I don’t know if it is the writer in me, or the fact that I have spent the past few years writing about women, relationships, adulthood and the strange little things that make up our lives, but I have noticed something about myself since I went back to school.

I cannot seem to learn anything normally. Everything has to somehow become a lesson about life. 🥲

I can be sitting in class listening to a lecturer explain a business concept, or reading a course material, and somewhere in the middle of it, my brain has already gone, “Wait, this applies to relationships.” “Wait, this can apply to real life too.”

Or I’ll hear something about communication and immediately think about a conversation I had with a friend.

Or we’ll discuss leadership and I’ll start thinking about the way women lead, the way we communicate, the way we handle conflict, or even the way we show up in our closest relationships.

I suppose that is one of the perks of being a writer. You spend so much time observing people and trying to make sense of human behaviour that eventually you start finding stories and lessons everywhere.

And yes, I am still very much learning to pass my exams. Let me not make it sound like I have suddenly become one of those people who goes to school purely for the love of knowledge. I have assignments to submit and exams to pass, and I would like my MBA, thank you very much. 😂

But I also genuinely enjoy discovering things that make me look at my everyday life a little differently.

This past month, my module was on Leadership. Specifically, Leadership and Organizational Development.

To be completely honest, I found it quite boring. There, I said it.

There were frameworks, theories, different approaches to leadership, discussions about communication and all the intricacies that come with leading people. I’m sure all of it is useful, and I understand why it is part of an MBA curriculum, but I kept thinking, “Okay, but where exactly am I applying all of this?”

My experience with leadership is also a little unconventional. I have people who work with me, and I have had to learn how to manage people and projects, but I don’t have the traditional corporate experience of sitting in a management role with a large team reporting to me.

So a lot of what we were discussing felt theoretical. Until I started doing what I always do.

I started translating it in my own way. What does this mean outside the boardroom What does this look like in a friendship? What does this look like between two people in a relationship? What does this look like in the way you communicate with someone you love?

And suddenly, a module I had found painfully boring became much more interesting.

Because leadership, I’ve realized, isn’t only about being someone’s boss.

You are constantly influencing people, communicating with people, making decisions that affect other people and navigating relationships with people. You don’t need a corner office or a team of fifty people for these lessons to matter.

So, in the spirit of taking what I learn in class and bringing it home, here are some things my MBA taught me about leadership this month that I think you can apply to your real life and relationships:

1. Constant communication is not the same as quality communication: In leadership, we learned that information repeated without specificity and without clear direction just becomes noise - people hear it, nod, and change nothing. Sound familiar? The talking stage does this constantly. You are communicating but there is no direction, no specificity, no “what are we actually building here.” All that talking creates a false sense of intimacy and connection without any real foundation underneath it. More words is not the answer. Clearer words are.

2. Your intrapersonal relationship determines the quality of every other relationship you have: Before you can lead anyone else, you have to be able to lead yourself. And you cannot lead yourself if you have never actually sat with yourself and asked - outside of what I was told, outside of how I was raised, who am I actually? What do I want? What do I believe? People who have never done that work are easy to define. Easy to manipulate. Easy to tell who they are because they do not know for themselves. 🤷‍♀️

3. Some people are simply not the right fit - and no amount of effort is going to change that: In organizational management, you train people, and invest in their development. But sometimes, after all of that, they are still not the right fit - not because they are bad people, but because there is a fundamental mismatch between what they are and what the role requires. The wisest thing an org. can do is acknowledge that and let them go. In real life, this is the relationship you have been trying to fix for years. The friendship that drains you every single time. Mismatch is real, and sometimes not fixable. Just let them go.

4. Culture is built by what you tolerate, not what you say you stand for: An organization can have values written on every wall and a culture that looks nothing like them - because culture is not what you declare, it is what you allow. If you say respect is important but you tolerate disrespect consistently, your actual culture is the disrespect. The standards you talk about and the behavior you actually accept from people are two different things. And the behavior you accept is your real standard. They are watching what you do when the line is crossed, not what you said the line was.

5. A leader who cannot manage conflict will always have a team that is quietly falling apart: Avoiding conflict does not make it disappear. It just moves it underground where it grows without anyone addressing it, until it surfaces as something much bigger and much harder to resolve. In relationships and in friendships, the same thing happens. The conversations you keep putting off, the things you let slide because you do not want to rock the boat—they accumulate. And one day the boat tips from the weight of everything that was never said. Address things early. It is uncomfortable for about ten minutes. Unaddressed, it is uncomfortable forever.

6. Resistance to change is almost never about the change itself: We covered this in leadership; when people resist a new direction, a new process, a new way of doing things, it is rarely because the new thing is actually bad. It is almost always about fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of losing something familiar, fear of not being competent in the new version of things. And this is true in personal life too. The changes you are resisting: the relationship you know you need to leave, the career shift you keep postponing, the version of yourself you keep starting and stopping - most of the resistance is fear dressed up as logic. Go for it! 🫵

7. The way feedback is delivered determines whether it is ever received: You can be completely right and still communicate it in a way that makes the other person close off immediately - because they felt attacked rather than informed. Effective leaders learn to separate the message from the delivery, and to choose the delivery based on what will actually land for that specific person. In real life, this is the difference between a hard conversation that changes something and a hard conversation that just starts a fight. Don’t always be the “I’m blunt, I’ll say the way it is,” person. 😑

8. A learning organization stays relevant. A stagnant one dies: The organizations that survive long-term are the ones that treat learning as an ongoing requirement, not a one-time event. They adapt. They update. They are willing to be wrong about something they believed last year if the evidence says they should change. People are the same way. The ones who are still reading, still questioning, still willing to update their beliefs and their behaviors are the ones who keep growing. The ones who decide they already know everything stop evolving. And it shows.

9. People follow leaders they trust, not leaders with the best credentials: Authority does not automatically generate trust. You can have the title, the qualifications, the experience - and still have a team that does not truly follow you because they do not believe you have their interests at heart. Trust is built through consistency, transparency, and genuine investment in the people around you. In relationships this means exactly the same thing. Someone can be objectively impressive and still not be someone you can trust. And without trust, nothing else actually works.

10. Emotional intelligence is a leadership skill - and most people are lacking it: The leaders who cause the most damage in organizations are not always the incompetent ones. Sometimes they are the technically brilliant ones who have no emotional intelligence: who cannot read a room, cannot regulate themselves under pressure, cannot recognize how their behavior affects the people around them. In personal relationships, this is the person who is smart about everything except how to treat people. Intelligence without emotional awareness is not enough. In leadership or in life.

11. Action will always speak louder than words: Imagine you’re in an org. and your boss keeps saying, “If you do well this month, I’ll reward you.” You do well. No reward. You do well again. Still nothing. Eventually, you stop believing him. And after a while, you may even stop putting in the extra effort because his words have taught you that there is no reward coming. That’s how it works in real life too. You don’t trust the person who keeps saying, “I’ll show up for you” but never does. And you can’t keep telling your friends, “I love you, I think about you, I miss you” without ever calling, checking in or actually showing up. Sometimes, don’t just say it. Do it. 🫵

12. You cannot pour from an empty cup - and a leader that does not rest, breaks: We talked about sustainable leadership, and one of the clearest findings is that leaders who do not rest, who do not replenish, who run on depletion and call it dedication - they burn out and they take their teams with them. This applies to you. Whatever you are leading: a team, a family, a business, your own life—you cannot sustain it from empty. Rest is not laziness, instead see it as maintenance. And maintenance is what keeps anything running long enough to matter. 🧘‍♀️

That was my MBA lesson for this month, and I hope I was able to teach you something too. Don’t worry, I’ll keep sharing what I’m learning with you people. You’re taking lessons from an A student, after all. I got A’s in all my tests this month, so please encourage me to keep going. 🤭

Tell me to pass for your sake. I need to know somebody is waiting for the graduation pictures too. For now, send me big, big love and tell me to keep going.

For anyone wondering: I am currently doing my MBA at 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲, fully remote, fully online - and for someone like me who is building, working, and creating content simultaneously, it is the format that actually works for my life. Flexible, rigorous, and genuinely stretching me in ways I did not expect.

If you are thinking about furthering your education without putting your life on hold, I think it’s a good fit. You can have a full personal life, work, make money, chase your goals and still be on your way to getting your MBA, just like me. 👩‍🏫🎓

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Resentment rarely arrives all at once. It builds quietly, usually from the things we do not say, the things we say and never resolve, the apologies that come too late, and the hurt we decide to carry instead of confront. I think about Sandra and Samuel in Anatomy of a Fall because their relationship shows what can happen when two people have lived with enough unresolved hurt that even ordinary interactions begin to carry the weight of everything that came before them. At some point, you are no longer arguing about the thing that happened that morning. You are arguing with every disappointment, every sacrifice, every moment you felt unseen, and every version of the person you think failed you.

This can happen in friendships, families, and other relationships, but I think romantic relationships make it particularly complicated because two people are constantly in direct contact with the consequences of each other’s choices. Your words affect the person you sleep beside. Your silence affects them. Your decisions affect their life. The things you promise and fail to do can become part of the emotional history you are both carrying. And when those hurts keep accumulating without being properly addressed, resentment can become deeper than the original problem. You stop seeing your partner only for who they are in the present. You start seeing them through everything they have ever done to hurt you.

That is when a relationship can become a place where two people are no longer simply trying to understand each other. They are keeping score. Every new disagreement becomes evidence. Every mistake confirms something you already believe about the other person. And sometimes, the most painful part is that neither person can remember exactly when they stopped being on the same side.

Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.

It is one of the heaviest emotions you can carry towards another person, and one of the hardest emotions to have directed at you. It can quietly turn hurt into anger, anger into bitterness, and bitterness into a relationship where everything becomes evidence against the other person.

If you notice yourself beginning to resent someone, take a step back. Ask yourself what hurt you, what you needed that you did not receive, and whether the relationship can still be repaired.

And when you sense resentment coming from someone towards you, do not ignore it either. Sometimes you can feel when someone’s warmth towards you has changed. Pay attention. Have the conversation if it is worth having. And if it cannot be resolved, create enough distance before resentment turns both of you into people you no longer recognize.

Resentment rarely stays contained. It eventually changes how you see the person, how you interpret their actions, and how you behave towards them.

Deal with it early, or leave the situation before it consumes you.

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They are not particularly avid readers, so I am probably safe, but there is still something slightly uncomfortable about putting a feeling like this into words when the people at the centre of it are people I love.

I have been thinking a lot about what it means to do well for yourself when you are an older sister.

I am 26 now, and for the first time in my life, I think I have arrived at a point where I can look at my life and genuinely say, “You are doing well.” Not perfectly, not in every area, and certainly not in the way I imagined when I was younger, but well enough that I have started to enjoy the life I have built instead of constantly worrying about whether I am doing enough to protect it.

I have been spending money without immediately panicking about what it means for my future. I started an MBA. I have travelled. Hosted a successful book launch event. I have bought things I wanted. I have done things that cost a lot of money and then checked my account afterwards and realised, with some surprise, that I am still okay. There was a time when spending that kind of money would have made me anxious for days. Now I can spend it, breathe, and think, “Okay. I can make this money again.”

And there is something very freeing about reaching that point. Very liberating, even.

But lately, every time I look at my life and feel proud of how far I have come, I look behind me and think about my siblings. And then the pride becomes complicated. Because I want them here.

I want them to experience the kind of financial ease I am beginning to experience. I want them to have options. I want them to be able to make decisions because they want something, not because they cannot afford the alternative. I want them to have careers they are proud of, to know what they are capable of, and to have enough confidence in themselves to actually go after it.

More than anything, I want them to be okay.

Maybe that sounds simple, but it has become one of the heaviest things I carry.

I come from a large nuclear family. In the group of five siblings I grew up closest to, I am the eldest. There is a boy after me, then a girl, then another girl, then our youngest brother. Last year, when my father died, something changed in the structure of our family that I do not think I fully understood until I started living through it.

My father had always been a responsible man. I had helped with things before, but there was still a person above me who was carrying a significant part of the family responsibility. After he died, I became much more conscious of the things that needed to be done, the money that needed to go out, the people who needed support, the things that could no longer be someone else’s problem.

So when I say that I am doing well financially, I need to explain that the money I am talking about is not entirely mine in the way people might assume from the outside.

There are responsibilities attached to it. There are siblings. There are things I pay for. There are things I think about. There are expenses that do not appear when someone looks at my life from Instagram and decides that I am doing well enough to be carefree. Or come to the conclusion that “I am prudent.” Lol

And perhaps that is why I have become so preoccupied with what my siblings are doing with their own lives. Because I know what it feels like to have to find your way.

I remember how urgently I wanted to build a life for myself.

After university, I did not want to return home and wait around for life to happen. For my NYSC, I deliberately worked around serving in Lagos. I found somewhere to live after camp because I knew I did not want to go back home. I looked at my posting and thought about what would actually move my life forward, and I went looking for a better opportunity.

I was not particularly outgoing. I was not some fearless young woman who had everything figured out. I was shy. I was reserved. I had plenty of insecurities.

But I had an urgency that I still cannot fully explain. I wanted to do well. I wanted to be independent. I wanted to make money.

I wanted to meet people who could change the trajectory of my life. I wanted to work somewhere that would expose me to more. I wanted to leave home and figure things out for myself. Whenever I saw an opportunity, my instinct was usually to ask, “How do I get in?”

Looking back, I realise how much of my life has been shaped by that instinct. And now I look at my younger siblings and I do not always see it in them. That is the part I am struggling with.

My brother is grown now. He has finished university. I helped make sure he went to a good federal school because I genuinely believed that being in that environment would give him access to opportunities that could change his life. I went to a different university, and for years I have thought about what my own life might have looked like if I had gone to his school. I know what that environment can offer, and I wanted him to have access to it.

So watching him finish school and then move slowly into the next stage of his life has been difficult for me.

I find myself asking questions constantly. What are you doing for NYSC? What are you applying for? Have you looked at this graduate trainee programme? What about this course? What about this opportunity? Have you thought about modelling? Why are you not making videos? Why are you taking so long to decide?

Sometimes I send him opportunities so often that I know I must sound like a very irritating notification on his phone.

He is interested in football, and I have even found myself thinking about football academies and wondering if that could become something for him. I have given him a good phone and encouraged him to make videos because I genuinely think he has things about him that could work in his favour. He is tall, good-looking, and has a presence that I think he could learn to use.

But somehow, I keep watching the opportunities pass and thinking, “If this were me, I would have taken it.”

And that sentence has started bothering me.

Because what does “if this were me” actually mean? Does it mean I know what is best for him? Or does it mean I am measuring his life against mine?

That distinction has become harder for me to ignore.

My sister has a similar story, although she is different from my brother in many ways. She is incredibly beautiful, very kind, very gentle, and one of the most selfless people I know. She is also probably my favourite sibling, although I will deny saying that if any of them ask. 😅

She recently finished university, and once again I found myself doing the same thing. When are you going for NYSC? Have you checked this? Have you applied for that? Why don’t you start making vlogs? Why don’t you try this? What are you waiting for?

At this point, I even think she’s withholding information from me because she knows that telling me something would immediately lead to another round of questions.

And that really made me stop.

Because I could see what I was doing. I was trying to help, but I was also becoming someone they had to manage. I would get frustrated because I could see what I believed they were capable of, and I could not understand why they were not moving with the urgency I thought they needed.

But maybe that is the problem. I can see their potential. I cannot live it for them.

And this is where the guilt comes in.

Sometimes I wonder whether I am being too hard on them. Maybe they are not behind. Maybe they are simply moving at a different pace. Maybe they are scared. Maybe they are still figuring themselves out. Maybe they do not know what they want yet. Maybe they have not developed the same urgency because their lives have not demanded it from them in the same way mine did.

And maybe I need to be honest about another possibility: I’m not only worried about their future. I’m also worried about mine.

Because if I am the person who has figured things out, if I am the person with the money, if I am the person everyone can call when something needs to be paid for, then a part of me desperately wants the people behind me to catch up.

I want more people to carry the weight. I want my siblings to become independent enough that I do not have to worry about what happens to them. I want to know that if something happens to me tomorrow, they will be okay.

And I hate admitting that because it makes my concern feel less selfless than I would like it to be.

That I am not only begging them to reach their potential because I love them - but I am also begging them to become capable adults because I am tired of being the capable one.

That is a much harder thing to admit. 🥲

And I think this is where I have been sitting lately, somewhere between genuine concern and the uncomfortable possibility that I have been trying to rush my siblings into becoming the people I need them to become.

There is another thing I have been thinking about, though, and it has made this whole thing even more complicated for me.

And that is the fact that, maybe they did not have the same experiences that made me who I am.

I spent six years in boarding school. I left home when I was ten and spent a significant part of my formative years learning how to exist away from my parents. I had to make friends, solve problems, manage myself and, in many ways, become comfortable with being away from home very early.

