I didn’t plan to meet him actually, if we’re being completely honest, I didn’t even plan to be at that café. My friend, who worked there, had an outing and needed someone to stand in for her while she was away. Somehow, that someone became me.

I walked into the café, got introduced to a few members of staff, took in the whole place, and found somewhere to sit.

By the way, I was wearing a very cute palazzo jumpsuit and had tied my hair with scarf because it was rough. Trust me, whenever I wrap my hair, I look like a Muslim.

The café had that particular smell of coffee, pastries, warm food and people who had been sitting around talking for too long. There was a pop-up sale

happening too, so the place had a little more movement than usual.

I sat on a chair that could comfortably take about four people. Beside me were a bag and a package that I assumed someone would eventually come back for.

Nobody came.

So I brought out my book, I was reading when I saw him. At first, I didn’t even see his face properly. I just saw a tall man walking towards me in a kaftan and cap, with a beard that somehow made the entire outfit look unfairly good.

Then he got closer.

Dark-skinned. Tall. Well put together. And the voice? Please. Some people have voices that are simply voices. His was one of those voices that makes you sit up and suddenly become interested in whatever they’re saying.

He walked towards the package beside me, looked at me and smiled.

“Hi, good afternoon.”

I looked up.

“Hi.”

That was it. One word. Very normal. Very composed. Very “I am a respectable woman who has never been impressed by a handsome man in her life.”

Meanwhile, inside my head?

Complete chaos because this man was fine.

I had already noticed his eyes. They were bright, and there was something very calm about the way he looked at people. I also noticed that he seemed like he wanted to say something else to me.

Unfortunately, I was suddenly very busy. When I wasn’t pretending to be busy, I was on my phone not because I had anything important to do.

I was waiting, waiting for him to approach me again because I wasn’t approaching him. Absolutely not. I have nothing against women making the first move. It just wasn’t going to be me that day. I was made to be chased, thank you very much.

Eventually, I went outside to shoot some content for the pop-up sale and, of course, there he was again. Standing right where I needed to pass.

I stopped.

“Um, sorry. Excuse me.”

Now, I don’t have a tiny voice. My voice is actually quite deep. Authoritatively deep, if you ask me but somehow, when I spoke to this man, my voice decided to become a shy little whisper.

He moved.

“Oh, sorry.”

And that was when I heard his voice properly.

I remember thinking, Oh, this is dangerous.

I went back inside. A little while later, he walked up to me.

“Hi. I’m Taofeek. What’s your name?”

“I’m Marv.”

He smiled.

“Where are you from?”

“Delta State.”

“Really? You look like you’re from Kaduna.”

I laughed.

“Because of the scarf right ?”

“Yes, it kinda gave you were a Muslim”

I told him I was Christian.

He nodded.

Then he said something that made me immediately forget every clever response I had prepared.

“I’ve actually been staring at you. You’re very beautiful.”

Now, I knew how to receive the compliment what I didn’t know was how to return one because I had already complimented this man approximately seventeen times in my head.

Out loud? Nothing. I just smiled.

Then he asked for my number. He said he would really like to get to know me and take me out sometime. I gave it to him and that should have been the beginning of a very simple story.

It wasn’t because there was one very important thing about Taofeek that I already knew. He was a Muslim and I had a non-negotiable.

I have always approached dating with marriage in mind. If I am going to enter a relationship with someone, I need to at least be able to imagine that person as my future husband. For me, faith is not something I can simply put aside because I like someone. I couldn’t date a Muslim man knowing that I could never see myself marrying one.

So I knew from the beginning. Taofeek was not supposed to become a relationship. At most, I told myself, I could test the waters, get to know him, enjoy the conversation, see what he was like, nothing serious.

I had everything under control or so I thought.

Taofeek was thirty-six. I was twenty-two.

And somehow, this man looked nowhere near thirty-six which frankly, felt unnecessary.

I soon found out that he was a civil servant, that he had other interests outside work, and, more importantly, that he was incredibly sweet. He was also direct.

There was no pretending not to know what he wanted. He told me he liked me and genuinely wanted to get to know me. He asked about my life.

I told him I was a content creator, that I had recently moved to Abuja and was still trying to find my footing.

He listened.

Then he asked me out. Not some vague “we should hang out sometime.” He actually planned something. Our first proper outing wasn’t some fancy restaurant. We went for a sip-and-paint.

Before we left, he came to pick me up from my house.

He was wearing a simple T-shirt and shorts, and somehow his legs looked really sexy. I was wearing a tank top, my palazzo pants, because those things are basically my uniform, and my cute sandals.

He got out of the car. I walked towards him. He hugged me and this man smelled so good, I almost wanted to bite his neck.

I had to mentally remind myself to behave.

His beard brushed against my face when he hugged me, and the urge to run my hands through his beards was so strong.

Then he opened the car door for me. Princess treatment. I got in. Then he handed me one medium- sized shawarma and a Nutri-Milk.

I looked at him.

“What is this?”

He laughed.

“You said you were starving.”

Apparently, he had actually listened when I mentioned that I was hungry.

He had also remembered that I loved junk food and if you want to know one of the fastest ways to get me to like you, apparently, it’s shawarma.

I started eating immediately.

No shame.

I was hungry. Once I was done, i had to retouch my lip combo (Baby girl can’t be caught unfresh).

I could feel him staring at me as I was retouching my lips, you could tell he was trying so hard to control himself.

“Uncle, you better focus on the road, no go kill me abeg” I thought inwardly

We finally arrived at the location for our date and got straight into. Guess what?? this man can paint.

I mean, really paint. He managed to capture my features so well that I just sat there staring at the painting like, Sir?

Meanwhile, my own artwork looked like something that should have been submitted in primary school. I wasn’t even ashamed because “if e didn’t dey, e didn’t dey”

I simply accepted that the artistic talent in that room belonged to him.

The date was also when we started getting to know each other properly.

I asked the questions I needed to ask.

Was he married?

No.

Had he dated before?

Yes.

Then came the plot twist.

Apparently, most of the women he had dated were at least 4 years older than him.

I looked at him.

“Then what are you doing here with me?”

He laughed.

He said he wanted to try something different. He thought I was different from the younger women he had met.

I didn’t know whether to be flattered or concerned. Then he started telling me things he had noticed about me.

