Friends! As I write this, I just finished eating Toblerone dark chocolate with honey and almond nougat, and honestly, it tasted so good. So good that, for a moment, I found myself thinking about that old yearning of mine to own a chocolate company someday.

Funny how something as little as chocolate can remind you of a dream you once tucked away.

And maybe that is what I like about life. There is always something beneath the surface. A taste can remind you of a dream. A song can take you back to a person. A conversation can introduce you to a version of yourself you had never met.

Man! writing about love feels so cringe to me.

Mostly because I am someone who has always believed there is so much more to life than romantic relationships. I am a lover girl, yes, but I don’t make love the centre of my existence. I have ambitions that are bigger than being someone’s favourite person. I have a business I want to build, a career I want to grow, a life I want to create, and a version of myself I am constantly chasing.

The people who have actually known me know this.

From afar, I apparently look like the mafia Imisi. Someone actually called me that once, and I still wonder what exactly I possess that made them describe me with such a strong word. Mafia? Me? 😂

But I understand it, in a way.

I am self-sufficient. I love myself deeply. I am almost obsessed with becoming the woman I imagine in my head. I like my own company. I have dreams that consume me. I can spend hours thinking about my business, my next idea, my career, money, growth, and all the things I want to accomplish.

I want to be wealthy. Not just financially, but in experiences, knowledge, relationships, impact and freedom.

I want to build things that outlive me. I want to create businesses that matter. I want to wake up one day and realise that the little ideas I once whispered to myself became entire companies.

And yet, when love enters the picture, something shifts. Not completely. I don’t disappear into another person. But sometimes, my 100% becomes 60:40.

Maybe “abandon” is too dramatic a word. But there is a subtle redistribution of attention. I start making room where there wasn’t room before. I begin considering someone else in decisions that used to belong entirely to me. I become softer. More available. More emotionally invested. And I think that is one of the distractions women don’t talk about enough.

Love can be beautiful, but it can also be consuming. Sometimes you are so excited about someone that you forget you still have a life waiting for you. You postpone the thing you said you would do. You spend an extra hour talking when you were supposed to be working. You start measuring your day by whether they called, whether they replied, whether they miss you. And I don’t want to lose myself that way.

I want to be 100% committed to my craft, my business, my career, my dreams and the woman I am becoming. Maybe that is why I have always found myself comfortable in the talking stage.

I’ve had my fair share of talking stages. So many, in fact, that sometimes I laugh when I think about it.

I like the beginning.

I like the butterflies before they become responsibility.

I like the anticipation. The curiosity. The “tell me about yourself.” The late-night conversations that somehow become morning conversations. The gradual discovery of someone’s mind. The excitement of finding out what they want from life, what they believe in, what scares them, what makes them laugh.

I love spotting goals and alignment.

There is something incredibly beautiful about discovering that someone thinks about the future in a way that makes sense to you.

I love the sweet words.

The kind gestures.

The random “Have you eaten?”

The “How was your day?”

The little updates throughout the day.

The exchange of life’s tiny stresses,someone telling you about the annoying thing that happened at work, and you telling them about the ridiculous thing that happened to you.

I love that.

I love being cared about.

I love knowing that someone thought about me enough to ask how my day went.

The irony is that I am terrible at asking people those same questions.

I don’t know why.

I have always had reservations about asking too many questions. Maybe somewhere along the way, I learnt that curiosity could be interpreted as intrusion. “Why are you asking?” “Why do you want to know?”

So sometimes, I simply don’t ask.

But I notice everything.

I notice the things people say casually. I remember little details. I pay attention to patterns. I just don’t always know how to turn all that noticing into questions.

And perhaps that is another reason I enjoy talking stages.

They give me permission to be curious without feeling like I am invading someone’s world.

And strangely, talking stages have also saved me from giving people access to mine too quickly.

My world is beautiful.

At least, I think it is.

It revolves heavily around me, my ambition, my business, my career, my dreams, money, my plans, my becoming. I have spent years building a life that I genuinely enjoy living.

So I don’t let just anybody walk into it.

Access to me is not automatic.

You have to be intentional enough for me to open the door.

And sometimes, the talking stage is simply the doorway.

A place where two people can meet without immediately demanding ownership of each other’s lives.

A place where you can enjoy someone without immediately needing to define everything.

A place where you can ask, Who are you?

And slowly discover whether their world makes sense beside yours.

One of my talking stages actually opened my eyes to possibilities I had never considered before.

He made me see things I didn’t think I could accomplish in weeks.

Not because he did them for me, but because our conversations stretched my imagination.

And I think that is one of the most beautiful things another person can give you.

Perspective.

Sometimes you meet someone and suddenly your dreams look bigger.

Your limitations look smaller.

You start thinking, Wait… I could actually do this.

I love conversations like that.

For me, attraction is beautiful, but intellectual stimulation is intoxicating.

Tell me about your dreams.

Tell me what you’re building.

Tell me what keeps you awake at night.

Tell me what you want your life to look like in ten years.

Tell me something that makes me think differently.

Tell me something that makes me want to go back to my desk and work harder.

I want romance, but I also want substance.

I want butterflies, but I don’t want them to make me forget where I’m going.

I want someone whose presence doesn’t compete with my ambition but makes room for it.