After secondary school, I went to university. After university, I left again for NYSC. Then I stayed back, worked, saved enough and rented my own apartment. I kept moving further away from home, and every new environment forced me to figure something out.

My siblings had a very different experience.

They stayed home. They were around my parents. They had each other. They did not have to develop the same kind of independence at the same age that I did.

Even when my brother later came to join me in boarding school, his experience was still not mine. My sister spent her secondary school years as a day student. She came home every day. Their lives had a different rhythm.

So sometimes I wonder if I have been looking at the outcome of my own experiences and expecting them to reproduce it without having lived through the same things that produced it.

I became independent early, but that does not mean independence was something I was simply born with.

Maybe I learned it. Maybe some of my urgency was circumstantial. Maybe some of it came from being away from home. Maybe some of it came from being the eldest. Maybe some of it simply came from being me. And, for context, I’m not the most hardworking or ambitious person out there. I don’t even think I’m close. But I scratch the surface enough to be a doer and shaker of things.

And if that is true, then I cannot look at my siblings and ask why they are not exactly like me without also acknowledging that they have lived different lives.

But that is difficult for me because I genuinely believe they can do more.

I have seen enough of life now to know that potential means very little if you never do anything with it. I have watched opportunities come and go. I have watched people who were not necessarily more talented than me get further simply because they started sooner, asked questions, put themselves out there, applied, called somebody, tried something and kept going.

So when I see my siblings hesitate, I get scared.

I am scared that they will wake up at 28 and realise they could have started at 21. I am scared they will look back and regret the opportunities they did not take. I am scared that they will struggle financially when I know they are capable of building something for themselves. I am scared that I will have to keep carrying more than I should because they did not learn how to carry themselves early enough.

And that fear is why I keep pushing.

I keep thinking that if I can just get them to move faster, if I can just get them to apply for one more thing, take one more course, make one more video, consider one more opportunity, perhaps I can somehow prevent the future I am afraid of.

But I am beginning to understand that I cannot make someone hungry. I cannot give someone my urgency. I cannot hand someone my personality and expect them to wear it comfortably.

And perhaps the most uncomfortable truth is that I cannot know what their lives will look like simply because I know what mine looks like at 26.

I did things quickly, but quick does not automatically mean right. I made decisions early, but early does not automatically mean better. I had a lot of drive, but having drive does not guarantee that every decision you make with that drive will work out.

There are also things I did not know at 21 that I know now. There are things I rushed into that I would approach differently today. There are parts of my life that only make sense because I had enough time to become the person who could understand them.

So why am I so uncomfortable when my siblings need time?

I think this is where being an elder sister becomes complicated.

You can see the road ahead of someone because you have already walked further down it. You can see the potholes. You can see the places where they might waste time. You can see the opportunities they are ignoring because you know what it feels like to wish you had taken them.

But knowing the road does not mean you get to walk it for someone else. Sometimes I forget that you can take a horse to the river, but you cannot force it to drink.

At the end of the day, they are the owners of their lives. I can pay for a course, but I cannot make them attend. I can send them an opportunity, but I cannot make them want it. I can buy them a phone, but I cannot make them pick it up and create something. I can tell them they are beautiful, talented, intelligent, or capable, but eventually, they have to believe those things for themselves.

I want them to reach their potential so badly that sometimes I am tempted to make their potential my responsibility.

It is not.

I do not want my sister to stop telling me things because she is afraid I will ask what she is doing with her life. I do not want my brother to hear from me and immediately feel like he has disappointed me because he has not moved as quickly as I would have.

I want them to know that I believe in them without feeling like they have to perform that potential for me.

That is the balance I am trying to learn.

Because I also know that there is something very real about the responsibility of being the eldest. Especially now that my father is no longer here.

There are moments when I look at my siblings and feel this almost overwhelming need to make sure everyone will be okay.

I am only 26, but sometimes I look around and realise that these people are going to grow up. They are going to have families. They are going to have careers. They are going to make decisions that affect the rest of their lives.

And I want them to have a good life. I want them to be able to call me because they miss me, not because they need money. I want the day to come when we are all adults with our own lives, and I can look at them and know that they are fine.

That is the real source of my anxiety.

I do not want to be the only person who made it.

I want my brother to find whatever makes him feel alive and pursue it seriously. If that is football, I want him to give it an honest shot. If it is something else, I want him to find it and go after it. I want my sister to see herself the way I see her and understand that being beautiful is not the most interesting thing about her. There is so much more she can do with her life.

I am an elder sister who loves her siblings deeply, who sees so much in them, who wants them to have more than she had. And I think I have to give them room to do that.

I want my younger ones to grow up without feeling like their lives have already been decided for them by an overzealous elder sister.

So help me, God.

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This is the probably the first place I’m properly telling this story, and if you don’t follow me on Instagram or X, this might actually be news to you.

I went back to school.

After six years away from classrooms, assignments, discussion boards, and the strange anxiety of seeing deadlines again, I enrolled for an MBA. Even typing that still feels a little surreal. It wasn’t an easy decision. I went back and forth for weeks asking myself if I really needed it. And if you looked at my life from the outside, you would probably ask the same question.

“But Yetunde, aren’t you already doing well?” I got a lot of questions in relation to that.

I have a career I enjoy. I write for brands. I have a community that continues to grow. I don’t work in the traditional corporate space, and I don’t currently own the kind of business people usually associate with an MBA.

So, logically, it didn’t seem necessary.

But I didn’t make this particular move to satisfy other people’s definition of “necessary.” I did it because I was craving a different version of myself. And for me, that craving looked like wanting a new routine.

For the last few years, my life has revolved around writing, storytelling, strategy, content, deadlines, clients, and building my own work. I love all of it. I genuinely do.

But somewhere along the way, I realised I wanted my brain to work differently again. I wanted to learn something outside the things I already knew. I wanted to sit with ideas that had nothing to do with captions, engagement rates, or content strategy.

I considered doing a master’s, but I realised an MBA made more sense for where I think my life is heading, even if I’m not there yet.

So I enrolled. It’s only been a month, but I’m already glad I did. 🥹

Last month alone, I found myself learning about international business, globalization, localization, sustainability, market strategy, and a dozen other concepts that had never really occupied space in my mind before.

The funny thing is that now, whenever people talk about sustainability or international markets, I don’t just nod because the words sound familiar. I actually understand what they’re talking about.

I cannot even explain the joy that comes from learning something new as an adult. Not because you have to pass an exam. Not because your parents told you to. Simply because you wanted to know. That feeling alone has made the decision worth it.

Going back to school has also done something I didn’t expect. It has quietly changed my routine. I have deadlines again. Reading again. Notes. Assignments. Group discussions. And surprisingly, I’ve enjoyed having another part of my life that exists outside writing.

If you’ve been thinking about going back to school, taking a course, learning a new skill, or simply giving your brain something different to chew on, this is your gentle reminder that not every investment has to produce an immediate financial return before it’s worth making.

Sometimes the return is becoming a more curious person. Sometimes the return is confidence. Sometimes it’s walking into conversations and realizing you finally understand what everyone is talking about.

And sometimes, that’s enough.

I’ve promised myself that at the end of every month, I’ll write about what this journey is teaching me. So consider this the first update.

Now, let me show you a few things my first month back in school taught me:

1. Your brain still works. You just have to switch it back on.
I know this is probably your biggest fear if you've been out of school for years. You're wondering if the version of you that could sit down, read for hours, and pass exams disappeared after graduation. I thought the same thing. But here's what I learned: learning is a skill, and like every other skill, it gets stronger the more you use it. The first week might feel uncomfortable because you're getting back into the habit of studying, but give yourself a little time, and you'll be surprised by how quickly your brain adjusts again. Never underestimate neuroplasticity. Your brain is designed to adapt.

2. Adult learning hits different because you can use it immediately.
In school the first time, you learned and hoped it would matter someday. Now, you learn something on a Tuesday and apply it by Thursday. Every lecture immediately connects to my life, my business, and the decisions I make every day. I'll finish a class and instantly think, "Wait... I can actually use this." That's what makes adult education so rewarding. You're no longer learning just to pass a course; you're learning to become better at what you already do.

3. Going back to school gives you purpose.
I genuinely believe there's something powerful about waking up every day knowing you're building yourself. It shifts your focus. There's a version of you that gets bored, restless, and starts chasing things that don't deserve your attention - a text you shouldn't answer, a person you should've left alone. A lack of purpose makes room for all of that. Studying again gave my mind somewhere better to go.

4. Find the format that actually fits your life.
I'm doing my MBA remotely, at Nexford. Classes with real professors, real deadlines, but I set my own hours around work. If you have a business, a job, or a full life already, you don't need to pause it to go back to school. You need a program that bends around it.

5. Going back to school reminds you that you're still capable of doing hard things.
There is something incredibly reassuring about submitting an assignment, getting feedback, and realizing that you still have what it takes. Sometimes life makes us forget how capable we are because we're so busy with adulthood, but going back to school forces you to challenge yourself again, and every small win becomes evidence that you've still got it. You don't lose your intelligence with age—you simply stop exercising it in that particular way.

6. You'll realise that almost nothing happens in isolation.
One of my biggest "aha" moments was learning that every outcome is connected to something else. Businesses don't just become successful by luck. Prices don't increase without a reason. Products don't magically appear on shelves. There are systems, decisions, people, and processes working together behind everything we experience every day. That lesson has changed the way I think, not just about business, but about life. It has taught me to stop looking at situations in isolation and start asking, "What happened behind the scenes to make this possible?"

7. "Free" doesn't always mean free.
One lesson that completely changed how I think came from studying supply chains. We throw the word "free" around all the time—free delivery, free events, free apps, free resources—but the truth is that someone is almost always paying for it. It may not be you, but there is usually a business model, a sponsor, an advertiser, or another customer covering the cost. It sounds like such a simple idea, but once you understand it, you start looking at products and businesses differently. You become a more informed consumer because you understand that value is rarely created without a cost somewhere in the system.

8. You still crave academic validation. And that's okay.
I thought the pressure to pass and perform would fade with age. It hasn’t. If anything, it’s become sharper because now, failing feels like it carries more weight. I’m not competing with anyone in particular anymore, but the need for academic validation is still very much there. But that drive can become what keeps you striving to become better. Let it push you. Just don’t let it paralyze you.

9. You'll rediscover a version of yourself you thought you had lost.
I won't lie, getting my first few grades back meant more to me than I expected. Somewhere between graduating, building a career, paying bills, and becoming an adult, I'd stopped thinking about myself as "a student." Going back to school reminded me that I still love learning, I still enjoy being challenged, and yes, I still care about doing well. It's funny how one assignment or one good grade can remind you that parts of yourself never disappeared—they were simply waiting for an opportunity to come alive again.

I’m currently studying for my MBA at Nexford University, and I’ll be sharing one lesson every month—both from business school and from navigating this season as an adult learner.

If you’ve been thinking about going back to school, or you’re already on that journey, I’d love to hear from you in the comments.

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I can believe something on Monday, hear a different perspective on Thursday, and by Friday think, “You know what? That’s true too.”

I don’t think changing your mind is a sign that you didn’t know what you were talking about the first time. I think it’s a sign that you’re paying attention. It’s also a sign that you’ve learned something new. That you’re open to hearing other people’s worldviews, willing to learn, and humble enough to admit that maybe you don’t have the full picture yet.

I never want to become the kind of aunty people describe by saying, “Don’t mind her, she’s still in the ’90s.” Considering I was born in the 2000s, that might genuinely be one of my biggest insult fears. 😭

Last week, I wrote a thread about things that have quietly become lost arts. Things like writing thoughtful birthday epistles, showing care in little ways, Woman Crush Wednesday posts, and all the tiny rituals that once made our lives, friendships, the internet and life feel softer.

People agreed. But just as many people pushed back.

“I still do this.”
“My friends still do this.”
“This isn’t a lost art where I am.”

And somewhere between reading those comments and now sitting down to write this newsletter, I realized something.

They were right.

Maybe “lost art” isn’t always the right phrase.

Because something doesn’t have to disappear completely before it starts feeling uncommon. And just because something isn’t as popular as it used to be doesn’t mean it has stopped existing altogether.

When do we start letting popularity decide what we keep doing? I see people do this every time.

“Bring back low-waist jeans.” “Bring back 2016 makeup style.” “Bring back handwritten letters.” “Bring back calling people just because.”

But who exactly are we waiting for? If you miss dressing up, dress up. If you hate the new pink blush makeup trend, apply less blush - add more contour and bronzer to your cheekbone. Voila, you now have on your face, the 2016 makeup look you so love.

If you enjoy sending long messages, send them. If you like celebrating your friends on Woman Crush Wednesday, post them. If you’re the type to write birthday paragraphs that people have to click “See more” to finish reading, write them.

Not everything has to become trendy again before you give yourself permission to enjoy it. You don’t need the internet’s approval to like what you like. There isn’t a fashion police or trend police waiting to arrest you because you’re doing something that isn’t currently popular.

If it makes you happy and it isn’t hurting anyone, that’s reason enough to keep doing it. Sometimes the smallest acts of whimsy survive because one person simply refuses to let them disappear.

Maybe that’s all any of us can do. Not wait for culture to bring something back. Just quietly decide to keep it alive in our own little corner of the world.

So, whether you think these are truly lost arts or simply beautiful habits worth keeping alive, here are a few things I hope we never stop doing:

1. The art of showing you care - loudly and without embarrassment: People used to post their friends, and write birthday epistles that had an opening, a middle, and a conclusion. Call at midnight on the dot just to be the first voice someone heard on their day. Nobody does this anymore. Everybody is too grown, too unbothered, too whatever to just openly, loudly, unashamedly love their people in public. We have confused being expressive with being cringe and the friendships are suffering for it.

2. The art of trying: Everything is cringe now. Trying too hard is cringe. Being earnest is cringe. Caring visibly about something is cringe. And so nobody tries anything new because failing publicly has become something people will reference forever. But you cannot get good at something without being bad at it first. You cannot find your thing without attempting several wrong things. The fear of being seen trying and not succeeding has paralyzed an entire generation into performing unbothered while secretly wanting very badly to try. Try anyway.

3. The art of courting: Nobody wants to wait anymore. Five business days into talking to someone and there is already pressure to define what this is, where it is going, and whether you have met your life partner. I am sorry but I just met you. I need more than a week of good morning texts to know if I want to build a life with you. Whatever happened to anticipation? To slowly getting to know someone. To egg having enough time to become butterflies. Bring back yearning. Bring back the slow build. Bring back the tension.

4. The art of making out: What happened to this? To kissing? To dryhumping? To touching each other’s faces. Lingering. Building anticipation. Caressing. Genuinely, what happened? Nobody wants to make out anymore. Nobody wants to take their time. Everything is fast and efficient and completely missing the point. Some of the best moments of your life can happen when nobody is in a hurry. Slow down. The destination is not going anywhere. Calm down. ✋

5. The art of doing things alone:Your friend does not want to go to brunch. Go anyway. The group chat is quiet and you wanted to catch a movie. Buy one ticket and go. Solo dating is not a consolation prize for when you have no one to go with but a practice of enjoying your own company so thoroughly that you become excellent company for yourself. You also get to move at your own pace, stay as long as you want, and leave without negotiating. Doing things alone is a skill and it deserves to be reclaimed.

6. The art of having original thoughts: One influencer says something and within 48hrs it is everyone’s opinion. Nobody wants to push back because pushing back gets you called out. Nobody wants to think differently because thinking differently gets you called woke. But original thought; the kind that comes from actually sitting with something and forming your own conclusion rather than inheriting someone else’s - is one of the most valuable things a person can develop. Question what you hear. Including from people you respect. Especially from people you respect. 🫵

7. The art of small talk: Striking up a conversation with a stranger in a waiting room. Commenting on something to the person next to you in a queue. Talking to the person sitting beside you on a flight instead of putting your headphones in immediately. Small talk is how larger connections begin. It is the entry point to people you would never have found otherwise. The phone has made it so easy to avoid all of this that we are now surprised when a stranger speaks to us in public. That surprise is the problem.

8. The art of photo albums: We should go back to printing our pictures. Put them somewhere we can hold them. The phone dies, the iCloud gets full, the account gets hacked, the app shuts down - and suddenly the documentation of entire chapters of your life exists only in a server somewhere, inaccessible and fragile. A physical photo album is something you can hand to someone. Something you can stumble across in a box fifteen years from now and feel everything about a season in an instant. Document your life in something you can touch.

9. The art of being boring in peace: Nowadays, you cannot be quiet in a group of people without someone asking if you are okay every four minutes. You are not allowed to contribute a little and observe a lot without being singled out as the shy one. The expectation that everyone must be entertaining, engaging, and switched on in every social setting is exhausting - and it has made people feel like their natural quietness is a problem to be fixed rather than a personality to be respected. You can be boring. It is allowed.