He said I was guarded.

I laughed.

“Who told you that?”

“You did.”

“I literally said nothing.”

“Exactly.”

Excuse me?

This man was reading me like a book I had not given him permission to open. He noticed that sometimes I would be completely open and then suddenly pull back. He noticed how I communicated. He noticed when I was uncomfortable and somewhere between the painting and all those conversations, something changed.

He wasn’t just interested in me.

He was paying attention to me.

Then came the million dollar question, he told me he wanted me to be his girlfriend.

I stared at him.

“Bro, we’ve literally known each other not up to a month.”

He laughed.

But he was serious and suddenly, I had to confront the thing I had been avoiding.

So I told him.

“Taofeek, you know my greatest non-negotiable.”

He knew exactly what I meant.

“You’re Muslim. I’m Christian.”

He was quiet.

“I mean it,” I continued. “If I date someone, it’s because I can actually see myself marrying that person. I can’t enter something knowing from the beginning that it has no future.”

He nodded. He understood and somehow, that was the last sensible conversation we had that evening because he looked at me for a little longer than he should have.

Then his hand came up to my face, staring at my lips like he wanted to eat me alive.

And guys… I knew exactly what was about to happen. I could have moved. I did not.

He leaned in and kissed me.

For someone who had just spent the last few minutes giving a TED Talk on boundaries, I suddenly became very interested in forgetting every single word I had said.

The kiss was not supposed to mean anything.

That was the lie I told myself.

Except it did.

I could feel his second hand slide around my waist and pull me closer.

I didn’t resist, I gave in completely. I melted into him, kissing him back with everything I had. He held me like he’d been waiting for this, like he wasn’t ready to let me go, not yet, maybe not for a long time. I could feel it in the way he kissed me, slow and sure, like every second mattered. I felt the passion in it, the love in it, and I gave it all back to him. I lost myself in him completely.

Two minutes. That’s how long it lasted, though it felt like no time at all and forever at once..

When we finally pulled away, I looked at him and laughed because what else was I supposed to do?

How am I meant to stay true to my values when this uncle can kiss so well like this??

I had literally just told this man that I could not date him.

I am finished!!

After that, we just kept talking.

Days became weeks, weeks became flowers showing up at my workplace, Taofeek pulling up just to see me, long conversations that somehow always ended with us saying, “Okay, goodnight,” and then continuing for another hour.

Overnight dates, kisses in the car, little things he remembered about me, more flowers, more laughter, more reasons for me to say, “This is getting dangerous.”

And somehow, the man I had decided I could never date was becoming the man I was looking forward to hearing from every day.

One random evening, after another one of our ridiculously long conversations, I finally admitted it to myself.

Oh.

I have fallen for this man. A Muslim man. The exact kind of man I had told myself I couldn’t date.

And now?

I was completely gone. So here I was.

Twenty-two. In Abuja.

In love with a thirty-six-year-old Muslim man.

And absolutely no idea what I was supposed to do with that.

I bawled my eyes out during midweek service last week Wednesday . Properly bawled. The kind where you are sitting in front of your screen trying to compose yourself, except there is really no composing happening.

I did not expect the service to affect me that way. I logged in, listened to the message on discernment, and somewhere in the middle of it, I started thinking about my own life. A lot of things I had been trying to understand suddenly started making sense.

I have been thinking about discernment for a while. How do I know what God is doing in my life? How do I know when I am in a particular season for a reason? How do I know when I am supposed to move, stay, wait, or simply stop panicking and let things unfold?

The part that really stayed with me was the connection between discernment and gratitude.

I realised that I already have so many facts about my own life. I know what I have prayed about, what worked, what did not work, the people I have met, the opportunities that came and the doors that closed. I just do not always stop long enough to look at all of it together.

Gratitude makes you stop.

You have to remember where you were, where you are now, what you prayed for, what changed, what you survived and what God has already done. When you actually sit with those things, you start noticing patterns.

I started noticing one in my own life.

There have been so many moments where I thought I would have to force something to happen, yet somehow things connected in ways I could not have planned.

Coming to Abuja is one example. I came here without a job and without everything figured out. I started applying, looking around and trying to find my footing. Then opportunities started coming. The people I met, the places I ended up and the doors that opened eventually connected to where I am now.

I cannot tell that story honestly and pretend I did everything by my own strength.

The same thing has happened with things that did not work out. My first response is usually panic.

“What am I going to do now?”

“What option do I have?”

“Is this really happening?”

My brain apparently enjoys submitting emergency reports before the situation has even become an emergency.

With time, I have often looked back and realised that what I was crying about was not the end of the story. Sometimes, something else opened up. Sometimes, I eventually understood why a particular door did not open.

Gratitude is not just saying, “Thank You, God.” It is actually looking back.

I thought about a conversation I had with Minister Daniella, my pastor’s wife, about my self-esteem. I told her that if I was being honest, I thought my self-esteem had moved from 2% to maybe 10%. I was still focused on the fact that I had a long way to go.

She told me to thank God for the progress.

If I had moved from 2% to 10%, something had changed. I needed to acknowledge what God had already done instead of constantly measuring myself by what was still missing.

That conversation hit differently last week because I realised how often I do that with my life. I can become so focused on what has not happened that I overlook what has. I can become so concerned about where I am going that I forget to look at how far I have come.

The other thing that stayed with me was learning to interpret my experiences through the lens of God’s love.

That matters because the way I interpret what happens to me can change everything.

If I know that God loves me, I do not have to look at every difficult season and conclude that He has abandoned me. A difficult experience can be painful without meaning God is against me. A closed door can disappoint me without meaning I have been forgotten.

I can ask different questions.

“What can God do with this?”

“What is He teaching me?”

“What am I supposed to notice?”

I have had experiences I would never have chosen for myself. Some affected me deeply. My self-esteem was damaged when I was younger, and that is still something I am working through. I would never call those experiences good simply because something useful came out of them.

I can recognise, however, that those experiences shaped some of my values, the people I allow close to me and the things that have become non-negotiable for me. Some of them also pushed me closer to God.

The experience is real. The pain is real. What I understand from it requires discernment.

That was why I cried so much last week Wednesday .

I was not discovering that God had suddenly started working in my life. I was realising that He had been working in ways I had not always stopped to notice.