Someone who can love the woman I am while also being excited about the woman I am becoming.

Because I don’t want a love that asks me to shrink.

I want the kind that makes my world feel even bigger.

And perhaps that is why I enjoy the talking stage so much.

It is the sweetest part of possibility.

Nothing is certain yet.

You are simply two people standing at the beginning of a story, slowly discovering whether your worlds belong in the same book.

Sometimes, they do.

Sometimes, they don’t.

And sometimes, you simply enjoy the chapter for what it was.

A few butterflies.

A few beautiful conversations.

A little sweetness.

A new perspective.

A person who made you smile at your phone.

And then, life goes on.

Because as much as I am a lover girl, I am still Imisi.

And there is a whole life I am determined to build.

There are businesses I want to own.

There is wealth I want to create.

There are dreams I haven’t even said out loud yet.

And there is a woman I am still becoming.

So, yes, let me enjoy the butterflies.

Let me enjoy the long calls, the sweet words, the “how was your day?” and the beautiful uncertainty of getting to know someone.

But let me never forget that love is supposed to be a beautiful part of my life not the entirety of it.

I have a world to build.

And whoever eventually gets to love me deeply will have to understand that.

They won’t be my whole world.

They’ll simply have the privilege of having a beautiful place in it.

See you soon my friends 🤎

I don’t know why I’m writing about this, but trust me, I laughed so hard thinking about the whole idea. Still, let’s talk about it.

Hey friends! If you are new here, I’m Imisioluwa, I write about life, Adulting and Business. Okay, and Love sometimes 😂 You are welcome!

Someone once asked me about my dream man, and I realised that, underneath all the butterflies, romance, cute dates and “he makes my heart skip a beat” nonsense, I have only one real fear: ending up with someone who won’t let me fly.

I want to be very, very wealthy.

Not “comfortable.” Not “we’re doing well.” I mean wealthy enough to make my accountant tired. 😂

And I have seen enough to know that not every man is comfortable with a woman becoming bigger than him. I have seen men who are intimidated by their wives’ success. I have seen men who would rather see their wives spend their money than make their own. I have seen men who believe a woman’s ambition should have an expiry date once she gets married.

I have seen men who love women only when they fit neatly into a traditional box. Men obsessed with dominance, control and being “the man” to the point where their woman’s success feels like a personal attack.

And honestly, that scares me. Because what is the essence of marriage if I have to shrink myself to fit inside it? I don’t want a marriage where I have to dim my light so my husband can feel like the sun. There is room in the sky for two stars. And if I become a whole galaxy, I need a man who will look at me and say, “Baby, shine. I’ll get the sunglasses.” 😂

I have seen emotional abuse. I have seen physical abuse. I have seen women slowly lose themselves inside relationships that were supposed to be their safest place. I have seen love become a cage.

So when someone asks me who I want to spend the rest of my life with, my answer is simple: Peace.

I want a man who will let me fly. Actually, no.

I want a man who will watch me build wings and ask me where we’re flying to.

I want someone who will be completely comfortable with me handling billions. Because, respectfully, I plan to have billions. 😂 And if my success makes you insecure, please leave me alone before the wedding.

Let us not turn your insecurity into my life sentence.

I want a man who doesn’t compete with me.

A man who doesn’t need me to be smaller to feel bigger.

A man who can clap for me without secretly wishing the applause was for him.

A man who can say, “That’s my woman!” when I win, instead of wondering how my winning affects his ego.

Because butterflies are beautiful, but butterflies cannot be the entire foundation of a lifetime.

They flutter. They dance. They make your stomach feel like there is a tiny rave happening inside you.

But eventually, the butterflies settle.

And when they do, what remains? Character, Friendship, Kindness, Commitment, Peace,Faith.

The ability to laugh together when the bills are due, the business is stressful and life is doing its usual life-ing.

I want someone who loves me beyond the pretty parts, Someone who cherishes me. Someone who embraces my ambition without trying to tame it.

Someone who unfolds my childlike spirit—the silly girl, the loud girl, the soft girl, the woman who can be ridiculously excited over something so small. I want someone who makes me feel safe enough to be soft.

Someone whose presence feels like coming home after a very long day.

Someone with a genuinely good heart.

Someone who loves God—not just in words, but in the way he treats people, handles power, loves me and conducts himself when nobody is watching.

I want a man who chooses me even when I am difficult to understand, Who chooses me when I am tired, When I am frustrated, When I am figuring things out., When I am not at my prettiest, When life has humbled me, When my plans fail.

When I am standing at the edge of something terrifying and trying to find the courage to jump.

I want someone who says, “I’ve got you.”

Not someone who loves me only when I am easy to love.

And maybe this is why I am not afraid of being unmarried.

I am far more afraid of getting married and losing myself.

I am more afraid of abandoning my purpose just to maintain a relationship.

I am more afraid of waking up one day and realizing I traded the woman I was becoming for a marriage that required me to become less.

Because, truthfully, my ambition comes first.

God forbid I mis-marry. 😂😩 I am, respectfully, a very difficult woman to control. Not because I am impossible to love, but because I know myself, I know what I want, and I know the woman I am becoming.

I would rather walk away than stay with a man who wants to cut my wings because he is afraid of where I might fly. I would rather be single than be married to someone who makes me choose between love and my purpose.