10. The art of the funny screenshot: There was a time when saying something genuinely hilarious in the group chat was an event. You would get screenshotted. The screenshot would travel. You would be celebrated for being the funniest person in the conversation. People tried to be funny. People had comedic timing in text. Now everybody is just responding with emojis and moving on with their lives like we are not here to entertain each other. The group chat used to be a stage. Now it is a bulletin board. 😭

11. The art of platonic intimacy: When did it become weird to hug your friends? The physical closeness between friends that says, I am comfortable with you. I am safe with you. I am glad you are here. has been so sexualized by outside perception that people now flinch away from it with the people they love most. Hug your friends. Embrace them. Hold their hand when they’re crying. Tell them you love them. Platonic intimacy is not a lesser category of closeness. It is its own profound and necessary kind of love. Bring it back. Your friends need it. Honestly, so do you.

12. The art of community: It’s now considered normal to live in the same apartment building for months, or even years - without knowing your neighbours’ names. It’s become acceptable to skip your friend’s event because “I just don’t have the strength.” We’ve become a little too comfortable choosing convenience over showing up for the people we love. But the truth is, the price of community is inconvenience. Bring community back. We were never meant to do life alone.

13. The art of researching: Nobody wants to do a little bit of digging anymore. Nobody wants to take the extra time to open a few tabs and find the answers they need. Instead, they’ll wait on the benevolence of someone else to answer their comment. We’ve become very comfortable asking questions we could have answered in thirty seconds, or remaining naive to information that’s literally at our fingertips. Google is free. Read the article. Open the second tab. Upload that picture to Google Image to find the item. Be curious enough to find out.

To Conclude:

Maybe some of these things have become lost arts because we’ve genuinely outgrown them. That’s okay. Growth is part of life.

But I don’t think we should outgrow joy. I don’t think we should outgrow love. I don’t think we should outgrow community, curiosity, or the little things that make life feel softer. Not everything that becomes “cringe” deserves to disappear. Sometimes, we’ve just become too concerned with looking cool that we’ve forgotten what it feels like to simply enjoy ourselves.

The beautiful thing is that you don’t need the world’s permission to bring these things back into your own life. You have free will.

So send the long message. Dress up just because you feel like it. Celebrate your friends loudly. Talk to strangers. Write the birthday paragraph. Hold your friend’s hand. Be curious enough to ask Google “silly,” questions.

These things may have become lost arts to the world, but they don’t have to become lost arts to you.

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I don’t know what happened, but somewhere along the line, the internet declared war on avoidants. Every time I go on the internet, somebody is exposing us.

“Leave avoidants alone.”
“They don’t actually want love.”
“Stop dating emotionally unavailable people.”
“If they’re avoidant, run.”

For the longest time, we had the upper hand. People blamed themselves. People chased us. People wrote think pieces trying to understand us. Now the tables have turned. Phew!

Everyone has a psychology thread, therapy language, and suddenly, everyone knows our tricks. And unfortunately...

I think they’re starting to make some valid points.

But the funny thing is that being avoidant doesn’t feel the way people think it does. People assume we don’t want closeness. I don’t think that’s true.

I think we want it.

We’re just terrified of what happens after we get it. It’s like your heart and your nervous system signed two completely different contracts.

Your heart says, “Go.”
Your nervous system says, “Absolutely not.”

And somewhere in the middle, you become a walking contradiction. 🫷🫸

The more I’ve paid attention to myself lately, the more I’ve realized something that surprised me.

My avoidant personality doesn’t only show up in my romantic relationships. It bleeds into everything.

Friendships. Work. Conflict. Career. Even receiving kindness.

I saw it so many times while planning my event. There were moments I’d pause and genuinely ask myself, “Yetunde, why did you just behave like that?”

One of them was money. I complained endlessly about how much I was spending on the event. I was stressed. I was overwhelmed. I was calculating budgets in my head every single day.

Yet, when people reached out asking, “Please send your account details. I’d love to support you,” I did the exact opposite of what I wanted.

I ignored the messages. Then, after the event, I went back and reply with: “Omggg, I’m just seeing this. But you really didn’t have to. Thank you so much. The event went well.”

It was a lie. I saw every single message. I smiled when I read them. I felt grateful that people cared enough to offer. Then I quietly ran away from the help.

It wasn’t pride. At least I don’t think it was. It wasn’t that I didn’t need the money either, because I absolutely did. Something in me simply finds it easier to carry the weight alone than to let someone else carry even a tiny part of it. And that, I’ve realized, is avoidance too.

Another instant of my messy avoidant self bleeding into work. I hired an assistant, and somewhere along the line, we had a bit of friction. Nothing dramatic, or impossible to solve. A normal conversation would’ve fixed it.

Instead, I started withdrawing. Short replies. Cold responses. Silence.

The further I pulled away, the more uncomfortable everything became. Then one day she asked me something that genuinely made me reflect.

“If there’s something I’m not doing well, just let me know.”

And I remember thinking... Yetunde. Are you okay? This is someone you’re paying. Why are you avoiding a simple conversation of correcting her? Why are you letting your discomfort do the talking for you? Be a big girl. Or, in this case, be a boss. Have the conversation, and set things right.

This wasn’t just about dating anymore. This thing had followed me to work. And once I saw it there, I couldn’t unsee it.

A few months back, I wrote a thread called Oddly Specific Moments I Wish I Had a Boyfriend.

I thought people would laugh. Instead, thousands of women related to it. Some laughed. Some teased me. I also got dragged for it. Apparently, some men thought my reasons for wanting a boyfriend were too selfish and self-centered. Not that I cared because… why else would I want a man? Lol.

In the middle of all that, a mutual quoted my thread and said,

“This is weird. You can literally do all these things with your friends. You don’t need a man for that.”

I blocked her. Not because she was rude. Because she annoyed me.

First, I thought it was malicious. She knows I’m pro-sisterhood, and if she had read the thread in good faith, she would have seen that it was just a lighthearted, wishy-washy post.

But somewhere deep down, what really got to me was that it felt like she was accusing me of not appreciating my friendships. And I do.

I have incredible friends. Some of the best people I know.

In-fact, I genuinely think one of the reasons I’ve been able to comfortably live inside my avoidant bubble for so long is because my friendships have been so fulfilling.

But after sitting with that irritation for a while, I had to ask myself a question I wasn’t expecting.

What if both things are true? What if I can deeply love my friends...

...and still want romantic love?

What if those desires aren’t competing? What if they are simply different?

What if calling my best friend for three hours doesn’t cancel out the fact that sometimes I wish there was a man I wanted to call for three hours too? And then came the most annoying realization of all.

My ego had been hurt recently.

Not my heart. My ego.

At least that’s what I kept telling myself. Until I realized something.

Ego doesn’t get bruised over things that don’t matter.

Somewhere underneath all that pride was a version of me that had quietly hoped for more. A version of me that wished she hadn’t avoided. A version of me that wished she had been kinder to this person. A version of me whose heart isn’t actually made of stone.

And that sadly, we “avoidants” deserve all the heat we’ve been getting lately.

Until we fix our hearts and our heads, maybe we should be avoided too. Better still, don’t get into an entanglement with someone if your plan is to make them do all the reaching out.

Nobody deserves to keep dancing like that clown in front of the queen.

I wanted to eat my cake and have it too. And for the longest time, I did.

I ate one cake, looked down, and somehow another one was waiting for me. My avoidant self got away with it for so long that she probably should’ve been diagnosed with diabetes.

Then, in a snap, that privilege disappeared. I looked around and realized there was no cake left.

In the days that followed, I sat with emotions I had spent years outrunning. Longing. Missing. Regret. Remorse. Anger. Self-awareness. Name it.

And somewhere in all of that, I became honest enough to admit something.

I didn’t write that thread only because it was funny. I wrote it because I wanted every single one of those things.

That wasn’t just writer Yetunde speaking. That was human Yetunde too.

Which brings me back to that thread.

Because this time, I’m not writing it as somebody making jokes.

I’m writing it as an avoidant, with eyes slightly lowered in embarrassment, admitting all the oddly specific moments she wished she had a boyfriend.

Oddly specific moments I wished I had a boyfriend:

1. Sunday evenings: There is a specific loneliness that attacks around 5:47pm on Sundays. Suddenly I want brunch dates, forehead kisses, cinema plans, and somebody asking me if I’ve eaten. Monday to Friday, I am busy and the busyness keeps me functional. But Sunday evening, I feel like I should be on a soft couch somewhere watching something with somebody’s son, while he’s rubbing my head. Because why is the weekend ending and I’m just lying down staring at the ceiling? Ugh.

2. After a night out with the girls: The night was perfect. Everyone was beautiful, and life felt genuinely worth living for about four hours straight. And then the night ends and everyone starts peeling off - and some of them are going home to a person. Meanwhile I am in a cab, alone, with all this energy and nowhere to put it. Nobody to debrief to. Nobody to receive the proceedings of whatever the alcohol unlocked in me tonight. The girls were great but there is a specific role that needed filling and it’s vacant. 🫠

3. When I am sick: Nothing humbles you like dragging your weak body to the clinic yourself; signing your own forms, and coming home to an empty apartment. Not even seriously sick. Just sick enough for someone to check my temperature with actual concern on their face. Someone to make me food I did not have to request or describe or supervise. At some point during the coughing, sneezing, and swallowing of bitter drugs, you start thinking… wow. A man should actually be buying me Lucozade Boost right now.

4. When I need to be picked up from the airport: There is something so cinematic about your man waiting for you at arrivals. Just standing there, looking out for your face, maybe holding flowers. I have seen it happen for other people in real time and I can’t wait to experience it. Everybody is hugging somebody at arrivals. Flowers. Tight hugs. “I missed you.” Meanwhile I’m pricing Bolt and dragging my box with one dead hand. ✋

5. When I am watching a rom-com: I’m a Rom-com girlie. I will always love them. But there are moments, usually when the male lead does something that is technically simple but lands enormous - where I pause and think, I would like this to happen to me specifically. Not to JLo. Or Julia Roberts. To me. In my actual life. The rom-com industrial complex has given me very detailed expectations and absolutely no delivery timeline and I am just supposed to be okay about that. Where’s my Matthew McConaughey?

6. When I am ovulating: I will not be elaborating. I think we all understand. A girl has needs and the calendar has opinions and that is truly all I will be saying on the matter. Moving on.

7. When I can't reach my zip: I have a beautiful dress with the zip at the back. You see the problem. I've done full-body contortions, considered my options, and I'm left with only two choices: ask a neighbor with the right kind of shame, or worse, step out into the world until a savior appears. This dress needs two people to zip, but I wear it alone, and the math just doesn't add up. Someone should always be available for zip duty. This basic relationship service is being denied to me.

8. When something minor goes wrong and I just need to complain to somebody: My phone is buffering. My Apple ID is locked for the third time this week. The wifi has chosen violence. Nothing catastrophic, just the small irritating things that would be so much more bearable if I could turn to a person and say “can you believe this” and have them validate my frustration. I do not even need them to fix it. I just need a live human audience for my suffering. The group chat is not the same. They have their own problems.

9. Late night drives: When I am in a car going somewhere at night and the city is doing that thing where it looks actually beautiful - that is when the passenger princess fantasy hits hardest. I want to be in the front seat of someone’s car, music on, going nowhere specific, doing that thing couples do where they just exist together in motion. Instead I am driving myself or tracking a cab and neither of those options has the same energy. Not even close.

10. When I am bored at a specific level of boredom: Not the boredom that a show fixes. The boredom that requires a person. Where you have already texted the girls and the conversation has naturally concluded and now you are just there, scrolling the same four apps in rotation, and what you actually want is for someone to call you just because they wanted to hear your voice. That specific boredom. It hits differently and it has a very specific cure that I do not currently have access to.

11. After achieving something important: A wins at work, a milestone, good news, or finally seeing hard work pay off. And yes, I have amazing friends and family. Yes, I’m proud of myself. But sometimes I wish there was that one voice saying, “I’m so proud of you.” That one person who’s just as excited because I am. The person whose happiness feels linked to mine. That romantic witness validation. And in those moments, I won’t lie, I suddenly want a boyfriend.

And then I ended the thread with this:

And to everyone reading this who wants their own love story, I genuinely hope you find your person. Someone who feels like peace, friendship, attraction, and home all at once.
But until then, please don’t treat your single season like a waiting room. Your life is not on pause. Keep travelling. Keep dressing up. Keep celebrating your wins. Keep buying yourself flowers. Keep creating memories. Keep building a life that excites you.

It is okay to want love, just don’t let the absence of a partner stop you from fully enjoying the life that is already in front of you. ✨

The uncomfortable truth I arrived at:

I can’t keep treating my prospective romantic relationships like they’re disposable and expect to one day wake up with the kind of love I say I want.

I’ve spent years having all the fun. Keeping one foot in and one foot out. Convincing myself that I was simply avoidant.

But maybe that’s not the full story.

Maybe I am avoidant. Maybe I also have a choice. Because I can’t keep wrestling with myself like this. I can’t keep pushing away the very people who are willing to give me everything I’ve been writing that I want.

I can’t keep wishing for something while rejecting it every time it gets close enough to touch.

Maybe the next stage of my life isn’t finding love. Maybe it’s finally learning how to receive it.

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Over the years, I have heard women, on the internet and in-person, say things like:

“I wanted to break up with him, but he refused.”
Or:
“I didn’t want to continue anymore, but I just let it go.”
Or:
“I know this thing is stressing me, but let me just manage it.”

And every single time, my brain pauses for a second. Because what do you mean he refused? Like, he is not going to “allow” you break up with him? Is there an invisible umbilical cord tying both of you together that would make that impossible? What exactly does it mean when someone says they won’t let you break up with them or take back something that clearly belongs to you?

Because let me tell you exactly what I would do in a situation like that. This is not advice. This is simply Yetunde operating at full capacity.

If I tell somebody I want to break up and the person says no, I will first look at my phone that’s the channel that received that message, lock it, unlock it, and check if the message was truly sent to me.

Because what exactly do you mean by no? You cannot hold me hostage in a relationship. If it comes with threats, emotional manipulation, or blackmail, my answer remains the same.

No.

As a full-fledged human that I am, once I have decided that I no longer want to participate in something, I have every right to remove myself from it. This is not just about relationships either.

I genuinely believe that anything I willingly gave access to, I can willingly take back. My time. My energy. My money. My emotional labour. My availability. My presence. My forgiveness. My access.

I can take it all back.

The other day, I was online and came across a video compilation of Zendaya. The comments were full of people saying, “We miss when Zendaya used to share things like this. We miss when Zendaya felt like our friend. We miss when she shared everything.”

I’ve seen people say the exact same thing about Beyoncé. People say they miss when they knew everything about her life and had all the tea. And that’s another example of someone withdrawing access.

These are women who used to share before. They simply reached a point where they decided, “I no longer want to give the public unrestricted access to this part of my life.” It is not always about becoming private, mysterious, or low-key. I’m very sure there are still people close to them who know exactly what’s going on in their lives. They didn’t stop sharing altogether. They just became more intentional about who gets access.

And that’s the point I’m driving at.

Somewhere along the way, very early in our journey into adulthood and womanhood, we were conditioned to believe that endurance is our greatest virtue.

You grow up hearing phrases like, “Manage it. Be patient. Stay. Be understanding. Don’t be selfish. Give it another chance. Think about other people.” And of course, our parents generation’s favourite, “What will people say?”

Before you know it, your entire life becomes a series of negotiations against yourself. You are shrinking yourself to fit situations you have already mentally left. You are staying in rooms that no longer deserve your presence. You are carrying things you dropped emotionally months ago. You are exhausting yourself because somebody convinced you that leaving makes you a bad person.

It doesn’t.

There are some things you do not need to endure, or explain, you just simply need to withdraw from them. Sometimes it is simply saying: I’m not doing this anymore. And then not doing it anymore.

No committee meeting. No six months explanation. No ten business days notice. Just an ordinary human being exercising her right to remove herself from something she no longer wants. 🤷‍♀️

And because so many of us were never taught this, I sat down and put together a list of things I think women are allowed to withdraw from:

1. You can withdraw access: There are people who have your number, know your address, can reach you at any hour, and walk into your space without much friction; not because you made a grand decision to let them in, but because it just happened gradually over time. But the moment something shifts, or they do something that makes you uncomfortable or crosses a line - you are allowed to quietly close the door. You do not even have to explain, just put the measures in place, and take back their access to you. 🚫

2. You can withdraw consent: You can change your mind. At any point. For any reason. Even if you said yes before. Even if it was an informed decision you made with a clear head. Even if nothing bad happened and things were fine and you simply just do not want to anymore. Consent is not a contract with no exit clause - it is a concept that belongs entirely to you and can be taken back the moment you decide to take it back. No justification required. No proof of harm needed. “I don’t want to anymore” is a complete sentence.