That is what I am taking away from this.

Before I ask, “God, what are You doing?” I want to become better at looking at what He has already done.

Gratitude is part of discernment because sometimes you need to look back before you can understand what you are looking at now.

God has been with me.

I think I am finally learning to notice.

I am honestly appalled by how many abnormal things we have accepted as normal. Somehow, we have adjusted to things that should have made us pause. Things that should have sparked conversations. Things that should have made us ask, “Wait, when did this become okay?” But somehow, society keeps moving, and everyone just carries on.

Well, I have decided that I will not be following that train.

So, here are some of my little contributions to society, anywhere I find myself.

NUMBER 1

I genuinely do not care which hand you use to give me something. Left hand, right hand, JUST PASS ME THE THING. I will not become that older person who believes a person using their left hand is automatically being “disrespectful”. God gave us two hands for a reason. Let people exist.

NUMBER 2

If you ever see me with your husband, please relax. It is not an affair. I do not entertain married men, and I honestly have no respect for people who knowingly involve themselves with someone else’s partner. This applies to both men and women. If that is your category, TUEH. I pour you spit.

NUMBER 3

I refuse to center celebrities, influencers, or famous people. I can admire you. I can respect your work. I can appreciate the effort it took to get you where you are. But my life does not revolve around you.

Having millions of followers does not make you more human than me. It does not make you superior.

Some of you deserve the terrible treatment you receive from celebrities because of how you have placed these people on unrealistic pedestals. Respect people for their work, but please, DECENTER THEM

NUMBER 4

You will never catch me on a dating show. Set awon; “Single lady, step forward.”
“Find your match.”
“Pop the balloon.”

God forbid. Miss me with that BS.

PS: No shade to those that go on it ooooo

I do not care how single I am. I shall not be found there.

NUMBER 5

If I am around a conversation about something I know nothing about, I know how to keep quiet. I am there to learn from people who know more than I do.

Some of you need to learn this skill. You do not always have to contribute to every conversation. Sometimes, SHUT UP and learn from those that know.

Instead of listening and learning, some people will confidently argue about things they barely understand. Dumb set of humans.

Please, DO BETTER, BE BETTER

NUMBER 6

I do not make people feel bad because their preferences are different from mine. So because I like egg and you don’t, suddenly you “don’t know ball”?

Or because you like thick girls and I am slim, that means “I am less of a woman”? It’s God that will help me and slap your mouth. Tchewwwwww

Please. Let people live. Your preference is yours. It is not a universal standard.

NUMBER 7

If I am entering public transport and I see a student in uniform, I will most likely pay their fare.

Do not ask me why. It’s just common sense.

NUMBER 8

Lastly, if I am outside and I finish eating or drinking something, I will not throw the wrapper or bottle on the floor. If there is a trash can, great. If there is not, I will hold onto it until I find one or take it home.

It can stay in my bag, it can stay in my hand but it will not stay on the ground. Change starts with us

Well well well…..

These things might seem small, but society is built on small choices.

The kind of world we live in is shaped by the little things we decide to normalize and the little things we refuse to accept.

These are some of my contributions to society. And they are valid pa!!!

What are yours? Tell me in the comments.

I’ve started questioning so many things in the self-development space. We often assume that if people read enough books, listen to enough podcasts, or consume enough motivational content, they will eventually change. Sometimes they do, but a lot of times, they don’t.

I think the reason is that people are not just the things we label them as. When we say someone is a people pleaser, someone cannot say no, someone keeps settling for less, or someone is in a toxic relationship, we sometimes forget that those things are usually shaped by experiences.

People do not just wake up one day and decide to become that way. A series of experiences can shape the way someone sees themselves, what they believe they deserve, and the things they are willing to tolerate.

The same way experiences can shape someone into becoming a certain person, sometimes an experience can also be the thing that makes them decide, “Never again.”

I know this because I have experienced it myself.

I have always struggled with being a people pleaser. I know what I want, but somehow, I still found myself settling for less. My friends have told me this countless times. They would point out situations where I was accepting things I should not accept. They would remind me that I deserved better.

The funny thing is, I knew they were right.

I had read books about boundaries. I had listened to podcasts about self-worth, emotional availability, and becoming a better version of myself. I had consumed content about stopping people-pleasing and learning to choose myself.

Those things helped me understand my patterns, but they did not immediately change me.

Looking back, I realize that my people-pleasing did not start with one person or one situation. It was built from different experiences. Growing up, my parents were present, but there were still moments where I felt emotionally unseen. I was bullied in school, my confidence was affected, and I was constantly compared to others. Over time, those experiences affected the way I saw myself.

Then I had an experience that changed something in me.

I was talking to someone, and looking back now, the red flags were there. I saw them, but I ignored them. He was nonchalant, he struggled with communication, he was rude, defensive, and often made situations difficult.

I kept making excuses.

Until one day, we were in the car, and out of nowhere, no arguments prior, we had even laughed and joked 10 minutes before , he raised his hand and hit me hard on my thighs. I was shocked. I remember waiting for an apology. I waited for him to acknowledge what he had done, but it never came.

That was the moment something changed.

I picked up myself, got out of the car, walked away, and blocked him everywhere. I did not care what he thought or what explanation he had. I knew I was done. This one is definitely bipolar or crazy or outright mad.

It was not just because of that one moment. It was everything that had already happened before it. He had shown me many of the things I considered non-negotiable, and I kept overlooking them until that moment forced me to confront what I already knew.

That experience made me realize something. My friends had been telling me the same things for over three years. They had tried to make me see it, but I had not reached that point where I was ready to choose differently.

I did not need my friend to tell me it was time to focus on myself and give myself the respect I knew I was worth. I decided it was time.

That is why I believe experience is such a powerful teacher. Sometimes, people already know what they need to do. They know the advice. They know the signs. They know what they deserve.

However, there are moments when something happens and everything finally clicks.

You get to a point where you say, “I cannot keep doing this.”

Sometimes, that is the moment you finally say, “Enough is enough.”

One thing I’ve been doing a lot lately is thinking about where I am in life. Looking at my journey, looking at the things I’ve achieved, the things I haven’t achieved yet, the prayers I’m still waiting on, the goals I thought I would have reached by now. If I’m being honest, I believed that I should be somewhere else, doing more, getting further ahead than I am.

