It was the 14th.

We were supposed to meet up because it had been a while, and we needed to catch up before he went back to school. But somehow, what was supposed to be a reunion became more. It was beautiful.

I think I liked the number 14 because of him. (Partly because it's my birthdate, too. Not everything is about man.)

But for the first time in my teenage years, I felt grown. Like I was doing this whole “relationship thing.” Wowww! I felt like the coolest girl on the block.

The second time August came around, I was graduating.

I was finally leaving the school I had resented for years. But it was crazy because I wouldn't stop dreaming about it. I guess I may not have liked the environment, but I loved the people.

I remember feeling a number of emotions on my graduation day, but pulling my big-girl pants on anyway.

I remember saying goodbye and my heart breaking internally because I had no idea when I'd see my friends again.

I remember crying five days after my graduation and writing I am a failure in my journal because of my JAMB result. (I didn't fail. I just didn't meet my family's standards.)

I remember still hurting from my friendship crisis because how was my friend of about six years not mine anymore? It was crazy, to say the least.

The next time August came around, we were no longer together.

I was growing in the faith and getting to know God outside of everything people had presented about Him.

To me, He had always been God—the Being who created us all without our permission, placed us in families without our consent, and One who could do whatever He wanted, whenever He wanted. But somehow and someway, He was introducing Himself to me as Father. And it was a lot of unlearning because I wasn't used to it, but it was exciting.

I had a crush on this church boy, and it was really cheesy. I wrote a lot about him, so much that people thought I was in love.

I started a podcast impromptu because I wouldn't stop talking about him to my friend, and she said I would make a good podcast host.

I saw firsthand what it meant to be loved through the lens of the cross, even if he didn't love me. But he modelled a kind of love I knew I wanted to experience, and there and then, I made up my mind not to settle.

It was a battle, though. Because even if familiar wasn't what I wanted anymore, I craved it like crazy. And it was a lot of tears. A lot of late-night texting and I miss you. A lot of being there because I still wanted to be friends. A lot of saying I wouldn't go back because I needed to move on. And a lot of second-guessing because, what was even wrong with me?

A lot of trusting because life was new, and I was experiencing certain firsts—my first job, my first academic disappointment, which changed the trajectory of my life for good, even if it didn't feel like it at the time.

August had come with a lot, both the good and the bad. But guess what? I embraced it.

The next time August came around, I was packing my bags to go to camp.

I'd been away from home before, but this one felt different. I was FINALLY going to be a teenager in the midst of teenagers rather than being the youngest in every circle and having no choice but to be there because I was "mature." All I wanted was to be.

It felt strange.

I remember doing breathing exercises so I wouldn't cry. I wasn't supposed to miss home so soon, but I did, and I wondered if something was wrong with me. I realised how socially awkward I was and how shy I could be.

I realised I really loved God and the gospel when we prayed for people and I cried throughout the entire sermon.

I realised how lost and confused I was because, for the first time in a long time, my life wasn't making sense. I was 19 and at the brink of adulthood, yet I'd never felt so confused. And I remember Blossom wrapping me in her arms as I walked like someone who had lost something. No, someone. She prayed and declared words over me. I think her prayers saved me.

I remember reacting to the drugs I got to numb the pain I felt from the workout sessions that weren't intense, but I wasn't used to them. I remember Ose and Ese taking care of me like they'd known me forever, even though we'd only met two days before.

I remember wanting the allergy to fizzle out because they were considering taking me home, but I wanted the full experience of REV UP 2024, because it was definitely worth the hype.

I remember Tade being kind to me and giving me a compliment despite the fact that I couldn't recognise myself in the mirror.

I remember packing my bags and Favour misplacing my water retainer, but I later found it. I remember the pictures I took with Praise that I didn't know would be the last before she left the country.

I remember going home and having a lot to say because, for the first time, I wasn't a local champion in the village. I was surrounded by people doing great things, and it excited me so much. I just knew my life was about to change for the better!

The last time August came around, I remember feeling alone in the midst of people.

And I'll never forget El Roi reaching out and letting me know that He saw me. I remember crying so much. I'm sure my mentor must have wondered what was wrong with me. I remember how seeing her unexpectedly made my intestines giddy, especially because I had a gift for her.

I remember cheesing so hard when she read the letter and texted almost immediately that I should come back so we could take pictures.

I remember having exams the next week and attempting tests in the middle of the sessions at camp, but I didn't mind.

I remember the panic and weird thoughts I had each time I lay on my bed to sleep because the wood wasn't solid. I was on the top bunk, and I kept thinking the wood would give way and I'd come crashing down.

I remember how frustrated I was that I had to wear Crocs for the workout session because I'd carried two left legs of our workout shoes—one was mine and the other was my sister's.

I remember wishing I had an iPhone to take clearer pictures, but vlogging with my Samsung anyway. I remember how beautiful my life felt when I edited the vlog and posted it on YouTube.

Share

Every August, my heart does a little dance and my emotions are all over the place. Memories from previous years come rushing back at once, and I always have to process them.

Maybe that's what August has become for me—a little archive of who I've been.

This time August came around, I'm writing exams and mentally preparing myself for third year. There's gratitude for how far I've come and the occasional ache of wondering what could have been, because some of my secondary school setmates are graduating.

There's a new friend, Favour, who has really spurred me towards good works academically and in grateful for her.

There's a wave of exhaustion I feel because of everything that has happened in the past few months. I really need a vacation!

There's the temptation to open some doors again, but I'd rather care from a distance. And sometimes, there's still a pull to return to my past.

But they're called memories for a reason. They're meant to be remembered, not necessarily revisited.

August has held so many versions of me. The girl who fell in love as a teenager. The girl who graduated and didn't know what came next. The girl who was learning to call God Father. The girl who experienced love and kindness from strangers at camp. The girl who experienced El Roi and graduated into the main Church. The girl who kept living.

Maybe that's why August never feels like just another month. It reminds me that I've lived so many lives already—and somehow, I'm still becoming someone new.

Share your thoughts here 👇

Leave a comment

Day 20/20.

You know I don't like talking about my love life. It's certainly not because of you. I'd just rather not talk about it with anyone. I'm always in one mess or another, and honestly, it's exhausting.

But this time, it's becoming too much for me to handle. You know what they say: "A problem shared is a problem half solved." Even if I don't believe that literally, I figured I'd open up—not for solutions, but for comfort.

Somehow, you have your way of making me feel safe. That's why I'm sharing this with you. I just hope I'm not trusting blindly because the last time I opened up to someone, I swore I'd never do it again.

Sigh.

You know how indecisive I can be sometimes... scratch that—most of the time. I spend so much time trying to make the best decision that I almost end up making none at all. Well, this time feels different.

I'm at a crossroads, and I don't know which path to take. I don't know where either road will lead me. Somehow, everything feels terribly wrong yet insanely right at the same time. What a dilemma!

You know how loudly I laughed when you told me about the boy you had a crush on last September?

Remember how I said I wasn't going to get myself involved in that kind of mess because I wanted to stay free from the chaos of someone having my heart or whatever?

Well...things changed. And now, my love life is in big soup.

I just can't fathom how someone can be such an expert at giving mixed signals. It's like I'm standing at a traffic light waiting for it to turn either red, yellow, or green. Instead, all three colours are flashing at once. The people behind me are honking for me to move. The people beside me are standing still. The people in the opposite lane are getting ready to drive. And I'm frozen.

You know how someone can have all of your heart without your permission?