So, no, I am not afraid of being single. I am more afraid of becoming smaller just to keep a marriage.

My ambition wins over marriage—not because I don’t want love, but because I refuse to lose myself in the process of finding it.

God, I want love.

I do! God, I want love.

The kind that makes ordinary Tuesdays feel like Christmas morning. The kind that makes you laugh until your stomach hurts. The kind where you can sit in silence and still feel completely understood.

But I want a love that adds to my life, not one that asks me to subtract from myself.

I want to build.

I want to create.

I want to become.

I want to make mistakes, learn, grow, make money, lose money, make more money, build something enormous and look back one day and say, “Wow, we really did this.”

And I want to turn around and see my person standing there, smiling at me.

Not threatened.

Not intimidated.

Not competing.

Just proud.

Proud of me.

Proud of us.

So perhaps my “chosen one” is not simply the man who gives me butterflies.

Perhaps he is the man who gives me peace after the butterflies fly away.

The man who sees the size of my dreams and doesn’t ask me to reduce them.

The man who sees how much I want from life and says, “Then let’s go get it.”

The man who understands that loving a woman like me means you are not marrying a finished product. You are marrying a woman who intends to keep becoming.

And if I ever find that man, I hope I recognise him.

Because I don’t want to spend my life searching for a perfect man.

I want a good man.

A God-fearing man.

A secure man.

A kind man.

A man with whom love feels like freedom.

And when I finally find him, I hope I can look at him and say:

“So you’re the chosen one? Took you long enough.” 😂

Until then, I have a life to build.

And a billion or two—to make!

Ife ati Ina 🤎

Friends!

I had a good five hours of sleep today and, honestly, I feel so refreshed. 😂

I hardly rest. My brain is almost always working. There is always something to think about, something to figure out, something to plan, something to question. And guess what? I love it.

I love the art of thinking. I love reflecting. I love looking back at my life and realizing that, somehow, God has carried me through things I once thought would finish me.

My dad taught me how to reflect. He taught my siblings and me to stop talking too much. 😂 I won’t lie, that lesson has had some side effects on me. Sometimes I realize I have been holding an entire TED Talk in my head and nobody even knows. But the good has definitely outweighed the ugly.

And when I do talk, especially with people I feel safe with, guess what I talk about a lot? Money. Wealth. My future. I talk about how wealthy I will be.

Sometimes I don’t even know exactly how it will happen. I just know it will. At this point, even my village people will probably need sunglasses when the money finally lands. 😂

I have prayed and begged God to keep me alive long enough to witness it because, really, what is the point of having a vision of a beautiful life if you don’t get to sit inside it and enjoy it?

I want to see it. I want to experience it. I want to look at my life one day and say, “Wow. So this was what all that fighting was for.”

And I know one thing about myself: I am a fighter.

I have fought for almost everything I have today. I have had to push, ask, learn, start again, figure things out, enter rooms I didn’t feel ready for, and sometimes create my own door when nobody was opening one for me.

And somehow, God has kept making a way.

I’ve learned that sometimes you have to be aggressive about the life you want. Not aggressive with people. Aggressive with your goals. Aggressive about learning. Aggressive about growth. Aggressive about refusing to remain where you have outgrown.

Because I have tried the slow, calm, “let’s just see what happens” approach before.

And yes, I got results. Calm results.

But I don’t think I’m built for a life where I simply sit back and watch things happen. I want to change the trajectory of my life. I want more.

More knowledge. More access. More experiences. More impact. More money. More opportunities. More rooms. More stories to tell.

And I’m not saying this to people who are perfectly happy with the bare minimum. There is absolutely nothing wrong with wanting a simple life if that’s genuinely what you want.

But me? I am not comfortable with the bare minimum. My brain will not allow it. 😂

I’m constantly fighting for access to new information. Fighting to get into sophisticated rooms. Fighting to become the woman I know I can become. Fighting for the life I want for myself. I’m a fighter. And surprisingly, I love it.

I love the feeling of chasing something and finally getting it.

I love looking at a goal that once looked ridiculous and slowly watching it become normal. I love winning.

Not because I think life owes me anything, but because there is something beautiful about knowing you didn’t give up when it would have been easier to.

Sometimes I get exhausted. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed.

Sometimes I wonder how I am supposed to keep up with everything happening at once.

But even then, I am happiest when I keep moving. One step. Then another.

Then somehow eight steps later, I’m standing in a place I couldn’t even imagine from where I started.

I love moving through different stages of life. I love the reinvention. I love becoming. I love realizing that the person I was two years ago couldn’t have imagined the person I am today.

And for that, I am deeply grateful to God.

Grateful for the drive.

Grateful for the hunger.

Grateful for the ability to dream beyond what is currently in front of me.

Grateful that even when I get tired, something inside me still says, “Get up. We’re not done.”

So, to the person reading this who feels overwhelmed by this phase of life…

To the person who feels like nobody is supporting them…

To the person who thinks life is unnecessarily hard…

Don’t give up.

You may not have the resources yet.

You may not have the right people around you yet.

You may not have figured everything out yet.

Yet.

That word matters.

You are still becoming.