3. You can withdraw information: Not every question deserves an answer just because someone asked it. There is a difference between someone genuinely trying to know you and someone probing for information they have no real right to. You are allowed to sense that difference and act accordingly. You do not owe anyone the details of your life, your finances, your plans, your past, or your present. And if a white lie is what keeps your peace intact in a moment where the truth would only be weaponized, that is a tool you are allowed to use.

4. You can withdraw closeness: You were best friends. You were inseparable. You told each other everything. And then something happened or maybe just a slow accumulation of moments that changed how safe you felt with that person. And now you do not want to be best friends anymore; you are allowed to demote the relationship without it being a war. That person can go from best friend to friend. From friend to acquaintance. From acquaintance to someone you simply nod at when your paths cross. You are not obligated to maintain any relationship at the level it once was.

5. You can withdraw permission: Maybe you gave someone the go-ahead to do something, or use a thing of yours. Or maybe it was something you said was okay in a specific moment. And now it is not okay anymore. You are allowed to go back and say - actually, I need you to stop. I know I said yes before, but I am saying something different now. The permission you gave them then does not have to be the permission they operate on forever. People who respect you will stop. People who don’t will reveal themselves. Either way you’re allowed to revoke permission.

6. You can withdraw your time: You used to make yourself available. You picked up the phone every time. You showed up when called. You rearranged your schedule around other people’s needs so consistently that it became an expectation - theirs and almost yours. You are allowed to stop being that available; your time is one of the most valuable things you own and you do not have to keep giving it to situations and people that treat it as a given. Protect your calendar the way you protect your money. Not everything gets access.

7. You can withdraw your labor: As a woman, it’s very important to recognize when to say, “No, I’m not doing that, let someone else do it.” The mental labor of being the one who remembers everything, plans everything, and holds everything together. The domestic labor that somehow always lands on you. The invisible work you do constantly that nobody sees until you stop doing it. You are allowed to put it down. You are allowed to let something drop and see who picks it up. You are allowed to stop being the person who makes everything work at the expense of your own rest and sanity.

8. You withdraw your vulnerability: You need to be okay with people saying, “you don’t tell me things or share things with me like before.” Yes, you don’t. Case closed. You opened up, shared heartfelt things - and somewhere along the way, that vulnerability was mishandled. Used against you, dismissed, or simply not held with the care it deserved. You are allowed to close that part back up with that person. You do not have to keep being open with someone who has shown you they do not know what to do with your openness.

9. You can withdraw your tolerance: There are things you have been tolerating; behaviors, dynamics, patterns, comments - that you should never have had to normalize in the first place. Maybe you tolerated them because you were younger and did not know better. Or because you were tired of fighting. Or because leaving felt harder than staying. But your tolerance was never an endorsement. And withdrawing it now, at whatever point you are at, is not too late. You are allowed to decide that what you have been putting up with is no longer something you are willing to put up with. Full stop.

10. You can withdraw your presence: From rooms that do not value you. From conversations that consistently leave you feeling smaller. From tables where your seat is technically there but your voice is never really heard. You are allowed to get up and go. Quietly, without making it a scene, without needing anyone to understand why. Your presence is not a charity, and rooms that deserve it will feel it when it arrives. The ones that never valued it will only notice it when it is gone.

To Conclude:

As a woman, it should be in your understanding that you came into this world with things that belong entirely to you; your access, your time, your energy, your softness, your presence, your consent - and that you have the full right to decide who gets them, for how long, and under what conditions.

Access to you is not permanent. Your presence is not a lifetime subscription. Your endurance is not a measure of your goodness. Nobody gave those things to you, they were yours from the beginning. Which means nobody can tell you when to take them back.

Always remember: if you gave it, you are allowed to withdraw it.

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Shifts. Morning shifts. Night shifts. Rotating schedules that somehow made every day feel like Monday. It was a love-hate relationship, although the hate definitely took up a larger percentage. The love came from getting to work with some of my favourite girls, Ese and Zainab. My fellow corpers who made even the longest shifts a little easier and a lot more memorable.

At the time, I lived in Ajah. And if you know Lagos, you know Ajah traffic is not a personality-building exercise. It is a test of endurance.

Some days I left home before 6:00am. Some days I got home when I was too tired to do anything except stare at the ceiling and wonder if this was what adulthood was supposed to feel like.

I was grateful to have a job. Very grateful. But I was also looking for something else. A different way to work. A different way to earn. A different way to build a career. And eventually, I landed a remote role as a social media manager for an international fintech company.

And suddenly my life looked different. Not perfect, but different. I still woke up early, still had deadlines, still attended meetings. In fact, because I worked across time zones, some days felt even more demanding than a traditional office job.

But I was no longer spending hours inside traffic, I wasn’t jumping buses, or planning my entire life around commuting. I had more control over my time. More flexibility. More freedom.

Over the years, I’ve continued working remotely in different capacities, and if you’re wondering whether remote work is all sunshine and happiness, the answer is no. You’ll still need discipline, structure, and need to make a conscious effort to have a life outside your laptop (Macbook *insert unnecessary bragging right 🙂‍↕️).

And yes, sometimes it gets lonely.

But for me, it has been worth it.

It has opened doors I didn’t even know existed.

Which is why I get excited whenever I find opportunities that can help other people access those same doors.

Recently, through my partnership with Jobberman for my upcoming event, No One Warned You About This Part: Live, they offered something I immediately knew I wanted to share with my community.

A Free Global Gig Work Course.

This is not a motivational webinar, or one of those courses that teaches you nothing and disappears after registration.

An actual practical course designed to teach people how to find international opportunities, position themselves for remote work, communicate with clients, and navigate the global gig economy.

And the best part? It’s completely free.

If you’ve ever wanted to work remotely, earn online, explore freelancing, or simply understand how people build careers beyond traditional employment, I think you should check it out. You’ll also be getting a certificate upon completion.

I’ve attached the registration details below.

Global Gig Work Mastery Course

Take a look.

Sign up.

Do something your future self might thank you for.

And if remote work eventually changes your life the way it changed mine, I hope you’ll come back and tell me about it.

P.S. This opportunity came through because of my upcoming event, No One Warned You About This Part: Live, happening on June 27th.

If you’ve ever found comfort, clarity, or companionship in my writing… I want to invite you into this room I’m putting together.

An afternoon of honest conversations about womanhood, identity, healing, ambition, career growth, money, self-preservation, and becoming.

You’ll hear from incredible women, connect with other women who get it, enjoy community moments, refreshments, networking, and be part of the official live launch of my book; No One Warned You About This Part.

This is going to be a room full of women choosing growth, connection, and themselves. And I’d love for you to be there. 🥹

June 27th, 2026. Lagos, Nigeria.

Registration is officially, and you can click on the link below to reserve your spot.

RESERVE YOUR SEAT FOR NOWYATP:LIVE

I can’t wait to meet y’all. 🥹

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If you asked me about my dad, I’d tell you I love him and I miss him more than I have words for. That losing him is the most painful thing I have ever experienced in my life. That there isn’t a single day I don’t wish he was still here.

But if you asked me on a deeper level…

I’d tell you that I still haven’t been able to refer to him in the past tense. Not fully. Something in me refuses to let that settle. It feels less like he died and more like he went somewhere very far away and just hasn’t come back yet. My mouth knows the truth. My mind understands that he is gone. But some part of me refuses to accept it.

I’d tell you about the guilt. The kind that sits in your chest and has no clean name. As a firstborn daughter, I keep replaying everything - wondering if I did enough, said enough, showed up enough while he was here. There is no answer that satisfies it. It just lives there. An unspeakable weight I carry quietly because I don’t even know how to put it into words that would make sense to anyone else.

I’d tell you that I grieve the milestones he won’t see. He was such a proud father - the kind who celebrated everything. And I think about the things still coming. My wedding day. My children. The moments he was supposed to be in the front row for. There is a chair that will always feel empty at the most important moments of my life, and I am already learning to sit with that.

I’d tell you that I haven’t seen him in a dream yet. And I don’t know why. People tell me they have dreamed of their dead parents - that it felt like a visit, like a message, like one more moment. I keep waiting for mine. I go to sleep sometimes still hoping. It is one of the quietest longing I carry and I have never said it out loud until now.

I’d tell you that my dad gave me the opposite of daddy issues. He set the standard; quietly, consistently, just by being who he was. He showed me what a good man looks like before I ever had to go looking for one. And I carry that with me everywhere, into every room, into every decision about what I will and will not accept. That was his gift to me and he didn’t even know he was giving it.

I’d tell you that losing him cracked something open in me when it comes to grief. Now when I hear about other people’s problems, I sometimes catch myself going quiet inside - not because I don’t care, but because my reference point for pain has been permanently shifted. I feel guilty about that too.

I’d tell you that sometimes I feel selfish grieving him. The grief of an eldest daughter who is trying to hold herself together while also knowing her younger ones lost him for even longer stretches of life ahead. I had him longer than they did, so I wonder what this loss feels like through their eyes. I want to fall apart and then I remember them, and I pull myself back together.

I’d tell you that I use humor. That when I make jokes about my dad it is not because it doesn’t hurt - it is because if I stop laughing I will start crying and I am not always sure I will be able to stop. The jokes are the lid on something very deep. This thread is me lifting it, just a little. Just enough.

I’d tell you that some days I lose my motivation completely. That I will be working towards something, a milestone, something he would have been proud of, and then it hits me that he won’t be there to see it. And I just stop. I have to talk myself back into it. Remind myself that the living still deserve my effort even when the person I most wanted to witness it is gone.

I’d tell you that they say time heals everything. It doesn’t. It just gets quieter. Fainter. But it is still there; the absence, the missing, the specific shape of the hole he left. It creeps back in through a song, a smell, a voice note I go back to just to hear him again. Because I am already afraid of the day I start forgetting the sound of his voice. The day I have to work to remember instead of just remembering. That fear lives with me every single day.

I’d tell you that the worst part is the closure I never got. There was no final conversation. No last words. No moment where we both knew it was goodbye and said everything we needed to say. It was just a normal day - and then it wasn’t. And I have had to learn to live with that permanently open ending. The only thing that gives me any peace is the possibility of an afterlife. Because if there is one, I get to find him there. And I have so much to say.

If you asked me about my dad, I’d tell you he was a good man who tried his best and loved his children in the way he knew how.

But if you asked me on a deeper level…

I’d tell you that one year later, it still doesn’t feel real. That I love him in the present tense and I always will. And that I am grateful, every single day, that I got to be his daughter - even if it wasn’t for long enough. 🕊️🤍🥺

“Grief is the unbelievable price you pay for love.”

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Whenever people hear “all-girls school,” they usually imagine one thing. No boys. And technically, they’re right.

But for me, it was more than that.

I spent six years in an all-girls boarding school, from JS1 all the way through secondary school. And while the school itself wasn’t completely isolated from boys, the hostel was a different story entirely.

Our hostel, which was called “Glory Hostel,” was its own little universe. A world made up almost entirely of teenage girls.

Girls sleeping in bunk beds. Girls fighting. Girls laughing. Girls borrowing hair cream. Girls crying over exams. Girls leading assemblies. Girls getting into trouble. Girls solving problems. Girls being brilliant. Girls being annoying.

Just girls.

And when you spend six of your most formative years in an environment like that, it does something to you. Whether you realize it or not, it shapes you. And I don’t think I fully understood that until I became an adult.

Because in that environment, you get to witness something many people never get to see. And when I say many people, I mean people who never had the privilege, yes, privilege, of attending an all-girls school or living in an all-girls hostel. People whose formative years happened within the usual social mix of boys and girls.

For people like me, we saw something different.

We saw girls excel. Girls who command rooms, become class captains, labor prefects, social prefects, senior prefects, and heads of entire student bodies without anybody questioning whether girls were capable of leadership.

We saw girls dominate academics. Girls who debate, organize, build, lead, compete, fail, recover, and succeed, all without boys being positioned as the default standard we were supposed to measure ourselves against.

We saw girls be multifaceted. Girls who are academic stars, athletes, young baddies, troublemakers, comedians, entrepreneurs, leaders, and everything in between.

For six years, to me, competence had a female face. I woke up and saw it every day.

At the same time, I also saw many of the things people love to say about women. Sometimes, I even saw those stereotypes play out in real time.

I saw gossip. I saw rivalry. I saw jealousy. I saw friendship breakups that felt more painful than some romantic heartbreaks. I saw girls support each other beautifully, and I saw girls hurt each other too.

The good and the bad existed side by side. There was no pedestal.

The same girl who helped you keep your place in line so you could fetch water and bathe before prep could turn around and say the wildest things about you the moment you left the shower room. Sometimes you would genuinely wonder how somebody so young could be so mean. Other times, you would be amazed by how kind another girl could be.

I had a friend group in school. We called ourselves “The 5 Sisters.” 😂

And for a while, we genuinely were. Then came the fallout.

There were tears, heartbreak, and what we classified as betrayal at that age. At the time, it felt like the end of the world.

So believe me when I say I saw both sides.

I saw girls at their best, and I saw girls at their worst.

And I won’t lie—I’m grateful for the experience. Because it taught me something important very early:

Women are not one thing. We’re not angels. We’re not villains. We’re not a motivational quote about sisterhood.

We’re people.

Complicated, funny, ambitious, insecure, brilliant, messy people.

And spending six years surrounded by girls gave me a front-row seat to all of it. Looking back now, there are so many things I picked up from that experience that still show up in the way I move through the world today.

So I sat down and made a list.

Here are some of the ways going to an all-girls school shapes you, whether you realize it at the time or not:

1. You either grew up to center men… or not at all: Because you spent formative years in a world where boys were not the currency of attention, you either grew up craving and fascinated by their attention (because it was scarce) OR you became someone who genuinely doesn’t center them at all - not caring for the attention (because you learned to exist without it). There is rarely an in-between.

2. You see the world through a matriarchal lens: When people talk about male leadership as natural or superior, it just doesn’t compute. Your entire school experience was run by women - your head girl was a woman, your prefects were women, your strict authority were women, your role models were women. You watched women lead, organize, discipline, inspire, and run everything efficiently. Leadership, in your reality—was women.

3. You see female excellence differently: Competition doesn’t threaten you - you thrive on seeing women achieve, and living soft. You grew up celebrating girls who were brilliant, athletic, creative, prayerful, or bold. Successful women don’t intimidate you, they inspire you. You’re genuinely happy for a stranger woman like she’s your friend. So in adulthood, you clap loudly for other women without shrinking.

4. You learned the emotional pattern of girls early: An all-girls school teaches you to read behavior like a language. You can tell who’s jealous, who’s lying, who’s hurting, who’s pretending, who’s the leader. You saw female cruelty up close: the cliques, the exclusion, the gossip, the social hierarchies. It sharpened your PATTERN RECOGNITION skills - you can read female behavior, spot fake friendship, identify genuine connection.

5. You value female friendship deeply: When people say ‘women are catty,’ ‘female friendships are complicated,’ you genuinely cannot relate. Your formative years were built on deep, loyal, ride-or-die female friendships. You lived with these girls. Cried with them. Laughed until you couldn’t breathe. Built a community. You KNOW what women are capable of when they show up for each other. So that narrative? It doesn’t touch you.

You also learned community-building. Dorm life, house meetings, rowdy dining halls, group punishments—you were raised in a micro-society. Now you’re the friend who knows how to organize, mediate, host, gather, and hold a group together. All-girls school trains you for womanhood in ways theory never can.

6. You struggle with male authority: You find it incredibly difficult to submit to male authority, and not because you’re disrespectful - you just don’t have that automatic deference. You didn’t grow up being told to listen to boys, defer to them, or see them as authority figures. Women were your leaders. So when a man expects automatic respect just because he’s a man? That doesn’t land with you. You respect competence, not gender.

7. You’re deeply self-dependent: That school groomed a level of independence that feels like a superpower, and it engineered you to be deeply self-dependent. You don’t see romantic relationships as a necessity for survival or success. You know you can build a full, rich, accomplished life without male attention - so you don’t panic when it’s absent. And that independence? It never leaves you.

8. Coming into the real world, the depravity of some men shocked you: Street harassment. The entitlement. The unsolicited touches. The audacity - all shocking. You existed for YEARS in an environment where that didn’t happen, so experiencing that for the first time as an adult? It was jarring, violating, and made you realize how much you’d been protected in that all-girls bubble. Now, you have to be on guard in ways you never had to before.

9. You’re hyper-aware of male incompetence: When a man fumbles basic organization, communication, or emotional intelligence, you’re genuinely baffled because you watched teenage girls run entire school systems with excellence. You’ve seen 16-year-old girls manage budgets, lead assemblies, resolve conflicts, and coordinate events flawlessly. So when grown men can’t do basic things? You have very little patience.

10. Your relationship with femininity is different: ‘Girls dress up for men’ - absolutely not. You dress up for yourself and the girlies. You show cleavage because you like it, because it’s cute, because the girls will gasp. You’re deeply comfortable in your femininity because you grew up surrounded by women exploring it together - makeup, fashion, periods, bodies, all of it was open and normalized. You’re for the female gaze, not male gaze.