Your thoughts—morning, noon, and night—are constantly about them. It's sad when you no longer get to own your own thoughts anymore.

"Is that even possible?" you might ask. Well...I'm living it.

It's a triangle—you, him, and walking away. You never get the full experience if you leave, but you're not really enjoying anything if you stay. You're not completely free, yet you're not completely bound either. I have to admit...it's one of the worst feelings in the world.

You know how you're desperately trying to move on and forget someone, but your heart simply refuses?

You think you're in control. Maybe for a while, you are...until you find yourself doing things that make healing almost impossible.

You're so caught up in one area of your life that you forget how to be a daughter, a sister, a friend, or a safe space for the people who genuinely need you.

All you can think about is how to belong to this one person. Maybe then, you'll finally have enough of yourself left for everyone else.

You know how people say they're running out of time, even though they haven't really started living?

That's exactly how I feel. It's like I can either be everything or nothing. I've been trying so hard to find a balance, but, girllll...It's been difficult.

I don't own my heart anymore, Sonia. He does. My thoughts no longer feel like mine. They've become his. And even if he isn't mine...I'm completely his.

You know how people say they just want to be sane again? Not because they're mentally unstable, but because they're simply tired. That's how I feel, Sonia.

I just want to be sane again. Can you help me? 🥺

Xoxo,

Ria. 💕

Leave a comment

Day 19/20

I remember writing one in JSS2.

Well, it was more of a declaration of what I couldn't say out loud back then: I love you, to the boy I was convinced had stolen my heart. I don't know if it's possible to have feelings so pure and genuine at twelve, but nobody could have talked me out of it. I loved him.

I remember how free I felt because I'd finally let the cat out of the bag. Now, we could have conversations without him second-guessing where I stood.

Only for him to approach me a little while later looking rather confused. Apparently, the letter had "gone missing."

My heart nearly stopped.

The scary part was that my handwriting was so distinct that if anyone had found it, they would have known immediately who wrote it. Given the class teacher I had, I was already imagining my parents being called to school and rehearsing my defence in my head.

He joined me to search the classroom because I wasn't taking the situation lightly at all. I searched frantically, but something felt off. He wouldn't stop smiling.

Like...we were both implicated if anyone found that letter. Why was this boy smiling? You guessed right, he was the one who had hidden it.

According to him, I'd taken so long to profess what we both already knew was true. Ah! I nearly chased him around the classroom because why would you play with my feelings like that?

It was cheesy. A little dramatic. Very secondary school ISH. But it was also freeing. And not because we weren't caught. I remember something else far more vividly—the relief.

There was something strangely liberating about finally putting those feelings into words. It was as though a weight I didn't even know I was carrying had suddenly disappeared.

And I think that's why I still believe in letters. Not because every letter deserves to be sent. But because every honest feeling deserves somewhere to go.

There's something about putting words on paper that feels like exhaling after holding your breath for too long. Thoughts become clearer. Emotions become lighter. Feelings that once seemed too heavy to carry suddenly become bearable.

Maybe that's why I've never stopped writing them. Letters to my future husband. Letters to my future self. Letters to people who hurt me but may never apologise. Letters I'll probably never send. Because I'm not writing for them. I'm writing for me.

Words are powerful. When people hear that, they often think about how words can wound or heal—and they're right.

But I've also learned that words kept inside us can become heavy. Writing them down doesn't erase the pain, but it often makes it easier to carry.

So here's something I think everyone should try at least once. Write the letter. Tell someone you appreciate them. Tell someone you forgive them. Tell someone you miss them. Tell someone goodbye.

Or better still, write to the version of yourself that's carrying more than anyone knows. Not for pity. Not for attention on social media. But for yourself.

Because sometimes, the greatest gift a letter gives isn't closure for the person receiving it. It's liberation for the person writing it.

So, will you do it—write the letter?

Leave a comment

Day 18/20.

Wake up. Get things done. Tick things off. Repeat.

But somewhere between the noise and the routine, I find myself needing a pause I cannot schedule. So I sit. Sometimes on the edge of my bed. Sometimes on the couch. Sometimes on the cold tiled floor.

The room is never completely quiet. The fan hums. A generator rumbles in the distance. But it's quiet enough.

And I start talking. Not carefully. Not formally. I give updates on the talking stage that's suddenly become confusing and has me wondering whether he's avoiding me or if I'm simply overthinking.

I talk about how ovulation feels like a weapon fashioned against me. One minute I'm cranky—craving hugs and physical affection I wouldn't normally crave. The next minute I feel guilty because I've got 500 things to do, yet all I want to do is lie down.

I talk about the night I slept hungry because Iya Bisi forgot to pack my food, even though I'd reminded her before leaving school. How I didn't have the strength to cook when I got home, so I chose the lesser evil—sleeping while my stomach rumbled in protest, the entire night.

I talk about the content I see online that makes it seem like everyone else is living the life I dream about while I'm still waiting for mine to unfold.

Some days I stay there longer than I planned. Other days, just a few minutes.

Some days I leave convinced I've been heard. Other days it feels like I've simply been ranting.

Some days tears threaten to fall, and I hold them back. Other days I'm too exhausted to pretend I'm okay, so I let them.

Some days I sigh. Some days all I can whisper is, “It is well."

I imagine Him listening—head tilted slightly, saying nothing, but not missing anything either. And when I stand up, the room feels different. Or maybe... I do.

Tefillah.

©Glory Esua, 2026.

One of my favourite things about my relationship with God is this: He always meets me where I am.

And I'm grateful for the gift of access because, at its core, prayer is simply communion. It is two souls—you and God—in fellowship.

What a beautiful thing that the Maker of the universe wants to spend time with you, with me, with all of us. How privileged are we? Very.

This communion is fuelled by communication because that's the difference between knowing about God and knowing God.

People often ask, "Why pray when God knows everything?"

Well, let me use this analogy. Imagine someone calls you their best friend, but they never tell you the important things—not the decisions they're about to make, not their accomplishments or milestones, not even their struggles.

Instead, you constantly get life updates about them from social media rather than directly from them. How would that make you feel?

In the same way, although God knows everything, He still wants to be involved. He wants us to invite Him into the big things, the small things, and even the seemingly insignificant things.

Just as God walked with Adam and they conversed, He desires that same relationship—that same family-like fellowship—with each and every one of us. And prayer is the gateway to that fellowship.

I also love that prayer has different expressions. Sometimes you pray in tongues. Sometimes you pray using your own words and your understanding of Scripture. Sometimes you journal.

But intimacy is built when you INVOLVE God in the seemingly mundane parts of your life.

The things you cannot bring yourself to tell anyone else—tell Him. Even the things that don't seem "spiritual." Ask Him those burning questions. Be honest about how you feel because it's better to find answers in Him than to search for them in the wrong places. And even when He isn't the cause of what you're facing, in Him, there is always a solution.

I feel safest with God because He can never snitch, and He will never condemn me for simply coming as I am.

So let this be your reminder today: The God who created every part of you is interested in every part of your life.

“Maybe that's why those little pauses have become my favourite part of the day. Not because the room changes. But because I do.”

And maybe prayer isn't as complicated as we sometimes make it.

Leave a comment

Day 17/20.

Today, I said goodbye to a boy I've never met.

Crazy, right? Well, here's the tea ☕

A few months ago, I was going through WhatsApp statuses—which is funny because I hardly ever do—and one particular status caught my attention. Well... not the status. Him.

