwhelmed, but not fully untouched. Not lost, but also not fully aligned in the way I sometimes expect myself to be. A space where I am learning that emotional life is not always something to “fix,” but something to understand. Something that moves through systems, through biology, through relationships, through faith, and through everyday human experience in ways we don’t always control.

The paralysis of the living, to me, is not the absence of life. It is the presence of too much happening internally while life continues externally. It is being alive, but learning how to slowly return to yourself in the middle of everything that is already moving.

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And maybe the goal is not to always restart, or to always find perfect clarity before continuing. Maybe it is simply to continue with awareness, with grace, and with honesty about where you are in the process.

Because not every season will feel coordinated. Not every thought will feel aligned. Not every emotion will make sense in real time. But we are still here. Still becoming. Still learning how to live without abandoning ourselves in the process.

So maybe the question is not: Are you fully in control of your life?

But rather: Are you learning how to stay with yourself while life continues to move?

Oluwadunsin

I’m not a friendly person.

And I don’t like to be addressed as one.

That’s something I’ve taken a lot of time to understand, something I’ve tried to play around with, adapt to, even downplay.

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Am I nice? Yes.

Understanding? Yes.

Approachable? Yes.

Welcoming? Yes.

Accommodating? Yes.

Kind? Yes.

Slow to anger? Yes.

Do I sugarcoat my words? Yes.

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In summary, I’m a soft person.

I have a soft heart and a soft personality.

I don’t know how to be mean. I don’t know how to be harsh or intentionally unpleasant. That’s just not who I am. I’m engaging. I’m open. I’m willing to help. I’m very “let me support you,” very present in interactions.

And I think that has been misunderstood as friendliness.

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I hear people say it a lot.

And sometimes, it hurts.

Because I don’t have a lot of friends.

And I’m at a point where I can say that plainly.

I don’t have a lot of friends, and I don’t want to have a lot of friends. A big part of that is because I’m not a friendly person.

I’m selective. I’m quite closed off.

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But I have an aura that feels easy, entertaining even, and it makes people assume access. It makes people think I’m more open than I actually am.

I’m not an oversharer. I talk a lot but I don’t talk about myself.

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So yes! what you see is softness, not openness.

And there’s a difference.

And I’ve had to learn that the hard way! that being soft does not mean being available, and being kind does not mean being accessible.

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People don’t always know the difference, and for a long time, I felt responsible for correcting that perception by either showing up more or shrinking back completely.

But the truth is, I don’t owe anyone access just because I am easy to interact with.

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I am learning to separate how I am perceived from who I actually am.

I can be warm and still be private. I can be engaging and still be distant. I can show up fully in a moment and still choose not to extend that moment into a relationship.

And that doesn’t make me confusing, it makes me human.

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Maybe the lesson here is not to rush into labeling people based on how they make you feel in a moment.

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Not every soft person is open. Not every kind person is accessible.

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And maybe, more importantly, you are allowed to be both.! deeply kind, and deeply selective.

You don’t have to perform friendliness to be a good person.

~Oluwadunsin

“You’re male-centered.”

“You center your life around romantic love.”

“Boys don’t matter.”

“Men should not affect how you live your life.”

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Excuse me for a second. Sit down. Take a breath. Drink water. And think.

Because sometimes, the conversation is too loud and not honest enough. Some of you are speaking from a place of arrival, forgetting what it took to get there.

Let me say this clearly:

I am not here to validate those statements.

I am not defending emotional dependency.

I am here to explain why some women have to work twice as hard not to be reduced to them. In simple words I am exposing the conditions that create it.

Because it’s very easy to sit on social media and speak like a finished product.

Let’s start from the beginning.

In secondary school, many girls are still children (11, 12, 13) Their bodies begin to change. Breasts. Hips. Attention. Confusion. Their insecurities are no longer internal, they are visible.

Yes, boys struggle too. But for many girls, their changes are seen, commented on, and responded to early. That difference matters.

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Nobody is explaining anything to her.

No one is teaching her:

• desire

• attention

• emotional boundaries

• self-worth

For many girls, no one did. So the first person who gets it right, even slightly becomes important.

Not because she is weak. But because she is human, young, and learning in real time.

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Then a boy comes along. He notices her. He validates her. He says the right things or just enough of them. And suddenly, she feels like she exists. she feels seen. And suddenly, you! years later, want to call her male-centered? Be serious.

Some of you speak like you were born with self-awareness.

You weren’t. You learned it. You survived it. You grew into it. So why are you speaking like the process didn’t exist?

Let’s talk about something we avoid.

There is a deep connection between a woman’s biology and her emotions. A woman’s biology is not passive. It is active. Constant. Fluctuating.

Hormones fluctuate. Estrogen rises and falls.

Progesterone shifts. There are phases, not moods, phases.