To Conclude:

Going to an All-girls school shapes your worldview in a subtle but permanent way. A little toughness. A little grace. A deep understanding of sisterhood. And a confidence that comes from surviving a system only the girls who lived it truly understand. We carry a quiet pride that people who didn’t attend can’t decode.

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Not in a “we all have the same personality” type of way. But in the small things, tiny habits, and our reflexes. The way responsibility sits on us even when nobody is actively asking for anything in that exact moment.

I’m an eldest daughter myself, and honestly, I’m constantly conflicted about it.

Because sometimes I don’t want to make “eldest daughter” my whole personality. But then I remember I have five younger siblings and I start laughing because unfortunately… this thing is very real for me.

I’m not just an eldest daughter. I’m somebody’s small mummy. And that role follows you everywhere, whether you like it or not.

The funny thing is, eldest daughters somehow have their own silent community. Even when we are strangers. There’s this immediate understanding that exists between us. Like an unspoken language.

One time I was hanging out with another eldest daughter and every five minutes she would hiss quietly and check her phone with that specific stressed expression.

And immediately I just asked: “Your people are disturbing you?”
And she said, “Yes oh.”

No explanation needed, but I understood instantly. Because that’s the thing about eldest daughters. We recognize the signs.

It even reminds me of the Igbo idea of extended family systems, “Umunna”. The way people belong to groups beyond just themselves. There’s this collective identity that quietly shapes you, we’re like Kinsmen.

That’s what eldest daughters feel like sometimes. A tiny country. A support group. A union of girls who were promoted to assistant parent before they even fully became children themselves.

Recently, while listening to Taylor Swift’s Ophilia, I had used the song over an IG post and I heard the line:

“the eldest daughter of a nobleman…”

So I got curious, then went to ask Google if she was part of my kinsmen, and guess what? Taylor Swift is also an eldest daughter!

Which honestly explains a lot.

Because once I start paying attention, I begin to notice the the theme everywhere in her lyrics. The hyper-responsibility. The overthinking. The emotional intensity. The pressure. The quiet need to hold everything together.

And mind you, Taylor Swift has one younger sibling.

Me? I have five. 5!

Someone please tell Taylor to call me for a feature. I have a lot to say.

But jokes aside, there really are patterns with eldest daughters. Things almost all of us can relate to regardless of background.

Whether you grew up rich or struggling. Whether your family was soft or strict. Whether you’re the “strong one” or the one trying to rebel against the role entirely.

There are just some things that connect us.

So I sat down and made an eldest daughter starter pack.

And honestly, if you’re an eldest daughter, I know at least a few of these will hit home immediately.

1. Control freak: “Relax, I’ll handle it” are words she physically cannot process. If she’s not involved, she’s anxious. If she delegates, she still wants updates every five business days. She will be on leave, supposed to be decompressing but she is still checking in, still sending the voice note that starts with “I know I’m off today but…” Even during enjoyment, part of her brain is still trying to coordinate logistics. She cannot fully rest when something is happening that she is not overseeing.

2. Hyper-independent: It is either she does it herself or she does it herself properly - those are the only two options on the table. She is her own plan A, plan B, and plan C. If someone else shows up to help, wonderful, she will accept it graciously, but she was never actually counting on it. The self-sufficiency looks admirable from the outside. From the inside it is exhausting and she is working on it. Slowly. On her own. Obviously. 🤷‍♀️

3. Avoidant attachment: She loves deeply, genuinely, with everything she has - and she is terrified of it. So what does she do? She stays in the middle. Close enough to feel something, far enough to feel safe, confused enough to keep everyone including herself guessing. She wants the love. She also wants the exit route. She has not quite figured out how to want both and be okay about it. 😕

4. Always listening to something: Music. Podcasts. Background noise. YouTube essays. Anything. Silence feels too loud because once everywhere becomes quiet, all the thoughts she has been outrunning start pulling up aggressively. So the noise never stops. She wakes up and puts something on. She cooks with something playing. She falls asleep to a podcast host she has never met but feels weirdly comforted by.

5. Always on a call: Someone is always calling; if her phone rings 17 times in one hour, nobody is surprised. It’s either work, family, younger siblings, responsibilities, somebody asking for help, somebody updating her or somebody needing something urgently. Eldest daughters are basically unpaid call centers. The irony is that when she needs to call someone, she will sit with her phone for twenty minutes deciding if she is being too much. She is not. She never is.

6. Cries at everything: Even though nobody sees her cry. Happy tears. Sad tears. Anxious tears. Grateful tears. Overwhelmed tears. Tears because a song reminded her of a moment. The eldest daughter has a full emotional reservoir that she keeps tightly managed in front of everyone and then releases in the shower, in the car, at 1am for no specific reason.

7. Undiagnosed something: At this point there’s always one suspicious symptom she keeps ignoring because she’s too busy taking care of everybody else first. Hormonal imbalance. Burnout. Anxiety. ADHD. PCOS. Chronic stress. Eldest daughters carry so much in their bodies for so long that the body eventually starts sending invoices. She has also been meaning to book an appointment for the last six months. Please book the appointment.

8. Highs highs - lows lows: When she is thriving, she is genuinely thriving; productive, inspired, on top of everything, almost intimidatingly put together. And when she crashes, she crashes all the way. The flatness comes out of nowhere and stays longer than she would like. People who only see the high version are always shocked by the low. People who know her well know that both are real, both are her, and the best thing you can do during the low is just show up and not ask her to perform okay when she is not.

9. Emotional absorber: Everybody’s emotions somehow become her responsibility. She walks into a room and immediately starts sensing tension, mood shifts, sadness, stress and discomfort. Even when nobody says anything, she can already feel that something is wrong.

10. Academic validation addict: Look around you, that eldest daughter you know probably has at least 2 degrees, and if she doesn’t, trust me, it’s on her mind. She enjoys being good at things; gold stars, compliments, results, achievements, validation. Many eldest daughters unconsciously tie their self-worth to performance because, while growing up, they were praised most when they were “doing well.”

11. “My younger siblings are my babies:” Even if the younger sibling is 31 years old with children and a mortgage, part of her still sees them as “the children.” The mothering instinct was installed early and it does not come with an off switch. She did not ask for this particular feature. It just came with the package of being first. 🫠

12. Top resumè skill is problem solving: Eldest daughters will fix any problem that enters her field of vision. The only problem she cannot solve is one she does not know about yet - and the moment she finds out, she is already in solution mode. She makes the calls, sends the emails, researches the options, and presents a plan before anyone else has finished panicking. It is a gift and it is also how she avoids processing her own feelings, but we are not going to unpack all of that right now. One thing at a time. She is working on it. 👷‍♀️

13. Type A to the core: The lists, the systems, the color-coded everything, the way she cannot start a task without a plan for the task - all of it looks like a personality trait from the outside. From the inside it is the only way she knows how to feel in control of a world that asked too much of her too soon. The structure is not perfectionism for its own sake. It is the thing that keeps her functioning. Take away the system and you get someone who is quietly terrified of dropping something important. She is always afraid of dropping something important.

14. Always nauseous: It’s like nausea permanently lives somewhere in her chest area, just waiting for the slightest opportunity to rise. She’s eating too fast? Ouu nausea. A smell hits her too hard? Nausea. She’s stressed? Anxious? Nausea. Overthinking? Ouu nausea. Everything somehow ends inside her digestive system. Half the time she’s carrying emotional burdens and antacids together. 🤢

15. Always on a self-improvement journey that has no end date: Therapy. Podcasts. Journaling. Self-help books. Boundaries. Healing. Productivity systems. Gym era. Spiritual growth. She is constantly trying to fix, improve or understand herself because deep down she genuinely wants peace. There is always a next layer to uncover, a pattern to break, a version of herself she is trying to grow into. The soul-searching is beautiful but she was already worthy before it started.

At this point, being an eldest daughter feels less like a birth order and more like a personality genre. A slightly stressed one.

But still.

There’s also something deeply beautiful about the women eldest daughters become. The care. The resilience. The awareness. The way we love people even while complaining every five business days.

So if you’re an eldest daughter reading this, I hope you know you’re not strange.

There are millions of us squeezing our faces at our phones right now too. Ciao.

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If you are an eldest daughter and any of this felt uncomfortably specific - there is a book you need to read. 𝐄𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 who have read it have said it felt like being finally, fully seen.

It is called 𝐍𝐨 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭, and it goes into the dynamics, the patterns, the wounds, and the quiet strength of women who were handed too much too soon.

You can find it using the link below.

Get No One Warned You About This Part.

That was the relationship I knew, lol. Not that it’s a word that just meant “any connection between two or more people” And they range from casual acquaintances and professional networks to intimate partnerships and family ties.

Even the way people asked about it carried that assumption.

“Are you in a relationship?”
“Who are you dating?”
“When are you bringing someone home?”

The word relationship almost became synonymous with romance.

But the older I get, the more I realize that some of the most life-changing relationships in your life as a woman may have absolutely nothing to do with romance.

And somehow, nobody really prepares you for that part. Relationships are not just romantic. Relationships are friendships. Relationships are mothers and daughters. Relationships are sisters. Relationships are mentors. Relationships are the woman who gave you advice one random afternoon that permanently changed how you see yourself.

Relationships are even the messy things too.

The friend that drained you. The people that made you shrink yourself. The environments that made you anxious. The acquaintance that embarrassed you publicly and changed how safe you felt around people for years.

Some relationships nourish you, stretch you, shape you quietly without you even realizing it. And some leave marks on you that take years to fully understand.

I think as women especially, relationships affect us deeply.

Because women are socialized to connect, to nurture, to hold emotional weight, to care, to remember details, to maintain bonds. So when a relationship is beautiful, it can transform your life.

And when a relationship is unhealthy, it can exhaust you in ways that are difficult to explain.

Even acquaintances sometimes carry power. One conversation with a stranger on the bus can make you believe in yourself more. Another can make you second-guess yourself for months.

That’s how significant human connection is. And one of the biggest mistakes we make is acting like only romantic relationships matter. They don’t.

Some of us are saved by friendship. Some of us are healed by community. Some of us become themselves because another woman saw us properly at the right time.

So I sat down and made a list of some of the most important relationships I think women experience in their lifetime. Some are beautiful, painful, confusing. And some will completely change you. But all of them matter.

1. The relationship with your mother: Whether it was loving, complicated, distant, soft, painful, or a mix of everything at once; this one sets the tone for almost everything that comes after. It shapes how you see womanhood, how you receive & give love, what you normalize, what you resist, what you spend years unlearning, and what you carry forward with gratitude. You’ll spend adulthood either trying to recreate what you received from your mother or trying to heal from it. This relationship, more than almost any other, is where it all begins.

2. The relationship with the friend you meet in your first year of college/university: You probably sat next to each other by accident. Same hostel block, same class, same random queue. And something about the proximity of that season - turned a coincidence into something that mattered. She was there during the formation years, the embarrassing years, the years you were becoming someone and didn’t know it yet. Even if life has taken you in different directions, that friendship is part of your emotional foundation as a woman.

3. The relationship with the first man who set the precedent for how you expected to be loved: This is the one that quietly programs something. He may not have been your most serious relationship, but he was the first one that showed you what being chosen felt like, what disappointing felt like, what being seen or unseen by a man felt like up close. And whether that experience was beautiful or painful or both, it created a reference point your heart has been comparing things to ever since.

4. The relationship with the older woman who saw something in you: She might have been a mentor, a manager, an aunty, a neighbor, a woman you met once at an event and never forgot. She was further down the road than you and she took the time to show you something; about work, about womanhood, about how to carry yourself, about what to avoid, about what was possible. The way she speaks to you can become the voice you carry inside your head for years. Find her if you haven’t. Be her when you can.

5. The relationship with the coworker from a job you no longer work at: You were thrown together by a shared workplace and a shared experience of the same chaotic routine. And something about being in the trenches together turned into something real. Maybe she became a friend. Maybe she became a reference point for how to be a good colleague, or a cautionary tale, or someone who quietly taught you your professional worth. You’ve left the company, but not the impact.

6. The relationship with your sister: A sister is girlhood with a witness. She saw everything; your worst behavior, the version of you that only exists at home with the guard completely down. She fights with you in a language nobody else speaks and loves you in one just as specific. She is your first experience of navigating a close relationship with another woman, and that shapes how you show up in your female relationships for the rest of your life. If you have a sister, please don’t take that for granted.

7. The relationship with the first situationship that genuinely confused you: Not necessarily the first person you dated - the first one that really got under your skin and stayed there longer than it should have. The one where the lines were blurry and the feelings were disproportionately large and you spent more time than you’d like to admit trying to decode what you were to each other. This relationship teaches you things about yourself that no straightforward love story could, it’s rarely a good time while it is happening. But it’s almost always instructive in hindsight.

8. The relationship with your father: The women who had difficult relationships with their fathers will tell you that their father is present in the way they move through the world; in the things they swore they’d never tolerate, and in the independence that was built from that experience. Whether he was present, absent, loving, passive, harsh, gentle, emotionally available, or emotionally distant, it affects something. For many women, it quietly shapes safety, validation, trust, emotional regulation, and even what they expect from men later in life.

9. The relationship with the woman in your life who modeled what a bad relationship looked like: Maybe it was a close aunt. Maybe it was a close friend you watched go through something painful. She wasn’t a lesson you asked for, but she became one anyway. She showed you things to look out for, and to take seriously before they become something harder to leave. If she eventually found her way out, she showed you that too. The women who let us witness their journey - even the hard parts of it, give us something that protects us, even when they don’t know they’re doing it.

10. The relationship with the friendship that ended and taught you more than most that stayed: She was your person for a season. You told her things. You built something real. And then it ended - but the grief of a friendship ending is so often underestimated, because people don’t hold space for it the way they do for romantic endings. Losing that close female friendship reshaped you significantly. It taught you about what you need from the people closest to you, about what you are willing to tolerate, about what your loyalty is worth and who deserves it. It stayed with you.

11. The relationship with that one brutally honest person who said the thing you needed to hear: A therapist who named the pattern. A friend who loved you enough to be honest when honesty was uncomfortable. A woman who sat across from you and said the thing that everyone else had been dancing around. That relationship - however brief, however professional, however unlikely; can be the one that changes the entire trajectory. Take it seriously when you find it.

12. The relationship with your younger self: At some point, every woman realizes she is either protecting, punishing, abandoning, or healing the younger version of herself. Some women are still deeply ashamed of the girl they once were; and so they spend adulthood trying to outrun her, silence her, or act like she never existed. It’s important to stop treating your younger self like someone embarrassing to escape from, and start treating her like someone worthy of compassion, your entire relationship with yourself softens.

13. The relationship with your present self: The way you treat yourself right now affects everything more than you realize. How you speak to yourself. How you carry yourself. How you take care of your body. How you comfort yourself after hard days. How you reward yourself. How you allow people treat you. All of it slowly shapes the quality of your life. When you genuinely starts caring for herself, it changes how you move through the world. You become softer with yourself, and more honest about what you deserve.

Lucky you if you’ve experienced all of these relationships in healthy ways. I don’t think we talk enough about how much relationships shape women. A lot of who we become is tied to what we experienced inside connection.

And maybe that’s why these relationships matter so much. Because sometimes, another person can become a mirror.

And through them, you either lose parts of yourself…

Or finally meet yourself properly for the first time.

If you’ve been reading me for a while, you already know the kind of things I sit with.

The quiet weight. The patterns we don’t name. The versions of ourselves we outgrow and the ones we’re still trying to understand.

I wrote more of this in my book, No One Warned You About This Part.

It holds the conversations around firstborn daughters, choosing yourself, emotional patterns, and the parts of you that are still learning how to soften.

If you’ve ever read something here and felt like it stayed with you longer than you expected, the book might meet you in that same place.

You can find it using the link below.

Get No One Warned You About This Part.

Before you read this, please do me one small favor.

Go and listen to P-Square’s “If You Do Me, I Do You.” Especially that part where they said, “what a man can do, a woman can do better.” 🙂‍↕️

Smile small. Dance small. Then come back and continue reading this.

Because the funny thing is, men said it first. In fact, not one man. Two grown men confidently entered the studio and sang it together.

But anytime women start applying that same energy in real life, everybody suddenly starts panicking.

Then they start bringing up unrelated things.
“Can you carry block?”
“Can you carry brick?”
“Can you carry car engine?”

And it’s like… that is not even what we are talking about. 😬

We are talking about human behavior. We’re talking about mental, cognitive and emotional capacity. We are talking about action and reaction. We are talking about the fact that women are human beings too, not emotional punching bags that must endlessly absorb nonsense while staying morally perfect through all of it.

If you achieve something, I can achieve that thing too. If you do something to me, I can do something back to you too. That is the point.

And as we’ve seen in the past few months, more women are slowly starting to pick up on that mindset. And I can’t even lie, I like it a little bit.