He was my friend's coursemate, and I remember thinking, "Wow... he's fine." I don't usually react that way, so I surprised myself when I found my thumb scrolling back to that same status. Once. Twice. Three times.

I had to text her, and my exact words were: "This your friend is fine. 🌚" She laughed, and I laughed too. But unlike her... I wasn't joking.

She told me they were just coursemates and offered to pass along my compliment. I told her to tell him I thought he was cute because, yes, it's not every day I see good-looking guys. In my head, I was probably going to regret it, but I thought to myself, "What's the harm in giving an honest compliment? If guys can compliment girls, why can't we do the same?" 🫠

She later told me he said my compliment had made his day, and it made me giggle. And although I'd never admit it out loud, a tiny part of me waited. Maybe he'd ask for my number. Maybe he'd tell her to say hi back to me. But nothing.

I knew it was silly, but I found myself texting my friend again—this time not even for a conversation, but because I wanted to talk about him.

So when I texted, I didn't ask how she was doing. I asked how my crush was doing, which is crazy now that I think about it.

It must've taken a while for her to clock it because it wasn't until today that she realised I was serious about him. And I guess it hurt a bit.

She said he probably didn't reach out because I wasn't a student in their college. Did that sting a little? Yes. But it also reminded me that sometimes, timing, distance, and circumstance quietly close doors before they ever have the chance to open.

Well, you know what they say about crushes—they're affection without information.

Because the very first thing she said about him made me wash my hands off the whole thing. Obviously not because he's a bad person, but because he's someone I'm meant to be praying for, not dreaming about.

Plus, somewhere in the middle of that conversation, I had a eureka moment.

💡 I'm not ready for a relationship.

And I began to wonder why I'd allowed thoughts of him to linger when I already knew I wasn't ready to leave the market.

And that's why I'm writing this.

Because today, I said goodbye.

Not to someone I dated.

Not to someone I loved.

Not even to someone I knew.

I said goodbye to a possibility.

To a "what if." To the version of the story that only ever existed in my head.

It sounds ridiculous as I write it because how do you say goodbye to someone you've never even met?

Someone who doesn't know your name. Someone who has absolutely no idea you once daydreamed about them. Yet somehow... it still feels like a breakup. And it hurts just as much.

I may not be okay now, but someday I will. And I'll be patient with myself because these things take time.

Maybe someday I'll be strong enough to share this with the struggling girlies out there who are mourning a possibility, just like I am.

So this is goodbye...

To the boy who made me giggle like I was twelve.

Any thoughts? Share here 👇

Leave a comment

Day 16 of 20.

And while I understand what people mean by it, I don't think it's entirely true. I think life is a lot more nuanced than that.

One of the biggest lessons I'm learning as I grow older is to manage my expectations better. People are human. They'll disappoint you sometimes, and that's okay. But every now and then, I come across situations that remind me why I don't completely agree with that statement.

Last year, during my birthday, someone reached out to me and said she wanted to gift me a pair of earrings from her brand. I was genuinely excited and thanked her. Since I wasn't really active on Instagram at the time, I gave her my phone number and asked her to let me know how I'd receive the package. I was willing to cover the delivery cost; I just needed the necessary information so I could plan ahead.

As my birthday drew closer, I reached out again. She told me she didn't live in Lagos, so we began discussing interstate delivery. I spent time asking people for recommendations and reaching out to delivery companies, trying to make the process easier, yet somehow very suggestion I made was turned down for one reason or another.

Eventually, she said she'd figure something out herself, so I waited. Days turned into weeks. Whenever I followed up, there was hardly a response, talk more of a resolution. After a while, the back and forth became exhausting, so I told her not to worry about it anymore. I genuinely didn't understand why I felt like I was chasing a gift I never asked for in the first place. She was the one who had offered it out of the goodness of her heart.

She insisted she still wanted to send it, and together we even agreed on another way I'd receive it in Lagos. But after that... Nothing. No follow-up. No explanation. No communication. Even when I reached out afterwards, I never heard from her again. Eventually, I let it go.

And no, this isn't me writing from a place of spite. I've moved on. But that experience taught me something. Life isn't always black and white. Sometimes, there are grey areas too.

Because in that moment, I genuinely believe she owed me something. Not the earrings though, but she owed me honesty, communication and basic human decency.

If she'd simply said, "I'm so sorry. I really wanted to send it, but I can't anymore," I would've completely understood. Things happen. Circumstances change. But silence? That was the disappointing part.

And that's why I don't think "Nobody owes you anything" should be treated as a universal truth. Because the truth is—we owe each other more than we admit.

Parents owe their children love, care, food, shelter, education, and protection. After all, they brought them into the world. Children in return, owe their parents honour and respect.

Employers owe their employees fair wages and good working conditions. Employees owe their employers diligence and integrity.

Friends owe each other honesty, and commitment. Spouses owe each other loyalty and consistency.

If you're running late, you owe people communication.

If you hurt someone, you owe them an apology.

Even strangers owe one another basic courtesy. You don't cut queues simply because you can. You don't speak to people with unnecessary harshness simply because you've had a bad day.

These may seem like little things, but they're what make society work.

Share

And then there's God. Ironically, the only One who truly owes us nothing is the One who gave us everything.

He gave us His Son. He gave us grace. He gave us mercy. He gave us life.

If anyone had the right to say, "I don't owe you anything," it's Him. Yet He gave anyway.

So no, I'm not completely against the statement. I just don't think it applies everywhere.

Maybe strangers don't owe you gifts. Maybe people don't owe you unlimited access to themselves. Maybe they don't owe you friendship, opportunities, or a place in their lives.

But once you make a promise, offer your word, willingly step into someone's life, or choose to be part of their story, I believe you owe them something.

The world would be a much better place if we stopped hiding behind "Nobody owes you anything" whenever we failed to do the right thing.

Leave a comment

Day 15 of 20.

Now that we're past that, let's get right into it!

People think writing starts with words. It doesn't. It starts with observation.

One thing writing has taught me is that writers notice what everyone else walks past. We notice the little things. The awkward silences. The conversations people don't think twice about. The sigh someone lets out after a long day. The smile that says, "I feel confident in this outfit." The lecturer who is probably transferring aggression because something bad happened to them before class.

I also see writing as emotional photography.

While cameras capture what people looked like, writing captures what moments felt like.

That's one of the reasons I document my life with words. I keep a gratitude journal where I write one thing I'm grateful for every day. I have journals where I pour out my heart as life happens. I write prayers on the YouVersion Bible app. I write about dreams, ideas, conversations and seasons. Because I know memory fades.

I may not remember every detail about being eighteen—the people I liked, the things I obsessed over, the random phases I went through, or even the exact way I felt most days. But my journals remember. Years from now, I can simply open one of them and travel back in time. And while I cannot become eighteen again, but through words, I'll remember what it felt like to be her.

And I think that's one of the coolest things ever. We may never experience a real time machine, but writing comes pretty close. It gives you the liberty to travel to the future, and revisit the past. What a wonder!

Then there's another thing people don't realise. Writers are professional thieves.

No—not that kind. We steal conversations. We steal expressions. We steal sunsets. We steal awkward silences. We steal the random sentence someone says that makes everybody pause for a second. Not because we want to copy them. But because we want to preserve them.

Sometimes people read a beautiful sentence and assume the writer woke up one morning and magically thought of it. Not exactly.

Writers read. They watch. They listen. They ask questions. They collect.