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And with those phases come:

• emotional changes

• physical reactions

• mental states

• even shifts in desire

This is not theory. This is lived experience.

There are moments where your body feels things before your mind can explain them.

There are days your body feels like it’s working with you and days it feels like it’s working against you.

And no! this is not an excuse. But it is a reality.

I remember the first time I felt something like that.

A simple touch, a hand around my waist and suddenly, there was a feeling I couldn’t name.

I was young. No one had explained it. But my body understood something before I did.

What do you expect a child to do with that?

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This is where I have a problem.

We tell women: “Don’t center your life around men.”

Good.

But then we remove all context. We ignore:

• how early attention shapes identity

• how emotional validation gets introduced

• how biology and experience collide

And then we judge the outcome.

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Some of you didn’t escape this because you were smarter.

You escaped because:

• you had guidance

• you had timing

• or you had the chance to learn before it consumed you. That’s the truth.

Now fast forward.

We grow up. We read books. We discover self-awareness. We talk about confidence, independence, standards.

And then we come online and speak like we arrived there naturally. We didn’t.

Most of the women teaching these things today learned them after years of experience, mistakes, and growth.

So why do we speak like younger women should already be there?

Let’s stop pretending independence is natural.

It is learned, forced, built, and sometimes painful.

Every “disciplined woman” you admire has a history she doesn’t fully post.

Every “unbothered woman” has had moments she almost lost herself.

Every “independent woman” was once dependent.

Every “self-aware woman” was once confused.

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So why do we shame women who are still in those earlier stages?

Why don’t we talk about that. We skip straight to the aesthetic of being “put together.”

We have made sophistication look like something people wake up with.

And then there’s the pressure.

To not look “gullible.”

To not look “emotional.”

To not look “men-centered.”

To always appear composed, detached, and in control.

Do you know how much work that takes?

Especially in a body that is constantly shifting?

You say:

“Men don’t matter.”

But for many girls, the first time they felt seen, chosen, or emotionally understood was through a man.

Not because that’s how it should be. But because that’s how it happened.

So instead of standing on a pedestal and speaking down, Why don’t you speak from your story?

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We say “de-center men,”

but sometimes what we actually do is erase the reality that:

• women feel deeply

• women experience desire

• women long, imagine, connect

And none of that automatically means weakness. Sometimes, we confuse admiration for love with centering life around it. We are confusing admiration for love with dependency. They are not the same.

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A woman talking about love, enjoying love, or even desiring love does not mean she has centered her entire existence around it.

Pretending love and desire don’t exist does not make you evolved. It makes you disconnected.

Let me be clear:

I am not advocating for losing yourself in anyone.

There is so much more to life! growth, purpose, joy, identity.

But we cannot pretend that love, desire, and emotional connection don’t exist.

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Because let’s be honest:

Some of you talk like you’ve never:

• wanted attention

• imagined love

• almost made a reckless decision

• or had to pull yourself back together

And that’s not truth. That’s performance

The truth is

Being a woman already requires work.

Emotionally. Physically. Mentally. Sometimes even spiritually.

And then on top of that, you want to add shame?

No.

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What I am asking for is honesty and empathy.

Stop speaking like you woke up whole.

Stop presenting growth without the process.

Stop hiding the journey and only showcasing the arrival.

Because it is not helping the younger girl. It is pressuring her.

Sometimes, what she needs is not another “be better” speech.

She needs to hear: “I struggled too. I felt that too. And this is how I found my way out.”

A woman’s biology is not her enemy.

But sometimes, it feels like something she has to constantly manage, understand, and discipline.

That is work. So don’t add shame to it.

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Don’t be the reason another woman shrinks.

Don’t be the reason another woman feels behind.

Don’t be the reason she hides her reality.

Don’t be the voice that makes her feel like she is failing at something she is still learning.

Be the reason she understands herself better.

Be the voice that reminds her she is not behind, she is just in process.

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There is space for growth.

There is space for feeling.

There is space for becoming.

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If you’ve grown, speak. But speak with honesty. Not perfection.

Because the next girl doesn’t need your performance. She needs your truth.

~ Oluwadunsin.

Does it make sense that I fall apart in tears

not because I am broken but because I am loved?

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That I sit with the weight of it, this quiet, overwhelming knowing that I do not deserve this kind of grace, yet it finds me anyway.

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Does it make sense that I almost hide from You

not because I want distance, but because I don’t understand how You could stay?

How You could see me fully and not turn away.

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Does it make sense that I find You everywhere?

in the quiet,in the noise, in the faces that hold me gently, in the moments that should have broken me

but didn’t.

You were there. You are there.

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Does it make sense that all I feel is gratitude so deep it almost feels like grief?

Like mourning the version of me that believed I was unworthy of being held this carefully.

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Does it make sense that I want to cry out to You,

but the words stop because what more can I ask for

when You have already given me Yourself?