Sometimes the season feels like a war because you are fighting for a life you’ve never lived before. Of course it feels unfamiliar. Of course it feels uncomfortable.

But don’t confuse discomfort with failure.

You may be closer to your breakthrough than you think.

Rest when you need to. Cry if you have to. Change the strategy. Ask for help. Start again. Take a different route.

But don’t quit.

Because quitters don’t get to see what would have happened if they had stayed.

Renew your strength.

Take another step.

Then another.

And another.

You don’t have to conquer your entire life tonight.

Just don’t stop.

Keep chasing.

Keep building.

Keep learning.

Keep knocking.

Keep becoming.

One day, you will look back at this version of yourself, the tired, confused, ambitious, slightly crazy version , and realize she was doing something very important.

She was refusing to give up.

And maybe that’s the real victory.

Not that life was easy.

Not that everything worked out immediately.

But that you kept showing up long enough to see things change.

Life may not always favour the fastest.
It may not always favour the smartest.
But I believe it has a special way of rewarding the person who refuses to stay down.

So fight for your life.

Fight for your dreams.

Fight for the person you are becoming.

And when you win, because I hope you do remember to look back and thank the version of you who kept going when there was no evidence yet that it would all work out.

Don’t give up.

You are probably closer than you think.

see you soon friends! 🤎

Hey friends,

As I write this, I’m reflecting on everything that’s happened over the last few years. Honestly, I’m grateful… but I’m also hungry for more.

Three years ago, I took a bold step and asked someone who believed in me to fund the beginning of Centric. Looking back now, it’s crazy how that one decision changed the trajectory of my life.

I remember my first product purchase.

My first damaged product.

My first pop-up event that ended in a loss.

My first payment to learn how to make room sprays, scented candles and diffusers.

My first formulation.

My first customer.

My first influencer disappointment. (That one deserves its own chapter.)

My first real business breakthrough.

So many firsts.

As much as I know God orchestrated every opportunity and opened doors I couldn’t have opened by myself, I also remember how relentlessly I worked. My brain was constantly running on autopilot. I’d wake up thinking about business and sleep thinking about business… well, “sleep” is a generous word because there were many nights I barely did.

My obsession with improvement became my lifestyle. Every mistake became research. Every setback became data. Every disappointment became another reason to figure things out.

And somehow, all those tiny moments added up to three beautiful years.

The journey has been exciting, frustrating, rewarding, confusing, exhausting… and worth every second.

I was telling a friend recently that business has a funny way of testing your sanity. One minute you’re convinced you’re building the next global brand. The next minute you’re pricing tomatoes in the market because you’re wondering if farming might actually be less stressful.

Business will humble you. Then encourage you. Then humble you again—just to make sure you learned the lesson.

One thing about me is this: I don’t quit.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I have dramatic moments.

I can announce, “I’m done with this business!” with full confidence.

Then less than 24 hours later, you’ll find me researching packaging, watching marketing videos at 2 a.m., and sketching my next product launch.

Apparently, my resignation letters have a 24-hour expiry date.

I’m obsessed with building.

The thought of creating something meaningful, something that outlives me, something massively successful—that keeps me going.

A friend once told me, “Your obsession is actually healthy.”

He said, “You talk about becoming rich all the time, but you’ve never considered shortcuts.”

I laughed.

That’s not the kind of wealth I want.

I want the kind of wealth that comes with peace.

The kind that lets you sleep well at night.

The kind that adds no sorrow.

Lately, I’ve found myself studying wealthy people—not just what they own, but how they think.

One thing I’ve realized is that building significant wealth often requires an unusual level of focus. You have to become almost unreasonable about your goals. Your mind has to stay alert. You have to make difficult decisions. You have to delay gratification. Sometimes you have to say no when everyone expects yes.

People often describe that mindset as being “ruthless.”

Maybe a better word is disciplined.

Because being ruthless shouldn’t mean losing your humanity. It should mean refusing to let emotions make business decisions for you.

I once told an acquaintance that I wanted to become more ruthless in business.

He immediately said, “Calm down.”

I laughed and changed the subject.

Not because I had nothing to say, but because I’ve learned that people hear words through the lens of their own experiences.

What I really meant was this:

I want to become someone who can make difficult decisions without guilt.

Someone who doesn’t apologize for charging what their work is worth.

Someone who doesn’t confuse kindness with poor boundaries.

Someone who understands that saying “no” today can build a stronger company tomorrow.

The people who build extraordinary businesses are often incredibly kind, but they’re also incredibly clear. They separate feelings from facts when it’s time to make decisions.

There’s another lesson I’ve learned.

Nobody is coming to hand you the life you dream about.

The people with resources are under no obligation to fund your vision. If someone helps you, be grateful. But don’t build your life waiting for rescue.

More often than not, you’ll build it yourself—with prayer, consistency, blood, sweat, tears… and a suspicious amount of caffeine.

Looking back, I don’t think my biggest advantage has been intelligence or luck.

It’s simply that I keep showing up.

I keep learning.

I keep rebuilding.

And I genuinely believe this is only the beginning.

See you soon.

Sending lots of love.

As I write this, I am sitting patiently while someone transforms my head into what I like to call Instagram’s approved hairstyle—those effortlessly beautiful boho braids that somehow convince the world you have your entire life together. You know the ones. The “clean girl meets soft life meets bad bitch” aesthetic. Exactly those.