Now, if you must wonder why I am rambling about this and have suddenly self-appointed myself the guardian of vengeance… well, good question.

There’s this smelly trend where a man cheats first, then the woman cheats back, and suddenly the man comes to the internet crying wolf, “shocked, devastated, confused, betrayed.”

And honestly, I have a lot of thoughts about it.

First, it goes back to the kind of “goodness” society assigns to women. It is not even a beautiful kind of goodness. It is a restrictive kind. A controlling kind. A goodness built around endurance and tolerance.

The expectation is that women should always rise above things morally. Always forgive. Always absorb pain quietly. Always remain emotionally disciplined no matter what is done to them.

So when a woman retaliates, people react like something unnatural has happened. A reaction that in itself, is insulting.

The only thing that can endlessly take punches and absorb every trial and tribulation thrown at it without reacting is a dummy. And that is literally an object. A thing with no life inside it. Something wired to just stand there and take whatever its child owner throws at it.

Not a human being.

I genuinely think a lot of women are now slowly waking up to how unfair that expectation is. And I like that.

Whenever you wake up is your own morning.

As a young woman, I’ve always genuinely do not understand women’s obsession with being seen as a “good woman.” Personally, I don’t really care for that label. I’m not going to intentionally do bad things, but I’m also not living my life obsessed with being perceived as a “good woman.”

Because in the grand scheme of things, that label rarely truly protects women. Yes. Most times, society only rewards “good woman” behavior when it wants to tame you, soften you, silence you, or make you easier to endure things from.

That’s why when men do terrible things to women and the woman reacts badly back, people become shocked to the core. Sometimes they even punish the woman more harshly because they never expected her to step outside that “good woman” role they assigned to her.

The expectation is that you should always be forgiving, emotional, patient, understanding, selfless, and endlessly soft no matter what is done to you.

But you are human too. I feel like women forget that a lot. This is me reminding you of that again.

A lot of the pressure around being a “good woman” is not because people genuinely think women are angels. It is because goodness, softness, and emotional labor make women easier to control and easier to take from continuously.

So instead of obsessing over being a “good woman,” just focus on being your own person. Be decent. Be fair. Be kind if you want to. But don’t build your whole identity around proving your goodness to people who only value it when it benefits them.

On the other note, if I’m being very serious, I’m honestly not the biggest fan of retaliation long term either. And this is why.

Retaliation can spiral very quickly.

Today it’s “do me, I do you.” Tomorrow everybody is moving like a Netflix BEEF Season 2 plotline.

Today it is cheating back. Tomorrow it becomes constant revenge, emotional warfare, toxicity, obsession, destruction. Before you know it, both people are trapped in a cycle of trying to out-hurt each other. And that is how some relationships become deeply dangerous. That is how violence escalates. That is how crimes of passion happen.

So while “do me, I do you” may feel emotionally satisfying in theory, in the grand scheme of things, I will always be a bigger fan of women leaving.

Leave.

I promise you, your peace will reward you more than constantly carrying the burden of revenge inside a toxic relationship.

And let’s even be honest, the same patriarchal society that excuses men’s behavior can still turn around and punish women harder for retaliating anyway.

So yes, mentally reject the idea that you must always be the endlessly “good woman” who tolerates everything. Reject that conditioning completely. Stand up for yourself. Stop shrinking yourself morally for people who would not do the same for you.

But in real life, the first thing on your mind should still be freedom. Leave the situation. Save yourself. Choose yourself.

And before you finally gather the courage to leave, please stop letting patriarchy keep its foot on your neck. Stand up!

If you’ve been reading me for a while, you already know the kind of things I sit with.

The quiet weight. The patterns we don’t name. The versions of ourselves we outgrow and the ones we’re still trying to understand.

I wrote more of this in my book, No One Warned You About This Part.

It holds the conversations around firstborn daughters, choosing yourself, emotional patterns, and the parts of you that are still learning how to soften.

If you’ve ever read something here and felt like it stayed with you longer than you expected, the book might meet you in that same place.

You can find it using the link below.

Get No One Warned You About This Part.

“Respect is reciprocal.”

Meaning, if you give respect, you receive it back. Nice theory. 😅

But I think as women, you grow up realizing very quickly that the world does not always work like that for us. In a patriarchy society, we are the exception.

Growing up, respect was never really presented to us as something neutral. There was already a hierarchy before we even entered the room.

First, there were older people.
Then among the older people, men ranked higher.
Then among the men, older men ranked even higher.

The father of the house. The Baálẹ̀. The “head” of the house.

Even in corporate spaces, most leadership structures still lean male. Most authority still looks masculine. Most people in power are still men.

And whether we admit it or not, society still naturally accords men more respect. Sometimes automatically. Sometimes even before they’ve done anything to earn it.

You even see it in small things. Little boys are given room to speak loudly. To interrupt. To take space. People laugh and say, “he’s a boy.”

Meanwhile, girls are taught softness very early. Be polite. Don’t talk too much. Don’t disrespect people. Smile.

Respect becomes something women are trained to perform long before we are taught to expect it in return.

That’s why you can simply be walking on the road and a random man will pass you and demand that you smile. And when they want to package that subtle demand for compliance, they use femininity to cajole you.

“Smile na, you’ll look more beautiful.” If I woze you! 🙄

As if you care about looking more beautiful to a random man you didn’t even know existed five seconds ago. Just existing without performing desirability is seen as disrespectful. To who, exactly?

And that’s why I’ve always found the statement “respect is reciprocal” a bit incomplete. Because as a woman, you can be minding your business completely and still be disrespected for simply existing.

A man can see you walking on the road and speak to you anyhow because he doesn’t like what you’re wearing. People catcall women openly, which, if you think about it deeply, is rooted in disrespect. Someone deciding they are entitled to your attention, your body, your reaction.

Even the way women are interrupted constantly. Spoken over. Dismissed. This is something I’ve seen happened in multiple scenarios; respect being withheld not because you did something wrong. But because you are a woman.

And the older I get, the more I realize something uncomfortable: As a woman, nobody is standing somewhere waiting to hand you dignity on a platter of gold.

You have to build parts of it yourself. Not because you are less deserving. But because this world does not naturally center women’s humanity the way it should.

Now, I’m not talking about becoming rude or defensive or trying to “prove” yourself every second. I’m talking about the small, quiet things women do that slowly shape how they are treated.

The things that tell people:
“I see value in myself.”
“The way you speak to me matters.”
“I am not disposable.”

And no, these things won’t magically fix patriarchy overnight. But I do think they change something internally.

And sometimes, that internal shift changes everything else after it.

There’s this analogy I keep thinking about.

You know how people handle fragile things more carefully once they realize they are expensive?

A glass cup from a restaurant can break and people move on quickly. But let someone bring out a crystal wine glass they deeply value, suddenly everybody becomes more careful holding it.

Not because glass stopped being glass.

But because value changed the handling.

So sometimes, as women, part of our work is teaching people, quietly and consistently, that we are not things to handle carelessly.

So I sat down and wrote a list.

Little things. Small things. But significant things that I think help women gather respect for themselves, even in a world that doesn’t always offer it naturally.

1. Don’t let people mispronounce your name: Your name is not too long, too ethnic, or too difficult. If the world can learn to say Schwarzenegger without flinching, people can learn to say your name correctly - and it is your job to make sure they do. The next time someone butchers it and keeps moving, stop them gently and say it properly. And if you don’t like a nickname or short form, say it politely and clearly. You teach people how to address you by what you allow repeatedly.

2. Stop laughing at disrespect to make things less awkward: If something genuinely makes you uncomfortable, speak out or let your face reflect it. Don’t laugh because the room expects you to. Don’t smile to keep things comfortable. If your gut is telling you that what just happened was not okay, let your face be still - don’t let other people feel comfortable disrespecting you. A lot of women were raised to soften themselves in moments where they should have stayed firm.

3. Practice delayed gratification for things you know you’re still going to get anyway: The latest iPhone is out. The bag exists. The thing you want is right there. But you don’t have the money for it right now - not without doing something that compromises you, without having a conversation you’d rather not have, without accepting help from someone whose help comes with conditions. Here’s the thing: it’s not leaving the earth. So wait. Save. Get it on your own terms. That level of patience gives you respect than more women realize.

4. Do what you say you’re going to do - especially for yourself: Respect from other people is built on a foundation of how much you respect your own word. When you commit to something privately and then follow through, you are training yourself to be someone you can trust. And that matters because once you become a person who keeps her own promises, you will immediately notice when someone else isn’t keeping theirs - and you’ll have the self-respect to say something about it.

5. Don’t be rage-baited easily: Some things are genuinely worth addressing. And some things are just people testing how easily you move. Learn to tell the difference. Because if you react to everything, you train people to pull your strings whenever they feel like it - and suddenly your mood is in someone else’s hands. Choose your battles not because you’re weak but because you are intentional.

6. Don’t point out your insecurities before anyone else can: A lot of women do this to “beat people to it.” “Don’t mind my stomach.”“My face looks rough.” “My hair is bad.” Meanwhile, some people didn’t even notice until you announced it. Stop volunteering your insecurities to save yourself from imagined judgment. Do like this, 🤫.

7. Say no directly. Stop being politically nice about things you already know the answer to: “Let me check and get back to you” when you already know the answer is no. “I’ll try my best” when you know you’re not going to. “Maybe” when you mean absolutely not. Every time you do this, you train people to keep pushing because they’ve learned that your no has a backdoor. Just say it. “No, I can’t.” “That doesn’t work for me.” No softening it until it stops meaning anything.

8. Kill the desperate need to be liked by everybody: There is a difference between people naturally gravitating towards you and you quietly shaping everything you do around whether people approve. The second one will slowly hollow you out. This one changes your life quietly. The moment you stop needing approval from every room, every man, every friend group, you become calmer. More grounded. More yourself. Admiration is nice, but it should never become your compass.

9. Always be working towards wanting more for yourself: Not in an anxious, never-enough kind of way. In a this-is-not-my-final-destination kind of way. You don’t have a car yet - okay, but is it on the list? You’re still at your parents’ house - fine, but are you building towards your own? The women who command the most respect are almost always the ones who are visibly in motion, who have somewhere they’re heading, who are not waiting to be chosen or handed something but are actively building. Want more. Work towards it. Let it drive you.

10. Choose self-rebranding over self-pity every single time: If there’s something about yourself you genuinely do not like and it is within your power to improve, work on it. Self-pity keeps you emotionally attached to the version of yourself you claim not to like. Self-rebranding asks, “Okay, what can I do about this?” Your body, your confidence, your communication skills, your lifestyle, your habits, even the way you carry yourself. Everything can be refined with time, intention, and consistency.

11. Take care of your appearance: This is not about being beautiful by anyone else’s standards but showing up in a way that says you take yourself seriously. When you are put together, not for other people but for yourself, something shifts in how you move through spaces and how spaces receive you. People who look like they respect themselves tend to be treated accordingly. Dress like your time is valuable. Show up like you matter. Because you do—and sometimes the world needs a visual reminder.

12. Stop shrinking your standards to accommodate people who aren’t meeting them: You know what you want. You know how you want to be treated. And somewhere along the line you started quietly adjusting those things downward to make space for people who were never going to rise up to meet you anyway. That adjustment costs you, not just in how others treat you, but in how you start to see yourself. Hold the standard. The right people will meet it. The wrong ones will self-select out, and that is not a loss.

13. Read the room before you decide to be warm in it: Smiling is beautiful. Warmth is a gift. But not every room deserves your full sunshine immediately - and learning to gauge where you are before you open yourself up is not coldness but discernment. Some spaces will use your warmth against you. Some people will read your friendliness as an invitation for things you didn’t offer. Be neutral first, and observe before you engage. To give your smile to rooms and people who have shown they deserve to receive it.

14. Don’t let people constantly interrupt or talk over you: Finish your sentence. Return to your point. Speak clearly. A lot of women get conditioned into shrinking mid-conversation just to avoid seeming “too much.” And sometimes it’s subtle. Someone interrupts you once, twice, repeatedly, and instead of calmly bringing the attention back to yourself, you disappear from the conversation completely. Sometimes all it takes is, “Let me finish what I was saying,” or calmly returning to your point after they’re done speaking. Your thoughts deserve room too.

15. Stop making yourself overly available: You do not need to answer immediately all the time, show up instantly, or constantly overextend yourself to prove you care. Don’t force yourself into spaces that do not naturally make room for you. Don’t invite yourself everywhere. And even when you are invited, pause and ask yourself if that environment is worthy of your presence, your energy, and your peace.

To Conclude:

I don’t think respect should be something women have to fight this hard for. I don’t think basic dignity should feel earned only after performance, politeness, softness, or suffering.

But this is the world we currently live in.

And until that changes, I think there is power in women learning how to stand firmly inside themselves. In how we speak. In what we tolerate. In what we walk away from. In the standards we quietly uphold for ourselves.

Because sometimes, the first person that has to take you seriously… is you.

If you’ve been reading me for a while, you already know the kind of things I sit with.

The quiet weight. The patterns we don’t name. The versions of ourselves we outgrow and the ones we’re still trying to understand.

I wrote more of this in my book, No One Warned You About This Part.

It holds the conversations around firstborn daughters, choosing yourself, emotional patterns, and the parts of you that are still learning how to soften.

If you’ve ever read something here and felt like it stayed with you longer than you expected, the book might meet you in that same place.

You can find it using the link below.

Get No One Warned You About This Part.

There are the ones from philosophers. The ones they teach you in school (I studied Linguistics and Communication Studies, so don’t let me even get started on all of the Noam Chomsky quotes I had to memorize). 😔

Then there’re the science ones, like if something goes up, it must come down. The ones from religion. The ones from history, from “founding fathers,” from people who have studied life and are trying to pass something down.

Everybody has something to say about how life works.

But where I’m from, Nigeria, Africa, we have our own kind of sayings.

The ones that don’t always sound like advice. Sometimes they sound like warnings. Sometimes they sound like they’re mocking you. Sometimes like subtle insults.

One of them is this:

“If you rush in, you rush out.”

I’ve heard that sentence so many times growing up. And I’m not going to lie, I’ve always found it a bit… ironic.

Because if there’s anything Nigerian adults know how to do well, it’s to rush you.

They rush you from childhood. Move fast. Don’t waste time.

Some of us even skipped classes. You move from one stage to another so quickly that you don’t even have time to understand where you are. I won’t pretend I wasn’t part of it. I jumped from Primary 4 to JSS1. Back then, it felt like progress. Now, I’m not even sure what it really changed.

Life has a way of balancing things out. I deferred my first university admission. Then later, COVID happened. So yes, life will always slow you down in its own way.

But back to the rush. You grow up. And it doesn’t stop.

“What’s next?”
“What are you doing now?”
“Why are you wasting time?”

Everything is urgency.

Then one day, something doesn’t work out. Maybe you rushed into a decision. Maybe you entered something too quickly. Maybe you didn’t take your time to think.

And suddenly, the same people will now say:

“If you rush in, you rush out.”

And you’re just there thinking…

But you’re the one that rushed me? 😅

This is not just about school or career. This is about life. And especially for women.

Because a lot of the time, we are pushed into things. Make decisions quickly. Choose fast. Don’t be left behind. Don’t “waste your time.”

And it will sound like advice. It will sound like concern. It will sound like people want the best for you.

But at the end of the day, you are the one that will carry the outcome.

You are the one that will live with the consequences.

There’s also this other part of the “take your time” conversation I want to speak write on. Because there’s a way people say it that doesn’t make sense, instead of how it actually should be understood.

Taking your time is not about doing nothing. It’s not about sleeping through your life.
It’s not about avoiding responsibility. And it’s definitely not about being unserious.

Taking your time means you are allowing yourself to think. To understand what you’re stepping into. To make decisions that are actually yours.

Not decisions made because you were rushed. Not decisions made because everybody else is doing something. But decisions you can stand on.

There was even something I saw on Twitter that made me laugh.

Someone said, “take your time in your twenties.”

And someone replied, “not in this Nigeria?”

And honestly… I get it.

Because life here does not always give you the luxury to move slowly. But even inside that reality, there are still things you should not rush.

Because some decisions, once you enter them, you can’t easily walk out. Some things don’t just “pass.” They stay.

I sat down and thought about it, and there are some things I believe you should always take your time with. Not because you’re scared. But because they matter too much to be rushed.

1. Take your time to know people’s intentions: Growing up, people told us what other people’s intentions were. “He’s like that to you because he likes you.” And we carried that into adulthood. We let other people interpret intentions for us instead of figuring it out ourselves. So now, as a woman, take your time. Ask yourself: Why is this person in my life? Are they here to support me or to take from me? Don’t let anyone rush you into trusting someone. Pay attention, and trust what you see—not what people tell you to believe.