Every beautiful line you've ever highlighted was written because someone else observed something first. Every book you love was influenced by another book. Every writer has learnt from another writer. There really is nothing new under the sun.

But here's the beautiful part. Ten writers can be given the exact same prompt, and you'll still end up with ten completely different stories.

Because while we all gather inspiration from the same world, nobody has lived your life. Nobody has your experiences. Nobody has your voice. That's where originality lives.

And finally, every writer needs solitude.

Now this isn't because we don't like people, but because our minds need room to breathe. We live in a world where everybody is constantly telling us what to think, what to buy, what to believe, what to watch and what to say. Writing gives us permission to pause. To listen to our own thoughts. To process our experiences. To form opinions that are actually ours.

Some of my best ideas don't come when I'm desperately trying to think. They come mid-laughter, in a conversation with someone. When I'm washing plates. When I'm staring out of a bus window. When I'm simply existing.

And this is exactly how I'd explain writing.

It's observation before it's vocabulary.

It's listening before it's speaking.

It's collecting before it's creating.

It's remembering before it's recording.

It's emotional photography.

And every time I sit down to write, I get to preserve a tiny piece of life that time would've otherwise stolen from me. I think that's pretty magical. What do you think?

Leave a comment

Day 14/20.

See you tomorrow.

She sighed. It had only been two months, but it felt like longer since Kola walked out of forever with her. She never imagined becoming a divorcee—much less in her twenties. There was the stigma and shame that came with it, so she shut everyone out. And now that she had somehow silenced the voices of the naysayers, her own thoughts finally found room to express themselves... and unfortunately, at maximum volume.

She couldn't sleep because he wasn't on the other side of the bed. He wasn't there to cuddle her or sing her lullabies to calm her racing mind.

Oh, how she yearned for his warmth, his touch, his presence. But instead, she was left with an empty house and a loud mind.

If anybody had told her that her high school sweetheart would walk away from real commitment after being together for eight years, she never would have believed them. Now, the heartbreak was one thing. The adjusting was another. There's something about experiencing love from someone for so long that makes it difficult to do even the simplest things—like breathing—when they're no longer there. She found it extremely hard to eat on most days because everything seemed to remind her of the harsh reality that Kola was no longer a part of her life.

She smiled as she remembered how he would spoon-feed her whenever they ate together. She would always reach for his plantain despite knowing it was his favourite addition to every meal. But because he loved her, he never minded sharing.

She remembered how being lovers at such a young age made everything sweeter. He was her prom date in high school. They won Couple of the Year twice at university. He composed an entire song for her and performed it in front of their classmates on their signout day.

Their love wasn't without struggles though as Kola's family practically took her as their daughter when she lost her mother. Little wonder why it was easy for her to defend him before the disciplinary council in their third year when someone accused him of stealing. She insisted he could never do such a thing and staked her own future as a student on that conviction because she loved him. He was later vindicated after a thorough investigation.

They were supposed to travel the world together. Try out dishes whose names they couldn't pronounce. Prove everyone who thought they wouldn't last wrong. Break the internet with cute "Get Ready With Me" videos, travel vlogs, and wholesome couple content. They were supposed to have twins—Korede and Ayomide. They were supposed to wake up beside each other every morning for the rest of their lives.

He promised her breakfast in bed every morning without fail. She promised to paint a family portrait when the twins turned five. They promised never to let anything or anyone stand in the way of their love.

It was them against the world. But now, all of it felt like a façade. And everything felt like a bad dream she desperately wished she could wake up from.

Share

How would she heal?

Would she ever heal completely?

Would she ever be able to open her heart to love again?

She didn't realise how far gone she was until she heard the sound of glass hitting the hard tiled floor. The glass had slipped from her hand, and the milk spilled across the kitchen.

Wiping away the tears that had escaped out of sheer frustration, she reached for the mop and broom. Even something as simple as cleaning up reminded her of Kola. She paused, took a deep breath, and finished the task.

When she was done, she washed her hands and made her way to the living room. She couldn't bear being in the bedroom that held too many memories of her ex-husband. As the sofa received her, she sat quietly, absentmindedly fiddling with the hem of her nightwear.

Then she whispered a heartfelt confession to no one in particular. "I wish I could unfeel this pain that has made a home in my chest."

She paused. “I'm tired. How much long do I have to do this, because I really... really miss him."

And with that, she took a look at her hand—the one that still had her wedding ring on it, held it close to her chest, and allowed the tears to flow freely.

What emotion do you think Amari was feeling?

Leave a comment

Day 13/20.

It's honestly funny at this point because that's the first thing most people think of when they hear "HR." Some people even go a step further and say, "HR people are wicked." And every single time, I just smile.

I remember attending an HR conference organised by my department during my 100 level. One of the speakers talked about rejection emails, while another HR professional, who worked as a Talent Manager, explained that they didn't even like calling them "rejection emails." To them, they were feedback. And that perspective stuck with me. It made me realise that HR is far more nuanced than people think.

The truth is, HR isn't just about hiring and firing people. It's about people.

Think about it. Every organisation has two major groups: the employer and the employees.

The employer wants the organisation to grow, remain profitable, and achieve its goals. The employees want fair pay, healthy working conditions, opportunities to grow, flexibility, and a workplace where they're treated with dignity. And right in the middle of both is HR. That's not an easy place to be.

They're expected to protect the interests of the organisation while also advocating for the people who work there. It's a delicate balance.

Yes, HR sometimes has to communicate difficult decisions. Yes, they may issue queries. Yes, they may process resignations or even dismissals. But that's only a tiny part of what they do.

HR is involved in recruitment, training and development, employee welfare, performance management, conflict resolution, workplace culture, compensation, onboarding, career development, and so much more.

It's about psychology. It's about emotional intelligence. It's about learning that every employee is different and that no two people should be managed exactly the same way. Ironically, the department many people think is "against employees" is often the very department advocating for them behind closed doors. Sometimes, HR is the voice reminding management that employees are human beings before they are workers. And I think that's beautiful.

Share

So no... HR isn't just the department that fires people. It's the department that helps people thrive. And maybe it's time we stopped judging an entire profession by one responsibility and started appreciating the hundreds of others we never get to see.

Now let's be real, what's the first thing that comes to your mind when you hear "HR"? Be honest. 😂

Leave a comment

Day 12 of 20.

See you tomorrow.

If everything has gone according to God's plan, (which I know will) then by the time you're reading this, you're somebody's wife.

And not because I see marriage as your identity, but because HE FINALLY SHOWED UPPP! I'm sure he's everything we've prayed for. More importantly, I hope you're everything you've prayed to become.

As I write this, I'm currently reading This Thing Called Love by Oreva, and I genuinely cannot put it down. It has been such a beautiful, romantic read. I hope you've written something just as beautiful someday. Not necessarily another poetry collection, but maybe a collection of stories that make people pause, smile, cry, and believe in love again.

I hope you've hosted many more worship gatherings where people encounter Jesus in ways they never imagined. I hope UNBURDEN wasn't just a one-time thing. I hope it became a place where people keep coming, not because of you, but because they leave different from how they came.

I hope you've travelled. I hope you've seen countries you once only dreamed of visiting. I hope you've tried foods you've never heard of before. I hope you've become the kind of woman whose presence makes people love Jesus more. Not because you're perfect, but because you've never stopped pointing people to Him.

I'm proud of you for handling the confusion, the waiting, the career decisions, the family expectations, and every season in between with the wisdom God promised to give.