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You, who stay close to my breaking.

You, who gather every scattered piece of me

and call it whole even when I am the one

who keeps letting it fall apart.

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Does it make sense that You love me like this?

That You see me like this? That You sit with me,

patient, gentle, teaching me how to become someone who can receive what I’ve been given?

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Does it make sense that You hold my heart

like You know I might drop it at any moment

and still, You trust me with it?

Because I don’t understand it. But I feel it.

And maybe that is enough.

~Oluwadunsin.

We Don’t All Learn Self-Respect From the Same Manual

“Strict girl 101.”

I think a lot of what is being circulated under that label is not really about standards. It is about insecurity being repackaged as rules, and confidence being mistaken for rigidity….. hear me out.

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And I don’t say that to dismiss the conversation. I say it because I understand where it comes from. I really do.

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But we need to be honest about what we are actually teaching young girls when we frame personal experience as universal instruction.

Let’s break it down.

One of the most common “rules” I’ve seen is not picking calls or replying to texts after 10 or 11 p.m.

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I used to do that too. But back then, it was not because I had “standards.” It was because I didn’t have emotional boundaries. I didn’t know how to regulate access to me or manage emotional investment, so I created structure where I had none. That was a phase of learning myself, not a lifestyle.

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Now, I still choose not to pick calls or reply late sometimes, but not because of a rule I’m trying to perform. It’s because I know myself better. That distinction matters.

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When we turn personal coping mechanisms into public standards, we confuse people who are still trying to figure themselves out.

Another point I saw was about sending account numbers when a guy asks for it.

And I understand the intention behind that advice, the idea of being cautious, not being naive, and understanding that nothing is truly free without intention behind it.

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But even that needs balance. Because not everything is manipulation, and not every gesture is a trap. At the same time, not everything is harmless either. The real maturity is learning discernment not fear, and not blind trust.

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Know when something is genuine. Know when something is conditional. But don’t turn every interaction into suspicion.

Then there’s the conversation about pet names.

Some people say it is a “strict girl rule” to not allow early familiarity like nicknames or pet names.

But even that is not absolute.

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We do it too. As girls, we meet someone and immediately shorten names, create familiarity, assign softness. So the issue is not the act itself. The issue is context and intention.

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If something feels too familiar too early, you are allowed to step back. That is self-awareness. But again, it is not a universal law, it is personal comfort.

The same applies to video calls.

Some people say you should not do video calls early on for “security” or emotional control reasons. And I understand that point completely.

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Personally, I also don’t like video calls early. I would say no. And if it becomes too much, I would block it, not because of a rule, but because I simply don’t want it.

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But again, some people are comfortable with it. Some people only feel safe after seeing the person. Some people only connect that way.

So why turn that into a standard instead of a preference?

Then there is the idea of “trauma dumping” when someone starts sharing too much personal information early on, especially about family or emotional struggles.

Yes, that can be a red flag. I’ve experienced that too.

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But the reality is, you cannot control what people choose to say. What you can control is how you respond, your time listening to that and accommodate it.

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You can redirect the conversation. You can set emotional distance. You can choose not to engage deeply too quickly. That is emotional intelligence.

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Because sometimes people do use vulnerability to create false intimacy. And young girls should be aware of that.

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But awareness is different from paranoia.

And that is where I think the conversation is getting blurred.

Instead of teaching discernment, we are sometimes teaching avoidance. Instead of teaching self-awareness, we are teaching performance. Instead of helping girls understand themselves, we are giving them rules to copy.

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And that is the real issue.

Because “strict girl 101” starts to sound less like wisdom and more like a checklist for how to appear unbothered, unbothered, and untouchable.

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But real growth is not that linear.

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You can have boundaries and still be learning yourself. You can be cautious and still be open. You can be strict and still not fully understand your emotional patterns yet.

The real work is not in following rules online.

The real work is knowing yourself deeply enough that you don’t need a script for every situation.

There are a lot of things being packaged under this “strict girl 101” narrative, and honestly, it’s putting unnecessary pressure on young girls who are still figuring themselves out.

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Some girls see it and want to look like they have standards. They want to look like “it girls.” So they start following rules that are not even rooted in self-awareness, just presentation.

And in the process, they lose the chance to actually understand themselves.

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You can be strict and still lack self-awareness. You can have rules and still not fully know who you are. The real thing is knowing yourself, your boundaries, your dignity, your values, what you like, and what you don’t like regardless of trends online. And that takes time. It’s a process.

So no, I don’t think the answer is “strict girl 101.”

I think the answer is discernment. Self-awareness. And time.

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Let girls be. Let people learn without turning every phase of growth into doctrine.

Because not everything needs to be a rule.

And not every rule deserves to be universal.

(P.s: My title was a rage bait 🙉)

~ Debo Dunsin.