2. Take your time to build real friendships: Not every person who’s nice to you deserves to be your friend. Some people want to be close to you to mirror you, to take from you, to use you as a stepping stone. So take your time. Don’t rush into deep friendship just because someone’s pleasant. Let people earn your trust. Let the friendship develop naturally. Because good friendships are rare—and worth protecting. And bad ones? They’ll drain you in ways you won’t recover from quickly.

3. Take your time with marriage: I don’t know why we were always told to marry early instead of being told to marry right. Marriage is one of the most important decisions you’ll ever make. So take your time. Ask yourself: Is this what I really want? Am I in the right space for this? Am I choosing this person for the right reasons? Don’t let age, pressure, or timelines rush you into a decision you’ll spend the rest of your life living with.

4. Take your time to heal: Everyone wants to rush the healing process. “Move on.” “Get over it.” “Focus on the future.” But healing doesn’t work like that. If you rush your healing, it will meet you again in another form. In your next relationship, in parenthood, in your reactions, in your fears. Sit with it, understand it, process it fully. Healing slowly is better than repeating patterns.

5. Take your time to build the life you want for yourself: I know social media makes it look like everyone’s getting handouts. Everyone’s getting money from someone. And maybe they are. But there’s nothing that beats building your own. Yes, it might take longer. Yes, it might be harder. But when you build it yourself, no one can take it from you. You don’t owe anyone anything. You don’t have to shrink to keep it. So take your time. Build slowly. Build solidly. Build something that’s yours.

6. Take your time with your body: You don’t need to rush into changing it. Your body is still becoming what it’s meant to be. Give yourself time to fully grow into it before you decide it’s not enough. Sometimes what you’re trying to “fix” is something that would have softened or changed naturally with time. Your shape, your skin, your features, they evolve. What feels urgent now might not even matter in a year or two. Be patient with your body. Let it meet you first before you try to change it.

7. Take your time to choose a career path: You don’t have to have it all figured out at 25. You don’t have to pick one thing and stick with it forever. Take your time to explore. To try things. To pivot. To discover what you’re good at and what you actually enjoy. Because spending 40 years in a career you hate just because you rushed into it? That’s not success but survival.

8. Take your time to decide if you even want kids: Not everyone has to be a mother. Not everyone wants to be. And that’s okay. So take your time to figure out if you do. Not because society expects it. Not because your parents want grandkids. Not because “that’s what women do.” But because you genuinely want that life. And if you don’t? That’s valid too. Don’t let anyone rush you into a decision this permanent.

9. Take your time to figure out what your version of success looks like: When you think about the next five or ten years, what kind of life would make you feel settled within yourself? Do you see yourself staying where you are or moving somewhere new? Do you want to be a boss, or have climbed the corporate ladder? Do you want a family-centered life, or a life that gives you room to explore, travel, and expand? There is no single correct answer, but there is a correct answer for you. And you deserve to build a life that feels like yours.

10. Take your time to process your experiences: A lot of what constitute patterns people struggle with is because they never sat with something that happened. Not everything you go through is something you should move past immediately. Some experiences need you to slow down, reflect and ask yourself real questions. What did this teach me about myself? What did I ignore? What will I do differently next time? Growth comes from understanding, not just moving on.

“Look before you leap” is one of those sayings we’ve heard so much that it almost sounds basic.

But it’s not. Because in real life, “looking” is the difference between clarity and confusion. It’s the difference between choosing and being pushed.

You don’t have to rush everything. You don’t have to answer every pressure. You don’t have to move just because everyone else is moving.

Take your time where it matters. Think. Understand. Then move.

Because rushing might get you in quickly. But it won’t always keep you there.

If you’ve been reading me for a while, you already know the kind of things I sit with.

The quiet weight. The patterns we don’t name. The versions of ourselves we outgrow and the ones we’re still trying to understand.

I wrote more of this in my book, No One Warned You About This Part.

It holds the conversations around firstborn daughters, choosing yourself, emotional patterns, and the parts of you that are still learning how to soften.

If you’ve ever read something here and felt like it stayed with you longer than you expected, the book might meet you in that same place.

You can find it using the link below.

Get No One Warned You About This Part.

If life suddenly switched on me, like one of those dramatic plot twists where everything changes overnight, and I woke up as a musician, I don’t think I would ever be able to say, ‘nobody believed in me.’

Or diss the people I grew up with, the ones who didn’t “buy my stock early,” the way artists do after they blow, and then act like success is the perfect time to shame their unbelievers. Some even go as far as mentioning names. Phew.

Proceeds to add this to my biggest fear: unknowingly discouraging someone who later goes on to become famous.

Anyways, if for any reason I utter those statement, please know it’s a lie.

People believe in me. A lot. Sometimes, a bit too much.

If I say I want to do something, the response is immediate.
“Oh, you can do it.”
“I’m so proud of you.”
“You’re always consistent.”
“I like how you show up.”

And the thing is… they’re not wrong.

From the outside, it looks like I’m doing a lot. Writing. Posting. Showing up. Getting results. Moving forward.

But from inside? It doesn’t always feel that way.

Because the truth is, I know the version of effort I’m capable of. And I also know the version I’m currently giving.

And those two things are not the same.

Lately, I’ve been reading about people who are extremely successful. Not just doing okay, but operating at a level where their entire life is structured around their work.

The kind of people who wake up, work, think, build, repeat. No distraction. No soft landing. No “let me just watch one episode.”

That level of focus? I don’t have it. Not yet.

Because I still want to close my laptop at the end of the day and go and watch my 2000 rom-coms. I still want to see how Anne Hathaway is falling in love again in Love & Other Drugs, even though I already know how it ends.

I still want to start new series (I just discovered AppleTv series, oh dear). I still want to enjoy my life in small, soft ways.

And sometimes I read all these things about discipline and think… so what happens to people like me?

People who are ambitious, but not obsessed.
People who want more, but also want to rest.
People who are trying, but not at full capacity.

I used to call it laziness.

“I’m ambitious, but I’m lazy.”

But I’ve been thinking about it differently. Because even in the middle of all this, I’m still doing things.

I still write. I still show up. I still get opportunities. I still grow.

Which means… maybe I’m not lazy. Maybe I’m just not operating at my maximum yet.

And I think a lot of people are in this space. You know you want more. You know you can do more. But you haven’t fully crossed into that version of yourself that is completely locked in.

You’re in between.

For me, it shows up in small ways.

There was a course I started recently. It had a section of math in it, which is already a problem for me. I tried. I practiced one day. And then… I stopped.

It’s been weeks. I know I can go back. I know if I try again, I might actually get better.

But that “go back” part? That’s where the work is.

I’d have to summon fresh courage and discipline to return to finding X and Y. But in the middle of that, I didn’t stop moving. I sent pitches to brands for an event I’m planning. I learned a new skill. I started looking into pivoting my career. I also did soft marketing for my book.

And in between all of that; I got good feedback from some of my pitches. I recorded my highest book sales in a month. I made money from side gigs. I even bought a Coach bag I’ve been eyeing on Pinterest.

And that’s when it clicked. The difference is not always in doing everything. It’s in doing something.

I didn’t pass my maths test, but I was not a failure for the month of April.

Right now, I could be watching a movie. But instead, I’m writing this. Later, I’ll probably go back to watching something. And that’s fine. I didn’t give my entire day to doing nothing. I took a part of it and did something that moves me forward.

And that’s what I’ve been leaning into.

Not perfection. Not extreme discipline overnight. Just small, consistent shifts.

Instead of 7 hours of distraction, maybe it’s 4 hours of work and 3 hours of rest. Instead of doing nothing, you do something small. Instead of waiting to become “fully disciplined,” you start where you are.

Because that gap matters. That small difference between doing nothing and doing something? That’s where progress lives.

It’s like a baby learning to move. They start by crawling. With time, they begin to stand. Then they take their first steps. Progress builds on progress.

So if you feel like you’re ambitious but not doing enough, I get it. And here are a few things that have been helping me move, even in this in-between space:

1. Stop saying “I’m just lazy.” Say what you really mean: Sometimes “lazy” is fear of failure, so you’d rather not try at all. Sometimes it’s burnout, your mind is loud but your body is tired. Sometimes it’s overstimulation, there’s too much to do, so you shut down. Sometimes it’s depression masked as indifference. Call it what it really is. Then meet yourself there.

2. Pick one daily habit and change it completely: Tired of your life? Change one routine. Wake up one hour earlier. Replace 1 hour of scrolling with creation. Eat breakfast before your brain fries. Disrupt the autopilot. One tiny shift can break the cycle of sameness.

3. Your to-do list is overwhelming you. Try a “one thing” method: Every day, pick one meaningful task. Not ten. Do it well, then bonus yourself with a nap. Want to exercise? Commit to 5 pushups a day. Want to learn a skill? 10 minutes daily. Momentum builds through completion, not clutter.

4. Stop romanticizing your potential: Potential without execution is just daydreaming with extra steps. You’re not “saving your energy for something big” - you’re avoiding the discomfort of starting small and building momentum.

5. Use the 2-minute rule: If something takes less than 2 minutes, do it immediately. Reply to that email. Make that phone call. Clean that dish. This prevents small tasks from becoming overwhelming mountains.

6. If you can’t self-motivate, use “external accountability:” Post your goals publicly. Join an accountability group chat. Bet on yourself on your Instagram story. Tell your friends your goals. Hire a coach. Bet money on your consistency. Lazy people need leashes, not shame.

7. Vision boards won’t save you, rituals will: Visualizing your dream life helps, but daily rituals will carry you there. Romanticize your structure: Ginger shot in the morning, Wake-up playlist, 2-hour deep work, Walk + water, 30-min skill, Eggs and Suya for dinner. Make your day your ladder.

8. Stop consuming productivity content and start producing results: You’ve watched enough YouTube videos about success. You’ve read enough articles about motivation. Information without implementation is just procrastination with better marketing.

9. Accept that you’ll have to do things badly before you do them well: Your first attempt will be trash. Your first business idea will probably fail. Your first workout will be embarrassing. Perfectionists disguised as lazy people never start.

10. Set artificial deadlines with real consequences: Book non-refundable tickets. Pay for classes in advance. Make the risk emotional, not just financial. Create stakes that make backing out more painful than following through. Your brain might resist routine, but it respects urgency... create it by force if you must.

11. Stop boxing yourself into a label or a TikTok diagnosis: Yes, maybe it’s ADHD. Maybe it’s anxiety. But it’s not your whole personality. If you’ve been diagnosed, get help. Take your meds. Build systems that support you. Because there are people with the same diagnosis doing incredible things. Don’t let the label limit you more than the condition ever could.

You don’t have to become a completely different person overnight. You don’t have to give up every soft thing you enjoy. You don’t have to jump from where you are to extreme discipline in one move.

Just don’t stay still. Do something.

Even if it’s small. Even if it’s imperfect. Even if you go back to your comfort right after.

Because that small shift, repeated over time, is what eventually closes the gap between who you are and who you know you can be.

And one day, you’ll look back and realize… you were never lazy. You were just learning how to move.

If you’ve been reading me for a while, you already know the kind of things I sit with.

The quiet weight. The patterns we don’t name. The versions of ourselves we outgrow and the ones we’re still trying to understand.

I wrote more of this in my book, No One Warned You About This Part.

It holds the conversations around womanhood, firstborn daughters, choosing yourself, emotional patterns, and the parts of you that are still learning how to soften.

If you’ve ever read something here and felt like it stayed with you longer than you expected, the book might meet you in that same place.

You can find it using the link below.

Get No One Warned You About This Part.

I love that sentence. In fact, I live by it.

If I could outsource half of my life and just exist as a soft baby girl, I probably would. No stress, no pressure, just vibes and enjoyment. 🙂‍↕️

But there’s a part of that conversation we don’t talk about enough.

Convenience costs money. And more importantly, it costs awareness. Because the truth is, before you can afford convenience, you have to be able to afford life first.

And even when you can afford it, you have to know what is safe to outsource… and what isn’t.

I outsource things.

I don’t even remember the last time I did my own laundry. And honestly, I don’t feel bad about it. While someone else is handling that, I’m doing something else. Working, thinking, building.

That kind of outsourcing makes sense. I like to think of it as an exchange. I pay, someone provides a service, and both of us benefit. If my laundry person doesn’t show up tomorrow, I’ll find another one. Life continues.

But there are other kinds of outsourcing that don’t work like that. And those ones are the problem. Because lately, I’ve been noticing something in the media (media here being TikTok). 😅

Between the soft life conversations, femininity content, and the general desire to make life easier, we are starting to outsource things we should never hand over.

Not because we don’t want ease. But because some things are too fundamental to your life to be placed in someone else’s hands.

There’s also this other version of outsourcing people don’t call by its name. Free things.

In Nigeria, where I’m from, we call it “Awoof.”

Everybody likes awoof. I like awoof. You like awoof. Who doesn’t want something easier, cheaper, faster?

But sometimes, what you are saving in effort, you are losing in growth. Not everything is supposed to be easy. Some things are supposed to stretch you. Some things are supposed to require your input. Some things are supposed to be done by you, for you.

Let me give you a simple example.

If you outsource your laundry, nothing really happens to your life. You’ll still function. You’ll still move.

But if you start outsourcing your thinking, your decisions, your direction… That’s where the consequences begin.

Some people outsource their entire financial life.

They place it in the hands of a partner, a husband, a boyfriend. They don’t know how money works for them. They don’t understand their own earning power. They don’t build anything of their own.

And it feels fine… until something shifts. Because people can leave. People can change. Life can happen.

And when it does, you’re not just starting from zero. You’re starting from confusion.

There are some things you don’t have the luxury to outsource. I made a list of those things:

1. Stop outsourcing your decisions: It's okay to ask for advice. It's okay to seek wise counsel. But don't make it your first resort every single time, because when every decision requires ten opinions, you slowly lose trust in yourself. Sometimes you need to sit with the decision, trust your gut, and choose for yourself. Because no one knows what's best for you better than you do. Stop waiting for permission or validation. Decide and move.

2. Stop outsourcing your thinking: You have a brain. Use it. Don't just accept every opinion, every hot take, every “expert” advice without questioning it. For a long time, women were kept away from information on purpose and sometimes we unknowingly continue that cycle by letting people think for us. And when you let other people do your thinking for you, you give away your power. Think for yourself. Form your own opinions. Challenge what you're told.

3. Stop outsourcing your access to information: Don't let people spoon-feed you information every time. Make a conscious effort to educate yourself. Research. Read. Ask questions. Hiding important information from women is how the patriarchy has survived for this long. So take your access to knowledge seriously. Stay informed, stay curious, and stay ahead.

4. Stop outsourcing your productivity: Yes, we have AI. Yes, we have tools and apps and systems to help us. And we should use them, they exist for a reason. But don’t become so reliant on them that you stop thinking critically or working through problems yourself. Support your brain but don’t replace it. Balance is key. Let technology support you, not replace you.

5. Stop outsourcing ownership of your things: If you've borrowed something from someone more than twice, it's time to get your own. Seriously. Stop being the person who's always asking to borrow clothes, makeup, chargers, power banks, Wi-Fi passwords. Make it a habit to own the essentials you need to function. Independence starts with the little things.

6. Stop outsourcing your emotional needs: If your love language is gift-giving, buy yourself something special. If it’s quality time, take yourself on a solo date. If it’s words of affirmation, write yourself a love letter. If you see a “for her” package with things you love and you can afford it, buy it for yourself. There’s no shame in that. You deserve to feel loved, especially by you.

7. Stop outsourcing permission: Only you can give yourself permission to do things. To rest. To say no. To step out. To start over. To walk away. To chase your dreams. Stop waiting for someone else to tell you it’s okay. You don’t need their approval. You need your own. So give it to yourself and move forward.

8. Stop outsourcing your health: Yes, the internet is full of advice. Yes, there are diets and fitness plans everywhere. Try things, yes - but also pay attention to your responses, your needs, your patterns. Your body is unique, so instead of blindly following trends, make a conscious effort to understand what works for you. Consult professionals and don’t hand over your overall health decisions to random influencers. Know your specific health needs.

9. Stop outsourcing your financial literacy: Your money is your responsibility. Don’t just hand it over to someone else to manage without understanding what’s happening with it. Learn how to budget. Learn how to invest. Learn how to protect your finances. Money is power, especially to us women, and you deserve to understand yours fully.

10. Stop outsourcing your personal growth: No one can do the inner work for you. Podcasts, therapists, self-help books can guide you, inspire you, support you—but the actual healing, the actual growth, the actual transformation? That’s on you. So stop waiting for someone else to fix you. Start showing up for yourself.

See these 10 things listed above? They’re not things you should hand over. Not to a partner, parents, friends, the internet, a theory… Because if you do, there is no backup plan.

Last week, I read an article on Neuroplasticity, about how the brain works. Your brain grows when you use it.

The more you think, decide, try, fail, and figure things out, the more you expand. The more capable you become.

But when you constantly hand things over, when you avoid using your own capacity, you slow that growth down.