I'm proud of you for remaining the person people feel safe around. The person whose words still heal. The person whose life reminds others that God keeps His promises. I hope you're making impact in people's lives the same way so many people are making an impact in mine right now. And I hope success never made you forget the girl who prayed for everything you now have.

Please don't ever become so accomplished that you forget where God brought you from. Don't ever become so wise in your own eyes that you stop depending on Him. If anything, I hope you've become even more aware that every good thing in your life has always been God's grace.

Share

One more thing...

Right now, Jeremiah 29:11 is still a promise I'm holding on to. "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."

I know the verse. I believe the verse. But I don't fully understand it yet. However, you do. Because you're living in the future God was talking about all along. And I hope it's even more beautiful than I imagined.

Until then, I'll keep becoming you.

With love,

Your 21-year-old self. 🥹💕

Day 11 of 20.

11:45pm, 29.07.26

Dear Diary,

You know I don't like being out when it rains, but I've never been more grateful for rain than I was today.

I went to the library to prepare for my Statistics midterm paper because my lecturer wouldn't let us breathe. And with exams coming up, I have to take the numbers seriously, even if I don't like them.

I couldn't go in because I forgot my ID card, and honestly, a part of me was frustrated because the porch wasn't exactly conducive. People were either chatting, laughing, or on their phones, and I seemed to be the odd one out. But I couldn't think of anywhere else to go, so I stayed.

It began to rain, and I folded myself into the single armchair as goosebumps began to appear all over my body. I'd also forgotten to bring my cardigan. Perfect! Today was the day I somehow forgot to carry everything I needed.

I must have dozed off because the next thing I remember was loud laughter waking me up. It was him. He'd come to wait out the rain with his friends.

The porch quickly filled up with people until we were practically squeezed like sardines, and I had to share the single armchair with him. It wasn't the most convenient, but I didn't mind.

How silly of me to have spent time taking him in rather than thinking about my midterm paper!

But I guess he was worth it? Yes, he was.

He had this charming smile that would make anyone melt... or maybe it's just me. I really wished he'd talk to me, even if it was just a hello, and I kept waiting. When it became clear he wouldn't, I decided to continue solving the statistical equation.

Funny enough, that caught his attention.

Apparently, I was getting it wrong because I'd used the formula for Z-cal instead of T-cal, and I was stuck. He noticed because he'd been watching me.

When he pointed out my error, a part of me felt embarrassed, but another part of me felt flattered. He was watching me. And he was talking to me. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED 🤭

When he leaned in to collect my pen after politely asking if he could guide me, I inhaled his scent and I couldn't help but smile. He smelled faintly of flowers and I thought it was cute. I figured he was an Engineering student because the equations seemed to be easy peasy for him, but he didn't make me feel silly for not understanding them at first.

I think the formula stuck because I kept recalling it in his voice. And I liked that even when the rain stopped and his friends signalled that they should leave, he motioned that he'd catch up with them.

He chose me over them. Hehe! (Okay, now I'm being delulu, but still. 🤭)

Share

He stayed long enough to watch me get the next question right, and then he gave me a high five. I don't remember the last time anyone did that. That was our first physical contact and even though my intestines were doing the dance, I really tried to keep it together on the surface.

Just when we were easing into each other's company, my watch beeped. It was 30 minutes to my paper, and I had to leave. It was such a difficult thing to do, given how much I was enjoying his company, but I stood up anyway.

He was such a gentleman because he walked me all the way to my faculty. Even though he didn't say much, it wasn't awkward or anything.

He asked for my name, and when I told him, he winked. When I asked for his, he smiled and said, “No worries. I'll tell you the next time I see you." And with that, he walked away.

Does that mean I get to see him again? I sure can't wait.

If there's anything I've learned from my Statistics classes so far, it's the fact that we should not be quick to jump into conclusions. So for now, I'll simply state my hypothesis: I think I'm in love.

Leave a comment

Day 10 of 20.

Now, I know that doesn't sound like a big deal, but wait.

The teddy bear had a voice recording inside it. So every time her friend pressed a button, she'd hear Adanna reminding her how loved she was, celebrating her, and speaking kind words over her. The audio even ended with, "Whenever you're sad, just press this button." That was really cute! It was such a thoughtful gift, and watching her friend's reaction made me smile.

I got Lulola in 2021, and she wasn't gigantic, but to me, she was everything. She came all the way from overseas, and I remember being so excited because it was the first time I owned what I considered a "proper" teddy bear. I loved her so much!

And while I know she's just cotton and fabric, I also know she was so much more than that to me. Aside from the fact that she used to glow in the dark and had different colours (you could literally use her as a substitute for a torch 😭), Lulola came in my favourite colour at the time—pink.

And she was timely because 2021 was my heartbreak year. So, on days when I didn't feel like listening to sad songs or was too sad to write, I held her. I felt like she was always there for me, haha! And that was because she was never out of reach.

I may not have had a boo, but I had Lulola.

There were days when I wasn't necessarily alone, but I felt lonely.

Holding her made me feel less alone.

Sometimes, all I wanted was a hug. Just the feeling that someone—or something—was there.

And somehow, hugging Lulola made those moments feel bearable.

She didn't solve my problems. 😂 I mean, she wasn't alive, so how could she? She also didn't take the pain away, but she reminded me that comfort doesn't always have to come in the way we expect. Sometimes, it comes wrapped in soft fabric with button eyes and a stitched smile.

It's funny how we call them inanimate objects because something that didn't have life felt so alive to me.

Now, I'm not in any way saying a teddy bear replaces people. No, it's not an alternative to community or even God. But I do think that even the simplest things can make us feel warm, fuzzy, and loved. Maybe that's why we outgrow toys but never really outgrow the need to be comforted.

And I guess that's why seeing that video made me smile. Not necessarily because I wanted the teddy bear. But because I remembered what mine once meant to me. (Although... I do hope to have a gigantic one someday. 🤭)

Share

So yes...I genuinely think every girl should own a teddy bear at least once in her life.

Not because it's trendy. Not because it's cute. But because, every now and then, life hands us seasons where a little softness goes a long way.

What's your two cents?

Leave a comment

Day 9 of 20.

See you tomorrow.

It was a teenager speaking, and I loved it! She mentioned something her dad had taught her growing up: "Obedience is the first time." And it just stuck with me because it redefined the word. I had never thought about obedience that way before.

I think many of us define obedience as eventually doing what we've been told. But obedience isn't just about getting something done. It's about getting it done at the right time. And instantly, my dad came to mind.

Now, if there's one thing he takes seriously, it's chores. He can sweep the house five or six times a day if he has his way. Not because it's dirty, but because he wants it to always be neat. (And I promise you, I'm not exaggerating.)

Then there are the plates.

If you've just finished eating, he expects you to take your plate to the kitchen and wash it immediately. I mean, it's feasible if you live alone, but when you don't (just like in my case), that's not exactly practical.

Imagine going to the market to buy foodstuffs, running errands in between, prepping the meal, cooking, serving the food, and then finally eating. Now you're done, but you're tired. Naturally, all you want to do is sit down for a few minutes before washing the plate.

But to my dad, that's not obedience. Because even if he knows you're eventually going to wash it, if you don't do it immediately, you've disobeyed.

Now, this is where some of you need to catch your sub. Because you keep asking and praying for clarity when Heaven is waiting on you. Maybe God isn't silent. Maybe you’re still yet to act on the last instruction He gave you.