This is not the time to say “you are just 22, what are you worrying about “

If I knock your head!!

A few days ago, I was listening to a song, “Hand of God(Reprise)” by Todd Galberth and one line kept playing over and over again: “I’m right where I’m supposed to be.” The more I listened, the more personal it became to me.

High-Key, when I look back at the past year, I can see how much time I spent worrying about things that God had already figured out. I worried about timelines. I worried about whether I was moving fast enough. I worried about opportunities, growth, and the future. Yet through all of it, God kept showing me the same thing: I am right where He wants me to be. Maybe not where I imagined I would be but exactly where He wants me to be.

This realization brought me so much peace. The peace that comes from knowing my life is not running behind schedule. Peace that comes from understanding that God is not trying to catch up with my plans; I am learning to trust His. And peace, finally, from surrendering the need to have everything figured out, and simply trusting the One who already does.

Stepping into this new year, my heart is full of gratitude. Gratitude for every lesson, every opportunity, every closed door that protected me, every open door that stretched me, and every moment that helped shape the person I am becoming. When I look back, I can honestly say that God’s hand has been on my life in ways I didn’t always recognize at the time.

And this year, I believe something beautiful. I believe God is beautifying my life. I believe He is garnishing it with His favour and His grace. I believe this year will be filled with evidence of His faithfulness, and I am stepping into it with expectation, faith, and a heart that is finally learning to rest.

If there is one thing I want anyone reading this to take away, it is this: give yourself grace. Sometimes we become so focused on where we think we should be that we fail to see what God is doing right where we are. Sometimes the growth is happening in places nobody can see. Sometimes the answer is not to run faster, but to trust deeper.

Today, more than ever, I am choosing to trust God. I am choosing to believe that He knows what He is doing with my life. I am choosing to believe that every season has a purpose and I am choosing to embrace this truth with my whole heart:

I am right where I am supposed to be.

Ewaoluwa, Welcome to 22.

My year of beauty. ❤️

I learned that recently.

I was in a role where the structure gradually became unclear. Responsibilities increased over time, expectations shifted, and the boundaries of my role were no longer well defined. It reached a point where I knew something was not right.

There was no confusion about the issue. I understood what was happening, and I knew it needed to be addressed. The problem was not speaking up. The problem was how I went about it.

Frustration had been building for a while. Instead of addressing things early and with clarity, I allowed it to sit. By the time I eventually spoke, my delivery carried more emotion than intention and that changed how my message was received.

In a professional setting, people pay attention to more than your words. Tone, timing, and approach shape how your message is understood. Once your delivery feels off, the focus shifts away from the issue itself.

From my perspective, I was raising valid concerns. From the other side, it could easily have been interpreted as resistance or lack of alignment. That difference in perception affected the outcome. Looking back, the situation still required a conversation. Speaking up was necessary. The difference is that it needed to be done with more control.

A better approach would have been to address the issue earlier, with clear structure and a calm tone. Separating emotion from communication would have made the conversation more productive and that is not always easy to do, especially when pressure builds over time.

This experience made one thing clear. Being right is only part of it. The way a message is delivered can determine whether it is heard or dismissed and that is a lesson I am carrying forward.

But I have realized that if you only think about how a situation affects you, you will never get out of the cycle. You will just end up recreating the same problems you once hated.

I once worked for a boss who was very inconsiderate. She did not seem to care about the people working under her at all. At first, it was easy for me to just find faults and talk about everything she was doing wrong. But eventually, I had to stop and think about how someone gets to that point.

I realized she was caught in a cycle. She had worked under someone who treated her the exact same way. She was just repeating a script she had been taught years ago.

I saw this again recently during my service year. There is a lot of disrespect directed at corpers . People look down on them and talk to them like they are less important. The irony is that the people doing this were once corpers themselves. They spent their own service year complaining about how they were treated. But the moment they got a little power, they became the same people they used to hate.

It is a scary thing to watch. You can hate a situation with everything in you, but if you do not make a conscious effort to change, you will eventually find yourself sitting in that same chair. You will start saying the same harsh words you once cried over.

Breaking out of the cycle is not just for you. It is for the people who will one day work under your wings. When you decide to set a new standard, you are not just changing your own life. You are giving everyone who comes after you a better path to follow.

We are all choosing which story to continue. We can either pass down the hurt we received, or we can be the ones brave enough to let the cycle die with us.

It is up to us to choose.

What do you think?

Have you ever noticed yourself almost repeating a pattern you used to hate? How are you choosing to do things differently in your own life?

Let me know in the comments.

For a long time, I genuinely believed every post had to prove I was good at my job. If it was not about strategy, writing, or branding, then it had no business being on my page.

Very serious. Very focused. Very… exhausting.

It sounded like a smart plan. Build your personal brand. Stay consistent. Post with intention but somewhere in the middle of all that intention, I stopped enjoying creating.

Everything became a quiet mental checklist. Does this align? Does this position me well? Is this “valuable enough”? It started to feel like I was submitting assignments instead of expressing anything.

Meanwhile, I am a full human being outside of strategy decks. I like music. I like dancing, even if it is just in my room with no audience and zero coordination. I like asking random questions and going down unnecessary rabbit holes. I like conversations that are not productive but still feel important. I love my faith and I love talking about Jesus.

None of that felt “on brand,” so I kept it to myself. Looking back, that is a bit funny. I was basically editing my personality like it was a draft that needed approval. For a while, it felt like I had to choose. Be taken seriously or be fully myself.

That logic is flawed. A portfolio shows what I can do. A CV backs it up. Social media does not need to carry my entire career on its head.

So I am easing up a bit.

I will still talk about strategy and writing. That is not going anywhere. I am also going to talk about the other things I enjoy. The random thoughts, the questions, the experiences that make me think differently. It may not always look perfectly put together. That is fine.

I am Ewaoluwa, a strategist by profession and a curious human being by nature. Both can exist without competing.

Creating is supposed to feel alive. I would actually like to enjoy it this time.

A friend of mine shared a post on Instagram recently about being open with pricing, and it really made me think. This isn’t just a discussion. Recently, I realized I was being underpaid as a content writer and strategist. Not because I wasn’t good at my job, but because I didn’t know what other people were charging. I didn’t know what a fair price looked like. I tried to research online, but everything I found was vague, confusing, or didn’t fit my situation.