The playlist in my ears is The Love Room by SteveHills, and somehow the music has wrapped around this ordinary afternoon and turned it into something sacred. Funny how a good song can make even sitting for hours while your scalp is being negotiated feel poetic.

This weekend began on such a beautiful note.

Saturday started with my French class.

Mon Dieu!

Let’s just say French and I are still introducing ourselves. There were moments I wondered whether I had accidentally joined an advanced class disguised as beginner level. The grammar looked at me. I looked back. We both sighed.

Still…

I’m incredibly grateful.

After years—yes, years—of procrastination, I am finally learning French. Imagine dreaming about something for so long that when it eventually becomes your reality, it almost feels unreal.

I’m living inside one of my old prayers.

Lately life has felt like juggling flaming torches while riding a bicycle.

MBA.

French.

Work.

Business.

Trying to become the woman I once scribbled about in my journal.

It’s a lot.

Sometimes I feel overwhelmed.

But every time that feeling creeps in, I remind myself:

What a privilege it is to feel overwhelmed by dreams I once prayed for.

That sentence changes everything.

Because years ago I would have begged for this version of busy.

After French class, I headed to my makeup training.

Here’s the funny part.

I actually paid for the class in December last year.

December!

Then I proceeded to ignore the investment like it was an unread email.

Procrastination and I used to be very close friends.

Thankfully, we’re no longer on speaking terms.

This time, I showed up.

And guess what?

Your girl learned lip combos.

Not just any lip combo.

The kind that makes Instagram baddies look like they naturally woke up with perfectly blended lips.

I also attempted eyebrows.

Keyword: attempted.

Let’s simply say my eyebrows and perfection have agreed to meet again another day.

But progress?

Oh, she’s definitely showing up.

Every new skill I learn reminds me that dreams are seeds. They don’t become trees overnight, but if you water them consistently, one day they surprise you with shade.

Sincerely…

2026 has been one of the hardest years I’ve ever lived through.

But somehow…

It is also becoming one of the most beautiful.

It feels like standing in the middle of a storm and suddenly noticing flowers growing beneath your feet.

The seeds are germinating.

Slowly.

Quietly.

Faithfully.

As the stylist continued braiding my hair, I drifted into memory.

Funny how simple moments become time machines.

There was once someone who absolutely loved seeing me in braids.

Every two weeks he send money for me to renew my braids, he is so big on clean hair, clean look.

Memories are strange.

They don’t always knock.

Sometimes they simply pull up a chair beside you.

Thinking about him reminded me how deeply people can shape us.

Sometimes people enter our lives not to stay forever, but to awaken beautiful parts of ourselves.

To remind us what it feels like to smile without forcing it.

To make our hearts perform tiny gymnastics every time their name appears on our phone.

Butterflies are such dramatic little creatures.

One text message and suddenly they’re hosting a concert in your stomach.

Love really is beautiful.

It softens the hardest days.

It makes ordinary conversations feel like novels.

It turns waiting into anticipation.

But if I’m being honest, love can also be terrifying.

It carries the quiet fear of abandonment.

The unanswered questions.

The vulnerability of placing your heart in someone else’s hands and hoping they remember it’s made of glass and not stone.

Still…

Despite all of that…

I look forward to finding my person.

The one who will keep those butterflies alive long after the honeymoon phase has packed its bags.

The one whose laugh becomes my favourite soundtrack.

The one I’ll choose over and over again.

And who, somehow, chooses me too.

Now…

Back to more important matters.

This weekend also included my monthly pedicure.

My lashes are freshly fixed.

The boho braids are coming together beautifully.

Somebody say…

Purr.

By the time this stylist finishes, I’ll be walking out looking like I have absolutely no worries in the world.

Never mind that adulthood still sends invoices every month.

For today, we choose beauty.

We choose softness.

We choose joy.

Life isn’t only made up of milestones.

Sometimes it is these tiny celebrations—a fresh hairstyle, a good playlist, learning something new, clean nails, pretty lashes, and a heart still brave enough to dream—that quietly stitch together a beautiful life.

And perhaps that’s the secret.

Not waiting for extraordinary moments to feel alive.

But allowing ordinary moments to become extraordinary because we were fully present for them.

Now excuse me while I go admire my new hair in every reflective surface I can find.

I sincerely hope Monday is just as beautiful as these braids.

Until next time…

Au revoir, Mon Amie. 🤎

Hey Friends!

As I write this, I’m sitting in a salon getting my hair done. It’s another all-back. My hair is the kind that needs special treatment every week, so every weekend I wash it, braid it back, and throw on my wigs.

One thing about me is that I never like to look like my problems. Life can be heavy, but I try my best not to wear my struggles on my face.

Anyway, how have you been?

The last time I wrote to you, it was different. It wasn’t the usual kind of conversation we’re used to having. I realized something recently—I often come here to pour out my thoughts, my fears, my dreams, and my problems, and somewhere along the way you’ve quietly become my journal. It’s funny, really. Beautiful, too. I genuinely enjoy hearing your perspective. I like when you leave a little comment behind. It always gives me something to think about.

Yesterday was different.

I went out with my friend, Mide, and my new friend, Victor, to play badminton.