And the interesting part is this: God is a God of order and protocols. He's also not a respecter of persons. So, no matter the oil on your head or the big picture He has shown you, there's no Level Two if you're not done with Level One.

Another thing to know is that delayed obedience isn't the same as obedience.

By God's kairos, some instructions are specifically tailored for a season. Meaning that if God asks you to do something today and you decide you'll do it six months from now, you may still have done the thing, but you've missed the timing. And the timing is just as important as the instruction itself.

For me, I think that's one of the biggest lessons God taught me through the worship gathering I hosted last week. In reality, it made no sense because I had just one month to put everything together. And if I'm being honest, it felt impossible.

But every step of obedience was backed by God—every single one. It proved, over and over again, that it was His idea, not mine. And He was committed to His plan from start to finish. Looking back, I'm grateful I didn't wait until I felt "ready" because the truth is this: would I ever have been? I don't think so.

But I'm grateful I understood the season and chose to run with what He had placed on my heart.

Share

So that's today's reminder.

Obedience isn't just saying "yes." It's saying "yes" when God says to. Because the blessing isn't only attached to the instruction. It's attached to the timing.

Leave a comment

Day 8 of 20.

See you tomorrow. ✨

Lagos is a city that never sleeps, and somehow, it expects the people living in it not to sleep either. I speak for myself and my fellow residents when I say that, in this city, time is never enough. Twenty-four hours is simply not enough in a day.

The seconds keep counting into minutes, minutes into hours, hours into days, the days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months, and before you know it, an entire decade has gone by.

Trust me, we all want to make it here, but more often than not, it just feels like there aren't enough hours in the day. It's as though the city is INTENTIONALLY after our greatest resource—time. 🫠

There are people who wake up at 4 a.m. just so they can beat traffic. Some live on the mainland and work on the island, spending two to three hours—or even more—commuting every single day. And that's just one way.

When it rains, transport fares increase which makes budgeting difficult. Traffic gets worse and more time is spent commuting. The roads become almost impossible to navigate. You finally get home exhausted, only to prepare yourself to do the exact same thing the next morning.

And somehow, you're still expected to have a social life. To spend time with God. To exercise. To build healthy relationships. To rest. To chase your dreams outside your 9-to-5 because the job that takes 80% of your time can barely cater to your basic needs. To become the best version of yourself. And genuinely, it's so sad because sometimes it just feels like we're chasing the wind.

9-to-5 workers seem to complain more, but even business owners feel it. Many shops have to open as early as possible because that's when customers are rushing to work. The city is constantly moving, and if you slow down for a moment, it feels like you've already been left behind.

The truth is, Lagos is full of opportunities. I don't think anyone can deny that. But these opportunities also come at a cost. Sometimes that cost is your time. Sometimes it's your energy. Sometimes it's your peace of mind and sanity. And sometimes, it's EVERYTHING AT ONCE. ‼️

Today, I saw a man defecating by the roadside in broad daylight. (He was clearly not mentally stable.) But imagine the gory sight. Actually, don't imagine it.

And you know the crazy part? People simply looked and walked past. No one seemed surprised because this city raises your shock absorber. So much so that you can witness the worst happening and not be fazed. Like I often say, "Wetin Musa no go see for Lagos?"

I think that's the saddest part. We've seen so much that we've almost become numb to it. The traffic. The noise. The overcrowding. The stress. The daily struggle to simply get from one place to another. (It's only in Lagos that moving from the mainland to the island can be as stressful as travelling from one state to another.) We've become so used to surviving that we've forgotten what living actually feels like.

Maybe that's the real problem nobody talks about.

Not that Lagos is difficult. But that many of us are quietly carrying a level of exhaustion we've normalised. We're all pretending to be okay because, to be honest, we tell ourselves we're more privileged than people in other states.

We're all trying to make it. We're all chasing the next opportunity. We're all hoping that one day, the sacrifice will finally pay off. And I really pray it does.

But I also think it's okay to admit that we're tired. Because success shouldn't only be measured by how much money we make. It should also be measured by whether we still have enough time to pray, to laugh, to spend time with the people we love, to rest, and to simply breathe.

If you're in Lagos, I want to hear from you. How has the city been treating you? It's okay to be honest here; it's a safe space. 🫂

Leave a comment

May God help us all.

Day 7 of 20.

See you tomorrow. ✨

I'm honestly grateful for the people who did justice to that passage because, at first glance, it can almost seem as though the Bible contradicts itself. But it doesn't.

One thing to understand is that the Word of God, though written through imperfect men under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, remains the most perfect book ever written.

Sadly, many people cherry-pick this verse to justify whatever they want to do. They interpret it to mean:

"Don't tell me I'm wrong."

"Don't correct me."

" Don't call out my sin because you're not perfect either."

“Our righteousness is like filthy rags before God, so you have no right to judge me."

But if we take a closer look, that's not what Jesus was saying.

The Greek word translated "judge" is krinō. Depending on the context, it can mean to judge, evaluate, decide, or condemn. And the context of Matthew 7 makes Jesus' point clear: He wasn't forbidding discernment or loving correction. He was warning against hypocritical, self-righteous condemnation.

How do I know this? Well, read what He says next:

“Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?... First take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother's eye." — Matthew 7:3–5.

Notice what Jesus doesn't say. He doesn't say, "Leave the speck there." He says, "First remove the plank from your own eye, then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother's eye."

The issue wasn't pointing out someone else's sin. The issue was acting as though your own sin didn't exist while magnifying theirs. Jesus wasn't forbidding discernment. He was forbidding self-righteousness.

And a couple of verses down the line, He says, " Stop judging by mere appearances, but instead judge correctly." — John 7:24.

Share

Also, Paul writes “What business is it of mine to judge those outside the church? Are you not to judge those inside?" — 1 Corinthians 5:12.

Notice the distinction. As believers, we're called to lovingly hold one another accountable. Not to shame. Not to embarrass. Not to prove we're more spiritual. But to restore.

Galatians 6:1 reads "Brothers and sisters, if someone is caught in a sin, you who live by the Spirit should restore that person gently."

Gently. Not proudly. Not harshly. Not self-righteously.

The gospel calls us to neither. Instead, it calls us to truth in love. I think one of the reasons we've become uncomfortable with accountability is because we've confused it with rejection. Being corrected doesn't mean you're unloved. Sometimes, it's proof that you are.

The writer of Hebrews reminds us: "Because the Lord disciplines the one he loves, and he chastens everyone he accepts as his son." — Hebrews 12:6.

God is loving. But He is also holy. He is merciful. But He is also just. He never sacrifices one attribute to preserve another.

That's why the goal of correction has never been condemnation. It's always been restoration.

Share Growth & Vulnerability 🌱💜

So the next time you hear someone say, "We listen, we don't judge," remember this: Jesus never spoke against accountability. He spoke against hypocrisy. He never condemned loving correction. He condemned self-righteous condemnation.

Maybe we've spent so much time quoting, "Judge not," that we've forgotten to keep reading. Not every correction is condemnation. And sometimes, love looks like refusing to leave someone where they are.

In summary, Matthew 7 isn't telling Christians to stop correcting one another; it's telling us to examine ourselves first so our correction comes from humility rather than hypocrisy.

"Jesus didn't say, 'Never judge.' He said, 'Don't judge hypocritically.'"

So our response as believers isn't "we listen, we don't judge." It's "we listen, we discern, and where necessary, we lovingly restore."