I guessed my rates. I priced myself lower than I should have. I wish I had seen real numbers from other writers, graphic designers, social media managers, or brand strategists. People actually doing the work. If I had, I would have negotiated differently. I would have valued my work differently.

In most 9–5 jobs, people talk about salaries openly. Everyone knows roughly what a role should earn and what’s fair. That kind of transparency doesn’t exist in the creative world.

Silence about pricing has consequences. It makes creatives easier to undervalue. It makes clients more confident in paying less. It leaves people guessing their worth instead of knowing it. When no one talks, low numbers start to feel normal. They aren’t.

Being open about rates doesn’t mean everyone charges the same. It means we give each other context, a starting point, and confidence. Many creatives are underpaid not because they lack skill, but because they don’t have the right information.

The culture needs to change. Honest conversations, even when uncomfortable, help everyone.

Whatever your niche is, what do you charge? How did you decide that number? What would someone just starting out need to know so they don’t have to guess their worth the way I once did?

Jan 9, 2026. 8:25pm

What is this I feel, Anger?

What is dropping on my note, is this water?

I can’t see clearly, I can’t breathe. I have passed this phase. No, I shouldn’t feel this way. I healed from this already or maybe not.

When she speaks, my chest tightens, when she acts, I snap.

Crazy how it is not even about what she did in that moment. It is about everything she did before. It is about the fact that she stands there like nothing is wrong. Like nothing broke. Like I was not affected. Does she even know what she did to me? Does she understand how much her choices changed me?

I cannot talk to her normally. My voice gets sharp. My words get ugly. And I hate it. I hate the version of me that comes out around her. I do not even want to be in the same space. She just makes me angry.

Maybe it’s because I remember who she used to be. She was strong. She was powerful. And now she is not the same. I look at what he turned her into and it makes me sick. He is out there living his life, doing fine. And she is here, broken.

What hurts the most is her pretense game. She acts tough. She acts clean. She acts like she did nothing wrong. Self-righteous, but I hear her cry when she thinks nobody is listening. I just want to scream,

“why are you lying?”

“You chose this”.

“You brought yourself here”.

Yet, I am the one living inside the damage.

Maybe it’s not anger, Maybe it is resentment. All I know is that it is heavy. It sits in my chest. I cannot look her in the eye. I do not want to feel this way about her forever. But I am scared. I am scared I will become like her.

I want to forgive her so I can be free. But I also do not want to. Because she hurt me. She was selfish with her life. And my life was scarred because of it. I do not know if I can heal from this. I really do not.

God, please end this pain.

It is New Year’s Eve, and the air is thick with the sound of people drafting their 2026 manifestos. Everyone is busy cataloging breakthroughs they want, doors they need forced open, and heights they plan to scale.

Here I am, sitting here in the quiet, and all I can do is cry. Not from lack or disappointment, but because this God loves me so much it feels overwhelming, almost terrifying. For the last three weeks, my prayer has been simple, dangerous, and deeply vulnerable: “Lord, show me how much You love me. Reveal it to me.” I did not ask for a clear career path, a promotion, or open doors. I just wanted to know His heart. And as 2025 slips away, I realize God did not just answer that prayer, He overwhelmed me with it.

The revelation began on December 12th at Petra Prime during our Total Immersion event, my first time attending. Like anyone else, I expected end-of-year hype about territory, prosperity, and breaking limits, but my pastor preached about love. He said love exists in three dimensions: God’s love toward you, your love toward God, and your love toward others, and that you can never truly live out the last two if you have not fully understood the first.

Perfect love casts out fear. We try so hard to serve God, to please Him, to do more, but we are often running on empty because we have not sat long enough in the truth that we are deeply loved. That message stayed with me quietly until December 30th, when fear walked into our home and everything else faded.

The year was almost over when my dad had a severe asthmatic attack. Watching him struggle for breath stripped life down to what truly matters. Nothing else existed but the possibility of loss. But God breathed back into him.

Later that night, when the house finally grew still, something in me broke open. I lay down, overwhelmed, searching for a song to hold what my heart could not say. I started with “Za” by anendlessocean, then played “E ti Tobi To” by EmmaOMG, Pelumi Deborah, and BBO. I could not sing. The words were stuck in my throat. For over thirty minutes, I cried, not controlled or quiet tears, but raw sobbing as I worshipped. And in that moment, it dawned on me that the greatest gift I received in 2025 was not an achievement, not provision, not even survival, but the revelation of God’s love for me.

I began to see the fingerprints of a Lover all over my year, a year filled with “But God” moments. My dad is still standing after surviving a trailer slamming into his car earlier this year and then surviving an asthmatic attack that should have taken him.

My friend and I entered a one-chance vehicle disguised as a Bolt ride and walked out alive. My brother faced the same predators; they ran away with his clothes and everything he had, but they could not touch his life.

I completed my NYSC journey, had a roof over my head, had friends even when distance separated us, lost my phone yet somehow have another one, and went out and came in safely day after day. I found a new church family, reconnected with old friends, met new people who reshaped how I see the world, and quietly began learning how to love myself, something I have always struggled with.

When I asked the Holy Spirit why He loves me this much and why He keeps saving my every person in my family especially my dad, He answered, “The way I love you is the way I love him. I am not just preserving his life; I am pursuing his heart, just like I am pursuing yours.”

I have played games with God this year, in today and out tomorrow, doing things I am not proud of, yet He did not use my mistakes to judge me. He used His goodness to draw me closer. I am tired of the back and forth and of treating grace casually. How could I have been so blind, so consumed with wanting more, when the simple fact that I am breathing is proof of His affection? I don’t care about the things He has not done yet and the unanswered petitions for 2026.

If His love is my blueprint, I cannot be stranded, and I have no reason to fear. I want to serve Him wholeheartedly with my time, my obedience, my finances, and everything I have, because He deserves it all.

So as I step into 2026, I have only two prayer points: Lord, show me how much You love me, and Lord, show me how much more You love me. 2025 was the year I completed my service, but more importantly, it was the year I finally understood that I am a beloved child, and that is enough proof for me to walk into 2026 without fear. He loves me. Oh God, He really loves me.