And I must say… it was beautiful.

It took me back to secondary school.

Back then, sports were everything. We played football, volleyball, tennis, shot put—you name it. It wasn’t just about competition; it was freedom. It was laughter. It was running until your legs hurt and forgetting every other problem waiting for you at home.

Football was my favorite.

I was one of those girls who had no problem joining the boys from other classes. I wasn’t intimidated. I simply loved the game.

Then life happened.

Ironically, football wasn’t what took it away from me.

One day, my mum called me while I was in the kitchen. I rushed to pick up the phone, stepped on a grater, slipped, and fell.

That single moment changed everything.

The pain that followed wasn’t just physical. It became one of the hardest seasons of my life. I went through surgeries, countless hospital visits, and months of recovery before I could finally walk properly again.

Ever since then, something changed inside me.

Whenever people talked passionately about football or celebrated their favorite clubs, I found myself quietly irritated.

Not because they had done anything wrong.

But because football reminded me of something I once loved that life had taken away.

So I disconnected from it.

Whenever conversations about football came up, I’d pretend to care. I’d smile. I’d nod. But deep down, I wanted the conversation to end because every mention reopened a wound I had buried years ago.

Yesterday, standing on a badminton court, I realized something.

Maybe healing doesn’t always mean going back to what you lost.

Maybe sometimes healing looks like discovering something new.

The first few minutes felt strange.

My body was there, but my mind wasn’t.

It felt tense, almost as if it was preparing to protect me from something that wasn’t even happening.

Then I paused and quietly told myself,

“It’s not a competition. You’re safe. Just play.”

And I did.

I laughed.

I ran.

I missed shots.

I made some.

And for the first time in a long while, I wasn’t thinking about what I had lost.

I was simply enjoying what I had found.

At some point, I sat down with Mide, and our conversation drifted into something much deeper.

We talked about trauma.

Not the dramatic kind people often imagine.

The quiet kind.

The kind people carry into new relationships without realizing it.

Sometimes, the reason people hurt others isn’t because they’re intentionally cruel.

Sometimes they’re simply reacting from wounds someone else gave them.

Pain has a way of introducing itself into rooms where it was never invited.

I remembered someone I dated years ago.

Almost every conversation somehow found its way back to my body.

I was constantly reminded of my weight.

Of how much I needed to lose.

Of how different I should look.

Little by little, my confidence disappeared.

Eventually, we went our separate ways.

I thought I had moved on.

But moving on isn’t always the same as healing.

The next person I started talking to experienced a version of me that wasn’t really about him.

Before he had the opportunity to show me who he was, I was already interrogating him.

“Do you prefer slim women or bigger women?”

“Are you controlling?”

“Do you nag?”

“Do ambitious women intimidate you?”

Looking back now, I realize those weren’t ordinary questions.

They were survival questions.

They were questions asked by a heart trying to avoid reliving an old pain.

I wasn’t responding to the man in front of me.

I was responding to someone who had already left.

Isn’t that what unhealed wounds do?

They convince us that history is about to repeat itself.

Just as I avoided football because of an accident that had nothing to do with football itself, I projected old heartbreak onto someone who had done nothing wrong.

Different situations.

Same wound.

It’s amazing how our scars quietly influence the lives we build.

Sometimes we think we’re making choices.

When in reality, our pain is making them for us.

As adults, many of us are walking around carrying younger versions of ourselves.

Versions that are still afraid.

Still embarrassed.

Still grieving.

Still waiting for an apology that may never come.

We become reflections of our disappointments, our insecurities, our fears, and the stories we never gave ourselves permission to rewrite.

Healing isn’t pretending those scars never existed.

Healing is looking at them without allowing them to dictate who we become.

The scar may remain.

The memory may never completely disappear.

But scars are evidence of survival, not permanent sentences.

Yesterday, badminton reminded me that life doesn’t always restore what we lose.

Sometimes, it introduces us to something entirely new.

Maybe that’s what healing is.

Not forgetting.

Not erasing.

But choosing, one day at a time, not to let yesterday steal today’s joy.

So here’s the question I’ve been asking myself, and maybe it’s one worth asking yourself too:

How do we truly learn to love ourselves when our scars keep reminding us of pains that happened years ago?

Maybe the answer isn’t in hiding the scars.

Maybe it’s in realizing that they are proof that we survived.

And perhaps surviving was never the end of the story.

Perhaps it’s where living finally begins.

See you soon.

Sending lots of love. 🤎

According to the story, he was poisoned by a colleague at work. He was rushed to the hospital, and they did their best to resuscitate him, but he committed his spirit to the Lord and passed away.

I went to visit my childhood friend, who had just lost her dad. She was in a terrible condition. I remember they were taking down her old braids, and someone sat in a corner trying to cheer her up. I didn’t know how to console someone in grief because death had never moved that close to home for me.

I remember saying, “There will be times you’ll be fine, and there will be times your mind will feel like it’s the end of the world.”

I think she felt exactly that way. She laughed a little and cried a little. I just sat there, watching. My eyes had turned red. I was confused. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to hug her, but I was numb.

Time passed. The wound healed gradually, but the scar remained.