Leave a comment

Episode 6/20.

See you tomorrow! ✨

Obviously, I was still quite young, but there was this feeling of, If God is here, if God is present, if God really sees us, then why is this happening? Where was He all along?

And sometimes, when we go through certain things, that's the question on our minds—whether or not we choose to say it out loud. And today, I'm here to tell you that it's okay to ask these questions.

Where was God when I was raped?

Where was God when I was sexually harassed and molested?

Where was God when I was taken advantage of?

Where was God when my family lost everything and we had to start from the ground up?

Where was God when my father was beating my mother, and she had to run for her life?

Where was God when I lost the person I loved?

It doesn't make you less of a Christian to ask questions.

Pain is real. It may not feel tangible, but as someone who has been there, I can say it sometimes feels more real than the things we can see. Because how is it that one experience, or several experiences, can scar us so much that they show up in multiple ways down the line? And most times, we're not even aware of it.

Now you no longer want to exercise your faith because, what if God doesn't heal you? You're skeptical about praying for that loved one who is sick because the last time you did, they still died. You've become avoidant because you feel like if you bring your emotions to God and embrace vulnerability in the place of prayer, you'll be left hanging.

See, I may not have the answers to your questions, but this I know...

When I lost my aunt, for some reason I thought our lives would be over. A huge part of me didn't think my mum would make it because that was her closest sister. And while it may have seemed as though God was far away, He never left.

I may not be able to pinpoint every single instance where He was working. I still don't know why He allowed her to go, but I do know this: there has been healing, and there has been comfort. And that's proof enough for me that He was there.

One thing I've learnt is that God doesn't always give us the answers we desperately think we want or need. Sometimes, the answer we think we need isn't even what will bring us comfort. Sometimes, what we truly need is His presence.

Something my pastor said about 2 Corinthians 1:3–4 months back, has stayed with me.

"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God."

He said God would not be called the God of all comfort if there were no pain in the first place. That really shifted my perspective.

The fact that He calls Himself the God of all comfort tells me that He already knew we would experience pain. He knew there would be seasons that would leave us asking questions we couldn't answer. And He didn't promise that we'd always understand. But He did promise that He would be with us.

I think that's the consolation I have now. I may not have seen it then. I may not have noticed it then. But God has always been there. Maybe I've been looking for the spectacular for so long that I've ignored the little things. Something as simple as finally heaving a sigh of relief after carrying a weight in your chest for months. Something as simple as looking at the sky and being mesmerised by how beautiful it is. Watching a child grow from being in their mother's womb to taking their first steps. Admiring the beauty of flowers on a sunny afternoon. Looking around and wondering what holds this world together—day and night, sun and stars, morning and evening, week after week, month after month, year after year.

Sometimes we get so caught up in the busyness of life. We wake up, go through our routines, and repeat them the next day. But if we slow down and look closely enough, we'll realise that God is in the details. That's the reminder we both need.

God isn't just the One who sees us when we feel unseen. He is the God who sees us every single day. He is present in our times of trouble. He holds us together even when we're falling apart and don't even realise it.

I think this is something our generation is forgetting. We forget that God is Spirit. Yes, His presence is tangible. Yes, His presence can be felt. But at His core, God is Spirit. And because of that, we won't always feel Him. But He will always be there.

So, to the person who feels lost...

To the person who feels unseen...

Remember that random phone call that came just when you felt like quitting. Remember that text from someone saying, "I'm rooting for you." Remember that comment that gave you the courage to keep showing up. That wasn't just luck or some random coincidence. It wasn't the universe giving you a sign. It was God reaching out to you.

Sometimes we're so busy looking for God in the extraordinary that we miss Him in the ordinary. But He's been there all along. And if we look closely enough, we'll realise that He's there.

Episode 5/20.

See you tomorrow!

She said, "I'm grateful for the bad days because how would we appreciate the good days if there were no bad days?" I haven't stopped thinking about that since.

It's difficult to write about things we mostly only complain about, but I think that the beauty of gratitude is that even in the bad, there's some element of good. It just depends on your perspective. And here's my little way of making you see things differently. Hopefully, it works.

Five years ago, I went through my first heartbreak. I was 16 at the time, and it was crazy because each time I think about it, I ask myself, "What was I even thinking?" And even though I've healed and moved on from it, there's still that part of me that sometimes wishes it never happened because it just feels like a taint on a white canvas. 🥺

But thinking about it now, I can honestly say it has shaped me in more ways than I can count. And this is not even me trying to idolise or encourage the mentality that it's something everybody should go through in order to be grateful. But in more ways than one, that phase of my life has done more good than bad. And I mean this, literally.

First, it brought me closer to God.

I don't know, but there's something about heartbreak that desperately pushes you to find peace. When there's an ache in your heart that you don't even have the words to explain, you just want a safe space to be and learn to breathe slowly all over again. You want the feeling of emptiness to disappear. And for me, that pushed me to the feet of Jesus. I may have come for peace, but it didn't just end there. I realised there was more in Him, and learning that there's a God-sized hole in each of us that only He can fill just made me want to stay. I mean, why settle for peace when I could have the Prince of Peace?

Secondly, it opened my eyes to a lot of things.

It taught me that sometimes people show us what we deserve by first showing us what we don't. Meaning that the way we're treated becomes the very thing that opens our eyes to the fact that we deserve better. And because of that, when I find myself in similar situations, I can identify them from miles away. I can smell them from a distance and say, "No. I deserve better than this."

So yes, I'm grateful that when I went back to him, hoping we'd get back together, he said no. I'm grateful for all the tears I shed because 2021 was full of them. I'm grateful for all the nights I stayed awake thinking about my life, questioning my worth and identity because of everything that happened. For the times my mind replayed everything over and over again, and it felt like a nightmare. For the days I felt so raw, so exposed, so vulnerable, asking, "Why me? Why me? Why me?"

I’m grateful for every single one of those moments. And as discomforting as they were, I'm grateful that I can look back five years later and say healing and growth happened. That experience pushed me to take writing more seriously because I needed an avenue to release all that pain. And by God's grace, those words became my very first self-published poetry series.

Who would have thought I'd one day make money from heartbreak?

Who would have thought that something so painful would connect me with people across countries and continents?

My book has become healing for people. It has brought closure in the sense that they read it and feel less alone. They open their mouths agape and say, "Wow, you too? I thought I was the only one." It has made people understand that their worth is not diminished because they're going through pain and that, with God on their side, they will make it to the other side—where healing and wholeness exist. And whenever I think about that, I'm reminded that God really doesn't waste anything. 🥹

So today, I no longer want to complain about what happened five years ago.

Today, I choose to own it as part of my story. To be grateful for it. Because as hard as it was, and as much as I wish it never happened, it has shaped my life in more ways than I can count.

And I think that's what maturity looks like. Not pretending the pain never existed, but being able to look back at it with gratitude for the person it helped you become.

Leave a comment

If you want, you can grab a copy of 7 Hours Gone, here.

This is day 4/20.

See you tomorrow.

However, if you placed a plate of sweet potatoes beside a plate of macaroni and asked me to choose one, I'd pick the sweet potatoes without thinking twice. Not because I absolutely love them. But because I dislike macaroni more. Now, that doesn't suddenly make me a lover of sweet potatoes. It just means, given those two options, one appeals to me more than the other.

People can be like that sometimes, and I learned this lesson early in life—when I was just in secondary school.