Evelyn was serving in Abuja. She was active in her church and trying her best to live right, but she was also looking for love. She wanted something real, something steady, but Abuja had a way of testing patience and boundaries.

It was Sunday night, the 14th of December 2025. Evelyn was bored and restless. She tried using MTN, but the network was acting up. Everywhere she tried, it said, “Everywhere you go, but not today.” She sighed and decided to step outside her house. She wanted to clear her head and just walk. While strolling, she called her best friend. They were talking about random things, trying to pass the time.

Then she noticed a car driving past her.

It stopped.

She knew immediately that it was coming back. Her instincts were right. She tried walking faster, hoping to avoid it, but the car reversed and stopped right next to her.

It was Daniel. She had met him about eight months ago when she first started going to another church. Tall, Light-skinned, fine as hell. Yes hell, because he had to have been sent by the devil. He smiled and greeted her. That could have been the end of it. He could have just driven away. But he did not. He got out and started talking to her.

Evelyn was not wearing a bra that night. She had massive boobs and had done it on purpose, of course it was the first thing that caught Daniel’s eye. He suggested they go out. Evelyn said it was late, past eight in the evening, and that she could not. Somehow, she ended up getting into his car. She even lied about having a trauma with cars to not enter the car but it failed. She told herself she was just going to sit and talk for a little while.

At first, they talked casually. Jesus, movies, school, life, anime, random things. There was wine in his car. She picked it up and took a sip. He took a sip too. They laughed and joked about drinking and past experiences. Evelyn thought she could handle this. She thought she could control it.

Then everything changed.

Daniel began asking personal questions. About fantasies. About sexuality. About whether she knew her own body, not that she didn’t like it. His eyes were intense and sexy. His lips were glossy and shiny, almost glowing in the car light. Evelyn could feel the heat rising in her chest. He put his hand on her lap and started caressing her.

She froze. She felt a rush of fear mixed with desire. Her body reacted before her mind could catch up. She reminded herself of the covenant she had made. She did not want to make a mistake she would regret.

But Daniel did not stop.

He kissed her neck and bit it gently. His hands ran over her body. Then he went under her tank top to touch her boobs. He grabbed her ass. Evelyn said no. The kind of no that meant no and yes at the same time. She tried to pull away. He whispered, “It is okay. Relax. I am relaxed.”

She was relaxed, but she did not want to. She was enjoying parts of it even though she knew she should not. She kept reminding herself

“you are a Christian.

You made promises.

You can’t break this”.

Maybe it was because her period was near. Maybe she was ovulating. But this was the second time something like this was happening, and she wasn’t about to ruin December.

Time moved fast inside that car. The tension was unbearable. Daniel kept saying how he would regret it if she left. He kept complimenting her, teasing her, making it almost impossible to resist. Evelyn felt herself being pulled in every direction. Part of her wanted to give in. Part of her screamed to leave.

Finally, she asked him what he really wanted.

He said he wanted her. Sexually.

That was it. Nothing more.

Evelyn realized in that moment that this was all he wanted. Just his desire satisfied. She wondered what would happen when he was not horny. Would he even care?

Daniel said he wanted to be devoted to her. Then he asked to see her without her glasses. She said no. His face looked innocent, almost soft, but he was not innocent. He was a beast.

Eventually, Evelyn found the strength to leave the car after saying it 20 times. She stepped out, heart racing, body betraying her even though her mind had made the right decision. She walked away, feeling every reaction her body had tried to hide from her.

They spoke about anime, school, life, and his job, this was after every lustful action they got into. But it did not change anything. Daniel was not looking for love. He was drunk, high, and horny. That was his idea of fun.

Evelyn was left with just one theory. Abuja men were all the same. Hungry. Horny. Driven by desire. Charming, funny, full of words and compliments, but mostly interested in one thing.

She walked home slowly, thinking about the night. About the compliments, the touches, the heat, the temptation. About how close she had come to giving in and how lucky she was that she had not.

Before you say it’s just one night, know it was the seventh.

When you are young, all these little no’s pile up. You start overthinking every word, every action. You wonder if you are too much or not enough. It is easy to feel like the world is keeping score, and you are losing.

But here is the thing. Rejection does not mean you are not enough. It does not mean you are broken. Most of the time, it is life nudging you to something else. A friend drifting away might be giving you space to find people who actually value you. A crush who does not feel the same way is just making room for someone who matches your energy. And your parents saying no might be saving you from mistakes you are not ready to handle yet. The job that went to someone else might push you toward a path you never imagined, one that fits you better. The post that didn’t “perform” might be teaching you to create for meaning, not for numbers.

It hurts. It should hurt. But pain is also part of learning. Those little no’s teach patience, resilience, and perspective. They make you think about what you actually care about. They make you notice where your energy matters most.

Rejection also teaches you to stand on your own. You learn to find validation inside yourself instead of waiting for someone else to tell you you are okay. You learn to keep moving even when the world does not roll out a welcome mat.

The truth is, rejection is never the end. It is a pause, a redirection, a reminder that not everything is meant for you. Life is full of quiet lessons wrapped up in no. Some hurt more than others, but each one pushes you, shapes you, and makes space for the right things.

Because love alone, I don’t think it’s enough.

And saying that out loud feels weird because all my life, love has always felt like the point. But now I’m seeing that people fall out of love. Slowly. Quietly. Sometimes without even realizing it.

And that thought alone makes my heart race.

Imagine loving someone so deeply, and then one day, it’s just not the same. Not because something terrible happened, but because you both changed. Or life just happened. And you can’t un-live that. You can’t rewind. You just deal.

That’s what scares me. The staying part.

Staying when it’s no longer exciting.

Staying when they annoy you.

Staying when you’re hurt but still have to forgive.

Like, how do people do it?

And no, I’m not talking about enduring nonsense. If you ever raise your hand on me, that marriage will end faster than the slap landed. I’m not one of those “for better or for bruises” kind of people. Please. But still, even outside of abuse, marriage looks like serious work.

It’s not just “I love you.” It’s “I’m choosing you again today.” It’s compromise, patience, humility, and God, because honestly, without Him, I don’t think any of us can survive marriage with our sanity intact.