The pain of death leaves a powerful scar. You look at it, and it reminds you of pain, memories, and pictures. You ask yourself, what do I do with all these memories when life has taken away one of the most important people in my life?

My second experience with death was my aunt.

My memories of her are beautiful.

I remember how excited my siblings and I would get whenever she came around. Back then, she would buy things for us and give us money—when money still had value, not like now. She bought me perfume. She always told us to behave well and not stress our mom.

The older I get, the more I realize that people cannot stay forever. They fulfill a purpose, and then they leave.

She left.

My last memory of her was when she jokingly called me out for not wishing her a happy birthday. She sent me a playful message, and I sent her some birthday money. She would always send WhatsApp voice notes to check on us and remind us to behave well.

Those were her words.

But she died.

She died two weeks ago, and I am left with a scar—a scar filled with memories.

Life will move on, but the scar will remain.

Years ago, I broke my leg and had to undergo surgery. It was a difficult time for my parents. I was very young, and they were afraid I might never walk properly again. God showed mercy.

Today, I can walk.

But the scar is still there.

Whenever I look at it, I remember that broken leg. I remember the pain. I remember being bedridden for months. I remember learning how to walk again and all the hospital visits that followed.

Sigh.

What a painful experience.

Scars are reminders of pain. You don’t completely move past them.

The first breakup I ever experienced was with my first love.

I was much younger. I didn’t know what red flags were. I was simply basking in the euphoria of having a boyfriend—having someone to build routines with. He called. He texted. He said sweet things. Reassurance upon reassurance.

But good things sometimes come to an end.

Especially the things that were never meant to stay.

You know what some men do when they are tired? They begin to dig up things you’ve done and things you’ve already apologized for. They make those things the center of every conversation.

Suddenly, you begin to question your worth, your existence, your womanhood.

They forget that making a relationship work requires two imperfect people.

Then comes the final blow.

“You did this.”

“You did that.”

“Ogbẹni, just say you’re tired. Just say you’re not mature enough to handle difficult things.”

Instead, they say things that make you believe the entire problem is you.

And then you start pondering every word.

You replay conversations. You rethink your choices. You trace the roots of every problem.

Yet you are left with nothing because the reason for the breakup is often not tangible enough to justify the damage it causes.

Breakup pain is interesting because it attacks your sense of self-worth.

Maybe that is why, in my own relationships, I try not to say things like, “You’re not compatible,” or “You’re not good enough.”

I know how destructive words can be.

I know how long it takes to heal from them.

So when I’m done, I either disappear or simply say, “I’m tired.”

The pain of death is cruel because the person will never come back.

They are gone.

All you have left are memories—memories filled with both joy and guilt.

One minute you’re smiling. The next minute you’re crying.

And the cycle repeats itself.

You never really heal from the scar.

Time may help you live with it, but the scar remains.

Breakup pain, on the other hand, is like a heart attack.

If you truly loved the person, healing takes time.

And God help you if the person remains in close proximity.

You might see them and wish they didn’t exist.

You might wake up every morning and choose to eat the bread of sorrow.

Eventually, time will heal your heart.

But the scar will still be there.

Pain is inevitable.

No matter what journey we take in life, pain will find us.

You cannot live this life without shedding tears at some point.

Some wounds heal.

Some scars fade.

But every scar tells a story of a battle you survived.

My heart goes out to those in pains, sending you a big hugs. You are loved. 🥰

See you soon friends.

Gosh! From the title alone, I know I’m cooked. The last time I wrote about love, that was 2022 when I just started writing on substack. 😂

Don’t mind me, I love love. I really do.

I love the idea of it. The butterflies. The possibility. The way someone can walk into a room and somehow make the entire room feel different. Yet, for someone who loves love so much, I’ve spent most of my life watching it from a distance.

Maybe that’s because I was shy.

Maybe because I was insecure.

Or maybe because I was so busy trying to become someone that I forgot I was allowed to be loved while becoming.

For years, I was the queen of silent admiration.

My first crush happened when I was in Primary 4.

He was a cute boy with curls that sat perfectly on his head. His parents were intentional about everything—from the way he dressed to the way he carried himself. But what caught my attention most was his scent.

He always smelled like baby powder.

Now, if you know me, you’ll understand why that mattered. I’m a fragrance enthusiast. Scents grip my attention. Long after faces fade, scents remain. Even today, I can still remember what he smelled like.

We weren’t close friends. We simply existed in the same classroom. I admired him quietly, from a distance. Whenever he walked by, I noticed. Whenever he spoke, I listened.

I never told him. Then one day, I heard his father had gotten a better job.

A few weeks later, he was gone.

Canada.

Just like that. No goodbye. No confession. No dramatic ending.

Just a chapter closing before it ever had the chance to begin.

Of course, we were children. What did we know about love?

Still, I remember wishing I had said something.

Secondary school came with its own collection of crushes.

There were cute boys everywhere, but none truly caught my attention until JSS3.

Unfortunately, he already liked someone else. I tried, well, as much as a shy teenage girl could try. But he wasn’t looking in my direction. Eventually, I moved on. After a while, I started wondering if something was wrong with me. My friends had boyfriends, I had crushes. My friends had stories. I had imagination.

My friends had relationships. I had daydreams.

Then came SS1. He was tall, dark, handsome, and somehow carried my third name. That alone had me giggling.