SS2 was the class where teachers would nominate candidates for leadership positions, as against SS3. Now, if we were going by grades solely, I wouldn't have been the Head Girl. But the school looked at more than academics. There was an interview, leadership qualities were considered, and I was appointed Head Girl while someone else became my assistant.

Now my assistant was brilliant. In fact, academically, she ranked above me because while she topped the class, I was second position. And it had been subtle all along but after the election I realised something - many people were not happy about the fact that I was Head Girl—my coursemates and juniors infact.

And honestly it was confusing because it wasn't as though they really liked her. It was simply a situation where they disliked me more than they did, her. I didn't understand how intense their dislike for me was, until graduation. Usually we had this party - Grand Hit where students from the graduating set got awards, and traditionally, the Head Boy and Head Girl received the "Most Influential" award. It was non-negotiable. But that year, things were different.

Rather than follow the standard and give me the award, they gave my assistant instead. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hurt because while I was indifferent about them disliking me, the fact that they went that length just to spite me made me wonder what I ever did to deserve such cruelty. Like these people just disliked me because they chose to.

It didn't make sense at the time, but 4 years later, I realised that experience changed the way I see people. Just like I'd choose potatoes over macaroni even if it's not my go to food, I realised that sometimes people choose others over you, not because they're deeply loyal to that person, but because, for whatever reason, they have fewer objections to them than they do to you.

The funny thing is that their aim was to break apart the friendship between my assistant and I, but it never worked. Even competing for first position academically didn't break our bond, and even if life has taken us down different paths and cities, our friendship has remained.

I’ve learned to not measure my value by people's preferences. Because people's choices are often shaped by their own experiences, assumptions, fears, and biases—things that have very little to do with me. It also taught me something else. If someone chooses you simply because they dislike you less than the alternative, don't mistake that for loyalty.

Real loyalty isn't built on limited options. It remains even when the options change.

Share

So the next time someone overlooks you, don't be too quick to question your worth. And the next time someone chooses you, don't be too quick to assume you've won their heart. Sometimes, people are simply making the best choice they can see. And that's a reflection of them—not necessarily of you.

Episode 3 of 20.

See you tomorrow! ✨

So here's my unpopular opinion: Consistency is not always key. And before you disagree with me, hear me out.

We've become so obsessed with showing up that we've forgotten to ask a more important question: Am I showing up the right way? Because if you're consistently doing the wrong thing, consistency won't save you. It will simply make you better at getting the wrong results.

Imagine you're driving to a destination using the wrong route. Pressing the accelerator harder doesn't help. It only gets you lost faster. The problem isn't your speed—it's your direction. In the same way, consistency without the right foundation, knowledge, or strategy only helps you repeat the same mistakes more efficiently. More of the wrong thing is still the wrong thing. 🤷

Sometimes we tell people to "post more," "work harder," or "keep going" without stopping to examine the foundation. Is the strategy working? Is the knowledge accurate? And how can you create room for growth if you're too busy producing to reflect?

I also think we've unintentionally turned consistency into a measure of commitment. We tell people to show up every day. Push through. No excuses. Even if you're operating at 5%, just keep going. And honestly, I understand where that advice comes from. There are seasons when discipline matters more than motivation.

But there are also seasons when the wisest thing you can do is pause. Sometimes moving forward requires slowing down first. Sometimes your best work comes after you've given an idea enough time to breathe.

If you're constantly trying to get something out, you won’t always have time to think deeply, gather your thoughts in an organised manner, or consider better alternatives. Sometimes creators are obsessed with creating that they don't stop to ask whether or not what they have created is actually worth sharing.

Think about it - even manufacturers sometimes withold their products from the market so they can make improvements. It's not just about producing. The real question is are you improving?

I'll use myself as a case study.

I've been writing for over ten years. Yet earlier this year, I took my very first writing class. Because I've been doing it for years, I thought I already knew how to write, but I was wrong.

That class opened my eyes to techniques and strategies I would never have figured out on my own. I learned to write with empathy, to communicate effectively and to process my emotions before putting them on paper. I learned to stop confusing vulnerability with unloading my unprocessed feelings onto my readers.

For years, I had been consistent. But consistency alone wasn't what made me better. Learning did. And looking back, I realise that if I had simply continued writing the same way because "consistency is key," I might have become more consistent...but not necessarily better.

So no, I don't believe consistency is always the key. I think INTENTIONAL CONSISTENCY is. The kind that leaves room for learning. The kind that isn't afraid to pause when necessary. The kind that values quality just as much as quantity. Because at the end of the day, I'd rather improve slowly than repeat the same mistakes quickly.

Now, I'd love to hear from you. Do you think consistency is always key, or do you think we've overemphasised it? Whichever side you're on, tell me why in the comments. I'd genuinely love to hear your perspective.

Comment

By the way, my amazing Coach is right here on this app, in the person of . I was privileged to serve as the Course Rep for the very first cohort and I'm back again as Course Rep for the second cohort which is currently ongoing. ☺️

If you'd like to learn the ropes about writing and becomes more consistent INTENTIONAL about writing, you should totally sign up for the next cohort. If you're interested, you can indicate in the comments or subscribe to her newsletter so you can be among the first people to be know when registration begins.

This is episode 2 of 20, and I'm excited for this writing challenge. 💃

See you tomorrow,

Glory. 💕

But if you asked me to name one habit that has quietly transformed my life, planning would be at the top of the list. t's a habit that was planted in me long before I understood its value.

Growing up, my siblings and I attended a school that was quite far from home. I can’t believe I embarked on that journey to and fro, for 9 years. Every evening, we'd return exhausted after navigating public transport wahala, conductor palava, and Lagos drama in general. (I have stories to tell, but let's save that for another day.) We were really young back then, so by the time we got home, we'd be hungry, and tired. And naturally, the first thing we wanted to do was sit down, eat, or simply rest.

But my dad never agreed. The rule was to not disrupt the plan. Take a shower, eat, settle down, and begin working on your assignment. Not just that, he also ensued we prepared everything that would be needed for the next day. Our uniforms were ironed and laid out. Our stockings, sandals, school bags, and lunch boxes were arranged and ready. Even the tea cups we'd use to have breakfast the next morning would be neatly arranged, on the dining table. He was that intentional!

At the time, it felt unnecessarily strict and because it was routine, it became really annoying. Now, I understand what he was teaching us. He wasn't just teaching us to prepare for tomorrow. He was teaching us to remove tomorrow's unnecessary stress. That lesson stayed with me.

Even today, I plan almost everything. If I have several events coming up, I decide what I'll wear ahead of time. Corporate event? The trousers and blouse are already ironed. Casual outing? The outfit is already picked. It isn't because I expect an emergency. It's because I don't want to create one.

The same applies to my work. Before I go to bed, I already know what tomorrow looks like because my to-do list is waiting for me. I don't wake up wondering, "What am I supposed to do today?" I wake up ready to begin.

Does everything go according to plan? Of course not. Life has a way of interrupting even the best schedules. But I've discovered that planning doesn't exist to guarantee perfection. It exists to prepare you for change. When something unexpected happens, you're not starting from chaos. You're adjusting from a place of clarity.

Planning has reduced my anxiety more times than I can count. It has helped me make better decisions, waste less time, and approach my days with intention instead of confusion. Maybe that's why I believe it's one of the most underrated habits anyone can build. Because planning isn't about controlling every moment. t's about giving your future self one less problem to solve.

What do you think?