Sometimes, I scroll through social media and see couples posting all their cute moments, and I just smile. Because I know there’s always more we don’t see. Every “perfect” love story has its quiet storms. Every “couple goals” photo probably has a few tear-stained nights behind it.

And it’s not that I don’t believe in marriage. I do. I actually want it. But the weight of it, the reality of choosing someone every single day even when it’s hard, that’s what makes me pause.

Maybe that’s what love truly is though. Not the butterflies, not the spark, but the commitment to keep showing up.

Still, it scares me. It really does.

Anyway, I’m not even trying to be deep. I’m just thinking out loud. Maybe a little too loud. 😂

But yeah, marriage? Beautiful, but terrifying.

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I was reading my Bible recently, and I came across the story of Saul again in 1 Samuel 15. I’ve read it before, but this time, something stood out differently. It wasn’t just about disobedience; it was about how easy it is to lose something God once trusted us with when we stop taking His instructions seriously.

God gave Saul a clear instruction in 1 Samuel 15:3, to completely destroy the Amalekites and everything they had. But Saul didn’t obey fully. He decided to keep the best of the sheep and spared King Agag. To him, it might have looked like wisdom, but to God, it was rebellion.

In verses 27 to 28, something powerful happened. It says, “As Samuel turned to leave, Saul caught hold of the hem of his robe, and it tore. Samuel said to him, ‘The Lord has torn the kingdom of Israel from you today and has given it to one of your neighbors, to one better than you.’”

That line, “to one better than you,” stayed with me. I began to realize that when God entrusts you with something, and you fail to handle it faithfully, you are not hurting God. You are only hurting yourself. Because there is always someone else ready to take your place. Someone better, not in strength or appearance, but in heart.

What makes a man great is not his position, but the presence of God in his life. When the Spirit of the Lord departs, everything else loses value. Saul had the title of king, but the oil had moved. The grace had shifted to another man, David, and the Spirit that once rested on Saul came upon him instead.

It reminded me of what God said in the Psalms, “If you do not praise Me, I will raise stones to praise Me.” Stones here aren’t literal rocks. Stones are formed from sand, and sand is made from dust. Man himself was created from dust. So what God was saying was, “If you refuse to serve Me, I can raise another man from the ground to replace you.”

And that is exactly what happened to Saul. He was replaced. His position, his oil, his influence, everything that once defined him was handed to another man. Not because God stopped being faithful, but because Saul did.

That realization humbled me deeply. When God gives us a gift, a calling, or even a small assignment, He expects us to manage it well. Not because He needs us, but because He chose us. And if we refuse, He can easily choose another.

In verse 35 of that same chapter, it says, “And the Lord was sorry that He had made Saul king over Israel.” That verse broke me. Imagine God regretting ever trusting you with something. Imagine Heaven sighing over the misuse of a gift, a calling, or a position.

It made me pray differently. I don’t just want to be gifted; I want to be faithful. I don’t just want to be chosen; I want to remain trustworthy. I never want God to look at me and say, “I regret giving her this.”

So now, when I think of the skills, the opportunities, and the responsibilities He has placed in my hands, I see them as sacred trusts. My prayer is that I will use them to make God proud, to glorify His name, and to multiply what He has given.

God forbid that He ever regrets choosing me.

“I have no special talent. I am only passionately curious.” – Albert Einstein

That quote has stayed with me for years. Maybe because it reminds me that being good at something doesn’t always start with talent. Sometimes it starts with curiosity.

As writers, we’re constantly told to read more or practice daily. But no one really talks about how much curiosity shapes our growth.

I’ve always had a mind that runs wild with questions. How did this come about? Why does this work this way? What happens if I try it differently? My attention span isn’t the best, but I’ve learned to follow my curiosity instead of fighting it.

One day, I watched a random video about Cleopatra. Out of nowhere, I found myself searching for her history, her reign, her legacy. One search turned into five, five into ten. Before I knew it, I had learned so much more than I planned to. Not just about Cleopatra, but about leadership, power, and storytelling.

That’s when it hit me: curiosity builds depth.

It’s what gives your writing soul. It’s what helps you connect the dots between things that seem unrelated. It keeps your voice alive and evolving.

Writing isn’t just about perfect grammar or impressive vocabulary. It’s about asking why, how, and what if. It’s about being curious enough to dig deeper when everyone else stops at the surface.

So if you’ve been feeling stuck lately, unsure what to write, or tired of your own words, go feed your curiosity.

Search for something random. Watch a documentary. Ask questions. Let your mind wander.

You never know what story, insight, or lesson might find you there.

Curiosity won’t just make you a better writer. It will make you a fuller human being.

For a long time, I battled with something that didn’t look like a “serious” sin, but it had a hold on me: stinginess. I loved receiving from people, gifts, attention, favors, but when it came to giving, I’d freeze up. Whether it was money, my time, or even little acts of service, I always found a way to dodge it.

And yet, I thought of myself as a “good” person. I had compassion. I could sit with you, listen to your pain, and comfort you with words of affirmation and prayers. But if it ever came down to actually sacrificing something for you, I just couldn’t. Even the times I gave, it wasn’t genuine. My heart posture was wrong. I’d give with strings attached: “I’m doing this because you’ll do it back” or “I’ll buy you a gift so you’ll buy mine too.”

So of course, when birthdays rolled around and people didn’t reciprocate, bitterness set in. I felt entitled. The same thing applied to men of God. I’d give because I expected to get something in return. It was never about love, it was about what I could gain.

When people asked me for help, my default response was, “I don’t have.” Even when I had, I’d still say it. I always convinced myself that what I had wasn’t enough to share, not with family, not with friends, not even with strangers. I kept telling myself I was “a good person,” but in reality, I wanted others to sacrifice for me while I wasn’t willing to sacrifice for them.

But that’s the whole point of giving: sacrifice. “For God so loved the world that He gave.” He didn’t give because it was convenient. He gave us Jesus even when we didn’t deserve it, and He didn’t expect anything back. That’s love.

Of course, people around me noticed. My family and friends would joke, “Ewa, you’re stingy o!” or “Ewa o lahun oo!” We’d all laugh, but somewhere deep inside, their words began to stick. By 2024, as I started walking more seriously with God, I found myself reflecting on it. Without realizing, it even slipped into my prayer points: “Lord, make me liberal. Help me to give.”