You become comfortable… but less capable.

So yes, pay for convenience. Outsource what makes sense. Let people help you.

But be careful.

There are parts of your life that should always remain yours. Not because you have to prove anything.

But because your life depends on it.

If you’ve been reading me for a while, you already know the kind of things I sit with.

The quiet weight. The patterns we don’t name. The versions of ourselves we outgrow and the ones we’re still trying to understand.

I wrote more of this in my book, No One Warned You About This Part.

It holds the conversations around firstborn daughters, choosing yourself, emotional patterns, and the parts of you that are still learning how to soften.

If you’ve ever read something here and felt like it stayed with you longer than you expected, the book might meet you in that same place.

You can find it using the link below.

Get No One Warned You About This Part.

Because this exact time last week, I was writing something very similar. But the difference is, last week, I wasn’t writing for a client.

I was writing for myself. I have an Instagram community (I don’t like to call it page) where I post my everyday written content.

I wrote a piece about mental health patterns firstborn daughters can relate to. No brief. No payment. No expectation. I just wrote it because I understood it. Because I’ve lived parts of it. Because I knew someone, somewhere, would read it and feel seen.

That was it.

Then a few days later, someone reached out.

She saw the piece. She said she owns a mental health brand and wants that same kind of writing for the page and would love to hire me as a Content Writer.

And now I’m here, getting paid to write something that started as me just… writing for myself. And that moment reminded me of something I keep learning in different ways.

When you do something for yourself, you are also doing something for other people. Somehow, that deed finds its way back to you.

Not always immediately. Not always in the way you expect. But it does.

We’ve heard versions of this our whole lives.

A good turn deserves another.
Give, and you will receive.
What you put out comes back.

It sounds simple, almost too simple, until you start to see it happen in real life.

As a writer, writing in a public platform, this has been very real for me.

Sometimes I write things that feel deeply personal, whether they are about me or not. And people around me do not always understand it.

I’ve had moments where my family questions what I share. If you’re familiar with African family culture, you know how much they care about how people perceive them. What their children do, say or write about reflects on them.

So from my mum, I’ve been getting a lot of questions.

“Why would you write this?”
“Are you trying to expose me as a bad mother?”
“Is that how we treated you?”

And I understand where they’re coming from. But at the same time, they are not inside me. They don’t always see the difference between storytelling and accusation, between reflection and blame.

I’m not writing to tear anything down.

I’m writing because that’s what I do.

And because when I write those things, people find themselves in them.

And when people find themselves in your work, something always comes back.

Sometimes it’s a message. Sometimes it’s someone saying, “this felt like you were talking to me.” Sometimes it’s a client saying, “I want you to do this for me too.”

And this doesn’t only apply to writing.

It shows up everywhere.

If you run a business, it might look like offering your first few services at a lower price, or even for free, just to show what you can do. Not because you don’t value your work, but because you’re creating proof.

If you’re a designer, it might look like working with a few people so your work can be seen.

If you’re building a brand, it might look like sharing knowledge openly before you even have an offer.

If you’re a content creator, it might look like putting your audience on. Sharing opportunities. Teaching what you know.

Even those “looking for models” posts you see online. People think it’s just free work, but it’s not. It’s visibility. It’s positioning. It’s showing people what is possible.

And sometimes, it doesn’t even come back to you directly.

Sometimes it comes through people you don’t even know.

I saw a story recently about someone traveling to a new country and needing a place to stay. A stranger offered their home. And the person helping said something simple: someone once did this for me, so I’m doing it for you.

That first person may never know. But the impact kept moving. That’s how these things work. It’s not always linear. It’s not always immediate. It’s not always obvious.

Sometimes your parents did something for someone years ago, and life finds a way to return that kindness to you.

Sometimes you help someone, and it circles back through a completely different door.

Now, this is not me saying you should let people take advantage of you.

That’s different. The Lagos babe street-smart in me wouldn’t even let that happen.

There is a difference between giving intentionally and being used carelessly.

You don’t have to say yes to everything. Or overextend yourself. Or ignore your own needs.

But in a world where everyone is holding back, gatekeeping, and waiting to be paid before they give anything at all… there is still value in paying things forward.

In sharing what you know. In creating something that helps someone else. In doing something, not because there is an immediate reward, but because it is aligned with who you are.

Because the truth is, you don’t always know who is watching. You don’t always know who needs what you’re creating.

And you definitely don’t always know how it will come back to you.

Now, I’m going to go back to finishing this piece for my client.

But I just wanted to leave this here.

Do the thing.

Even when it looks like it’s just for you. And nothing is in it for you.

Especially then.

In every story, every movie, every series, there are roles.

You have the protagonist — the main character.
You have the antagonist — the force working against them.
Then you have everyone else. Supporting characters. Side plots. Background roles.

Even when a story has multiple characters, there is always one person the story follows more closely.

One face on the poster. One life the plot keeps returning to.

If you’re a big fan of cop and crime series like me, and you’ve seen The Rookie, you’ll get this.

There are many characters. Different storylines. Different personalities.

But at the center of it all is John Nolan.

Things happen to other people, but mostly him. He drives the story forward.
No matter how many side plots exist, the story always finds its way back to him.

That’s what it means to be the main character.

Now let’s bring it closer.

Your life is not a movie, but the structure is not that different. You are the protagonist.

Your family, your friends, the people you meet along the way - they are part of your story. Some are supporting characters. Some stay longer. Some leave quickly.

And then… there are antagonists.

Not always people.

Sometimes it’s that relationship that keeps draining you.
Sometimes it’s the voice in your head that tells you you’re not enough.
Sometimes it’s anxiety, fear, body image, self-doubt.

Anything that works against your growth, your peace, your progress… that’s your antagonist.

Now here’s the part I want you to take in the most.

In movies, the protagonist usually struggles for most of the story.

They fight.
They lose.
They go through chaos.

Then finally, at the end, they win.

And the movie ends.

But your life is not a two-hour film. No, you’re not Peter Parker in Spider-Man: Homecoming. And your life is not a five-season series. Again, you’re not Issa Dee in Insecure.

You don’t want a life where you are constantly fighting everything, struggling through every chapter, waiting for one final moment where everything works out.

You don’t want your life to be a long story of suffering… with a short ending of relief.

That’s not the goal.

Being the main character in your life means something different.

It means you don’t just exist in the story. You take control of it.

You don’t wait until the “ending” to win. You create small wins along the way. You make decisions that move the plot forward.

You don’t hand your script over to other people.

Because whether you realize it or not, a lot of people are living like background characters in their own lives.

They are reacting instead of choosing. They are waiting instead of acting. They are shrinking instead of taking up space.

Meanwhile, this is their story.

Their face is supposed to be on the poster.

Think about it like this.

When a big movie is being promoted, whose face do they use?

The main character.

You’ll see Zendaya on the poster of Euphoria, even though there are other actors in the film. Because she is the driving force of the series.

Now translate that to your life.

You are the one people meet.
You are the one living your days.
You are the one carrying your story.

So why are you acting like a side character? 🤷‍♀️

Now, to be practical.

Because it’s easy to say “be the main character,” but what does that actually look like?

It looks like intention. It looks like choosing yourself, even when it’s uncomfortable. It looks like putting effort into your life, not just reacting to it. It looks like expanding your world.

Increasing your surface area. Letting yourself be seen in different places.

Even this — me writing this here — is part of that.

This started as a post on Instagram. It did well. I could have left it there.

But I’m here, putting it in a different space, because I want more people to see my work.

That’s what main characters do.

They don’t stay in one place.

They move. They expand. They try.

So I wrote a list.

Simple things you can start doing to take your role more seriously. To stop sitting in the background of your own life.

1. Stop saving your good clothes for a special occasion that may never come: That dress has been hanging in your wardrobe for eight months waiting for the “right moment.” The right moment is a random Tuesday. It’s lunch with your friend. It’s a solo errand run where you just feel like looking good for yourself. Every single day you wake up and get dressed is a special occasion - because you are alive, you are here, and that alone is enough reason to show up looking exactly how you want to. Wear the thing.

2. Stop borrowing grief from the past or the future: The past is done, you cannot go back and change a single thing about it. The future is unknown, you can prepare for it, but you cannot live in it. What you have is right now, this exact moment. And if right now is actually okay; if you are safe, you are breathing, you have people who love you - then let that be enough. Worry is not preparation. It’s just suffering twice. Come back to the present.

3. Maximize your hotness - right now, while you have it: Being young and healthy is a privilege that a lot of women only fully appreciate in hindsight. Dress up. Show up. Wear the fitted outfit, take the picture, post it. Your conservative era will come naturally when it does - nobody is rushing you into it. But right now? You are young and you are fine and that is something to celebrate, not dim down. Do it now so you don’t spend your 50s looking at younger women with bitterness instead of warmth.

4. Only speak positive things to yourself: People will say things about you. Opinions will exist that you never asked for and cannot control. Fine. But when it is just you and you, in the quiet of your own head, you better be your own biggest supporter. Tell yourself you are smart. Tell yourself you are capable. Say it until you believe it, and then say it some more - because the way you speak to yourself eventually becomes the way you carry yourself. Don’t you dare call yourself lazy, delusional, or not enough. Who decided that?

5. Know what you want - and go after it like your life depends on it: The main character always has a mission. She is not just floating through her own story waiting to see what happens; she is moving with intention, chasing something that lights her up, building something that matters to her. You need that. A goal, a dream, a direction; something that makes you the protagonist of your own life and not just a supporting character in everyone else’s.

6. You do not ask for permission to have fun: If you have a partner, letting them know your plans is completely fine - that’s communication, and it’s healthy. But there is a difference between “babe, I’m going out with the girls on Friday” and waiting, anxiously, for someone to decide whether you’re allowed to. You are a whole person with a life that existed before anyone came into it. Your joy is not a request that needs to be approved. It is yours.

7. Go to the party. Book the trip. Say yes more than you say no: There will always be a reason not to go; you’re tired, it’s expensive, you don’t know what to wear, you’re not in the mood. But some of the best days of your life are going to be ones you almost didn’t show up to. Some of the friendships that change you started at an event you considered skipping. The season you are in right now will not last forever. Go out while going out is still easy. Collect the memories. ‍

8. Get your money together - because joy without financial peace is exhausting: You cannot fully enjoy your life if you are constantly anxious about money. So while you are living and having fun, make sure something is also being built. Upskill. Save. Invest, even if it’s small. Figure out multiple income streams. The goal is not to be rich and miserable but to have enough that when an opportunity for fun or travel or a good experience comes up, your answer is yes without a pit in your stomach.

9. Be self-centered - and mean it in the best possible way: “She’s so self-centered.” If I may ask, who is supposed to be the center of my life? You? This is your life. You are the only person who will live every single second of it. Other people have their own lives to worry about, yours belongs entirely to you. So yes—be self-centered. Make decisions with yourself in mind. Choose things because they are good for you. Stop giving so much of yourself away to people and situations that are not pouring back.

10. Do things alone and stop waiting for company: The restaurant you’ve been wanting to try. The movie. The solo trip. The museum, the spa, the concert. If you keep waiting for someone to be available, free, and willing at the exact same time as you - you will wait forever. Take yourself out. Learn to enjoy your own company so thoroughly that being alone stops feeling like a lesser option and starts feeling like a choice you sometimes actively prefer.

11. Romanticize your life: Your morning tea deserves to be made properly, in a nice mug, with your favorite playlist in the background. Your shower is a concert. Buy yourself something at the end of every month/quarter - not because you hit a massive milestone, but because you survived it, showed up, and kept going. Wear the robe around the house. Make your ordinary life feel like something worth starring in, because it is.

12. Take your birthday seriously, it belongs to you: Your birthday is your day, not a group project. People can celebrate you, show up for you, even plan things for you, but the responsibility of making that day feel good is still yours first. If you keep expecting others to read your mind or carry the entire weight of your happiness, you will keep getting disappointed. Decide what you want your birthday to look like, plan it, communicate it, and create that experience for yourself. Even if it’s something small, make it intentional, because that day is about you being alive and you deserve to feel that fully.

13. Protect your peace like it is a full-time job: Main characters don’t let just anyone into their storyline. That means being intentional about who has access to your time, your energy, and your emotional space. Not everyone deserves a front-row seat to your life. Some people need to be moved to the back, or out of the venue entirely. Boundaries are the door policy for a life you actually want to live. Never forget that.

14. Increase your surface area for life to happen to you: If your life is a fixed loop of house, work, one supermarket, and the same familiar faces, then you are limiting what can find you. New opportunities, new friendships, even new versions of yourself need exposure to happen. You cannot keep doing the exact same things and expect something different to show up. Step outside your routine on purpose. Go to events, try new places, take time off, put yourself in rooms where nobody knows you yet. The more you expand your environment, the more chances you give luck, connection, and growth to meet you halfway.‍

Okay, I tried to stretch this to 15 points, but the mind is willing and the brain is tired. So I’ll stop here. 🥲

At the end of the day, whether you like it or not, you are already the main character.

There is no version of your life where you are not.

The only question is how you choose to play the role.

Will you keep shrinking?
Will you keep handing your decisions to other people?
Will you keep waiting for life to happen to you?

Or will you take charge?

Your life is the story.

Your face is the one on the poster.

Act like it.

If you asked me whether I’m a mommy’s girl or a daddy’s girl, I’d tell you I’m neither. I’m no one’s girl. I’m just the child who was there.

But if you asked me on a deeper level…

I’d tell you that growing up, my parents knew me in the most basic ways. My name. My school. My responsibilities. Whether I was causing trouble or not. But not my inner world. Not the things I loved. Not the things I feared. Not my dreams. Not who I was becoming. They didn’t know any of that. And I’m not sure they ever tried to.

I’d tell you that most of what I know, emotional intelligence, how to read people, how to survive difficult situations, none of it was handed to me. I went looking for it. I sought it out. I learned it alone.I was the child you don’t have to worry about because you know she’s going to be fine.My parents felt more like guardians than people I could run to. Watching me grow. Making sure I didn’t mess up too badly. But they didn’t worry. And no worries equals no attention.

I’d tell you that my parents had favorites. And I wasn’t one of them. There was always one who needed more attention. One who got more grace. One they worried about, talked about, checked on. And then there was me. The one who was just… fine. I wasn’t the favorite. I wasn’t the problem child. I was just there. And somehow, that made me invisible.

I’d tell you that I learned very early how to self-soothe. How to handle my own pain. How to wipe my own tears. How to talk myself through things. How to move on without being held. And now, as an adult, I don’t tell people when I’m struggling. I just disappear until I’m okay again. Because that’s what I learned to do. Even when I need people, I don’t reach.

I’d tell you that this distance followed me into adulthood. I don’t ask for help. I don’t lean on people. I don’t let them see me fall apart. Because no one ever showed me that someone would catch me if I did. So I stay strong. I stay independent. I stay alone. Even when I don’t want to be.

I’d tell you that it’s affected my romantic relationships too. I don’t know how to be vulnerable. I don’t know how to let someone take care of me. I don’t know how to believe that someone wants to know me deeply. I keep people at a distance without even realizing it. Because intimacy feels unfamiliar. Like something I was never taught how to hold. There’s a part of me that wants closeness deeply, and another part that is already preparing for distance.

I’d tell you that even at work, I’m the person who doesn’t ask for help or speak up when overwhelmed. The diligent one. The one who doesn’t wait for the team before figuring things out. The one who feels like she can’t afford to slack and have others pick up after her. Because I learned early that no one is coming to save you. You just handle it. And that belief is exhausting. But it’s all I know.

I’d tell you that I’m jealous of people who have close relationships with their parents. People whose parents ask how they’re really doing. Who know their favorite things. Who check in. Because my parents don’t know me like that. They know my name. My job. My address. But my fears? My dreams? The things that keep me up at night? They never asked. And after a while, I stopped offering.

I’d tell you that my relationship with them now is polite. Surface-level. We talk about logistics. About schedules. About nothing that really matters. And I’ve accepted that we may never have the closeness I once wanted. Because you can’t build intimacy on a foundation that was never there. I’d tell you that I don’t know how to be around their families either. Because I never learned how to belong. I was always on the outside, even in my own home. So now, in social settings, I feel like a guest. Like I’m performing. Like I don’t quite fit.

I’d tell you that the hardest part is realizing that this wasn’t a choice I made. I didn’t choose to be this way. I adapted. I survived. I became what I needed to be to get through childhood. And now, I’m trying to unlearn it. Trying to let people in. Trying to believe I’m worth knowing. Trying to heal from something I didn’t even know I was carrying.

From the outside, nothing looked wrong. There was structure. There was provision. There was stability. But something softer, something quieter, something deeply human was missing. And if you’re reading this and you feel like this too, like you were just there, like your parents were guardians and not connectors, like you raised yourself emotionally, I see you.

You weren’t supposed to feel that alone. You deserved to be known. To be asked about. To be held when you cried. You still deserve that. 🤍