Then in 2025, it finally clicked for me. Stinginess wasn’t just a habit, it was a spirit. And the closer I got to God, the heavier that burden felt.

One day, my pastor said something that completely changed my perspective: “The Holy Spirit wants you to use Him. He is your advantage.” That hit me. I realized I didn’t need to fight this on my own. So I started talking to the Holy Spirit more openly, even about things that seemed “ridiculous.” I wasn’t judged for it. I could say things like, “Holy Spirit, please help me be generous. Teach me to give freely. Deliver me from stinginess.” Simple words, but they went a long way.

The change didn’t happen overnight. But slowly, I started noticing shifts. I began to give without expecting. Sometimes I’d feel that gentle nudge on the road: “That money in your hand isn’t for you. Give it.” And when I obeyed, I noticed something. God always provided another one. I started learning to share even when I didn’t have much. To sacrifice even when it wasn’t convenient.

I’m still learning. There are days I argue with the Holy Spirit, but He’s patient with me. He waits, teaches, and helps me grow.

And here’s the truth I want you to hold on to: the Holy Spirit really is your greatest advantage. He knows your flaws, weaknesses, and deepest desires, but He won’t force Himself into your life. You have to ask for His help. Whether it’s stinginess, anger, fear, insecurity, or any struggle you carry, talk to Him about it. Even your most “ridiculous” requests matter to Him.

He doesn’t just want to be there for the big miracles. He wants to walk with you through your everyday life. But only if you let Him.

Yes, the one that’s haunted me since SS2.
The one I kept postponing because fear had me by the throat.

Fear of being shut out.
Fear of being treated like a stranger.
Fear of becoming an outcast in a story I didn’t choose.

But I couldn’t keep running. So, I spoke.

My hands trembled, my voice cracked, and the tears wouldn’t stop.
I poured everything out, every weight I had carried for years.

I wasn’t careful with my words.
I didn’t wrap them in politeness or sugarcoat the truth.
I wanted him to feel it.
To understand where he went wrong,
how his actions left wounds in me that I’m still trying to live with.

Did it pierce his heart? I don’t know.
Maybe it did. Maybe it didn’t.
But that was the point: to make him see.

See the pain.
See the anger.
See the bitterness that had grown roots inside me.

Because in the middle of all that pain, I found God.
But the scars remain
so deep I wonder if they’ll ever fade.

He listened quietly. No arguments, no defenses. Just silence.
He knew I had caught him.
He tried to make excuses. I shut them down.

And for the first time in years, I felt lighter.
Like I’d finally dropped the weight I had been dragging behind me.

But relief doesn’t last forever.

Now I keep asking myself:
What if nothing changes?
What if my words never sank in?

Yes, I said my truth.
Yes, he knows now.
But knowing isn’t the same as changing.

And that thought scares me.

Arguing with someone who always believes they’re right is exhausting. It’s like no matter what’s being discussed, their word has to be the final authority. Their perspective is always the correct one, and there’s never room for mine. Somehow, the blame always finds its way back to me. Whether directly or indirectly. And the moment I try to speak, I’m shut down and accused of being disrespectful, simply because they’re older.

But if I’m being honest with myself, I’m not entirely innocent either. I have this obsession with being heard. I always want my side of the story to count, I want my perspective to be acknowledged. I don’t like being misunderstood, and I constantly feel the urge to defend myself, to prove that I’m not guilty.

And maybe that’s why it unsettles me so much. When I’m blamed for something I didn’t do, instead of brushing it off, I carry it. Not because I believe I’m wrong, but because they believe I am and somehow, that bothers me deeply.

At the end of the day, it’s not even the arguments that drain me the most. It’s this constant tug-of-war between their need to be right and my need to be heard.

My Heart: I miss him… maybe I should call him?

My Brain: If not that you are a FOOL, how would someone do you dirty twice in the name of love, and you still want to call him again?

My Heart: Ahnahn, it’s not that deep. Is it a crime to just want to hear his voice again?

My Brain: I don’t even have a problem with you calling him. I just want you to remember your last conversation, the second time he snuck back into your life. How he made you feel like a clown simply because he knew he didn’t deserve you. Remember how you vowed to erase him from your mind and your life, no matter what? Girl, he didn’t even wish you happy birthday. And don’t say he forgot, he chose not to. Meanwhile, you wrote a whole PDF like his personal biographer for his birthday. I’m already catching goosebumps of shame.

My Heart: Ah! How did I even forget that one? Mehn, I really no get sense sha.

My Brain: That’s why I exist, to remind you of the foolish mistakes you made so you don’t repeat them. Moving on is not child’s play, it’s hard. There are days you’ll want to go back, like you almost did today, if not for me (smiles with arrogance, as I should). You’re welcome. Whenever that urge comes, remember the reason you left. He will never change, and it’s not your job to change him. That’s who he is, and that’s why you walked away.

My Heart: But he told me he doesn’t deserve me. Maybe that’s why he didn’t wish me, maybe that’s why he spoke the way he did, maybe that’s why he acted like that. Don’t you think so?

My Brain: (stares in disgust) See ehn, the next time someone tells you they don’t deserve you, believe them and walk away. They mean it. He didn’t know what to do with the love you gave because he wasn’t ready for it. And let me remind you , it’s not your job to fix broken people at the expense of yourself. You are responsible for your own peace, your own growth. And when someone stops adding value to your life, the bravest thing you can do is let go. Sometimes love means loving yourself enough to stop begging for what should be freely given.

My Heart: Wow. Not you dropping wisdom like a motivational speaker. If it’s money talk now, you won’t be this active.

My Brain: At least I just saved our family line from loosing aura. Don’t be a fool. Don’t call him. Preserve our dignity, pleaseeeee.

My Heart: But it hurts so badddddd. Part of me wants to wish him well… but another part of me is like, “Nope, he should suffer the way I’m suffering.”

My Brain: Lmaoooooooooo, sorry to break your heart again, but he’s not suffering. He’s probably out there living his best life. But hey, if imagining him crying on his bed at night helps you sleep better, then sure, anything for your happiness.

To you reading this,
Your heart may crave what your peace cannot stand. Don’t run back to what broke you the first time. Choose yourself again and again, until it no longer feels like a hard choice.