We had things in common. We talked about the future, dreams, and places we wanted to visit. We even shared an interest in the same country we hoped to relocate to someday.

After school, we would sometimes wait together until our parents arrived. Looking back, friendship was right there. Possibility was right there, But fear sat beside me every single day.

Fear of rejection.

Fear of embarrassment.

Fear of saying the wrong thing.

Fear of not being enough.

So I did what I knew best.

Nothing.

And eventually, secondary school ended.

Another boy never knew.

Another chapter closed.

University was a completely different experience.

Every week felt like a parade of attractive people.

I crushed often. Very often. Too often, if we’re being honest.

A cute smile would catch my attention, A deep voice would catch my attention.

A good perfume would definitely catch my attention. But the pattern never changed.

I Admire, Overthink, Say nothing. Repeat.

Until life surprised me.

In 200 Level, I met someone.

Unlike the others, this wasn’t a distant crush. This started as friendship.

Real friendship! The kind where someone sees you in your good moments and your difficult ones.

He was there when life felt confusing.

He was there through disappointments.

He was there through situationships, failed relationships, and all the emotional chaos that comes with trying to figure out love as a young adult.

While I was busy looking elsewhere, consistency was quietly standing beside me.

Somewhere along the line, something shifted.

I wasn’t just happy to see him.

I looked forward to him.

I wasn’t just comfortable around him.

I missed him when he wasn’t there.

Without realizing it, I had developed feelings for the friend who stayed.

One thing led to another.

And eventually, we started dating.

Funny enough, after years of crushing on people from afar, the relationship that mattered most didn’t begin with butterflies.

It began with friendship.

It began with presence.

It began with someone choosing to stay.

At the time, I thought that was the lesson.

But adulthood had another lesson waiting for me.

The older I got, the more things changed.

I was no longer the shy girl hiding behind her thoughts.

I became more aware.

More expressive.

More courageous.

Today, if I like someone, I can start a conversation.

I can show interest.

I can communicate.

I can take initiative.

The fear that once controlled me doesn’t have the same power anymore.

But adulthood introduced a different challenge.

I developed lenses.

The older I became, the less impressed I was by appearances alone.

A handsome face could catch my attention, but it could no longer hold it.

I found myself paying attention to different things.

Character.

Values.

Discipline.

Emotional intelligence.

Purpose.

Direction.

Kindness.

Consistency.

How does he treat people who can do nothing for him?

How does he handle disappointment?

What does he do when nobody is watching?

Can he lead himself before trying to lead someone else?

Can we build together?

Suddenly, attraction became the easy part.

Compatibility became the difficult part.

Perhaps that’s what growing up does.

It replaces fantasy with clarity.

It teaches you that chemistry may start a conversation, but character determines whether the conversation should continue.

Looking back now, I realize every crush taught me something.

Some taught me about timing.

Some taught me about courage.

Some taught me about rejection.

Some taught me that opportunities disappear when fear speaks louder than desire.

And some taught me that not everyone who catches your eye deserves access to your heart.

For years, I thought my story was about the boys who never knew I liked them.

But maybe it was never really about them.

Maybe it was about me.

The little girl learning confidence.

The teenager learning courage.

The young woman learning discernment.

Because if childhood taught me how to dream and youth taught me how to feel, adulthood is teaching me how to choose.

And perhaps that is the most beautiful lesson of all.

I still believe in love.

I still smile when someone catches my attention.

I still believe in connection, partnership, and all the beautiful things that come with sharing life with another person.

But now I understand something my younger self did not.

Being chosen is not enough.

I must choose too.

Choose wisely.

Choose intentionally.

Choose someone whose character is as attractive as their appearance.

Choose someone who aligns with the life I’m building.

Choose someone who brings not only excitement to my heart but peace to my mind.

So here’s to the boys who never knew.

The ones who unknowingly occupied pages in my story.

The ones who became lessons instead of relationships.

And here’s to the woman I’m becoming.

A woman who still believes in love.

A woman who is no longer afraid to speak.

A woman who understands that courage opens doors, but wisdom decides which ones are worth walking through.

And maybe that’s what love has been teaching me all along.

Friends,

As I type this, I’m on my way home from work, reflecting on my day. One thing I’ve realised about myself is that I always want to achieve everything at once. Even ChatGPT once described me as a high achiever. My mind is constantly racing: let me do this, let me try that, what next?

Sometimes I pause and ask myself where this drive comes from. Honestly, I don’t fully know. But I think it comes from a deep awareness that I am responsible for the outcome of my own life.

The last time I wrote to you, I was standing between fear and boldness, trying to be strong while still feeling uncertain inside. I was thinking about the next phase of my life — becoming a production manager, a saleswoman, and a marketing strategist all at once. Carrying multiple roles, multiple expectations, and multiple dreams.

Recently, I launched my own diffuser line, scented candles, and room sprays. And if there is one thing that has made me happy through this process, it is this: I can dream, and I can watch my dreams become reality.

I remember telling a friend how frustrated I was with my previous business phase. She said something that stayed with me:

“You are lucky to even complain about these challenges because you are actually living in your dreams. You are someone who can dream and make it happen.”

That conversation changed my perspective.

Sometimes we forget how far we’ve come because we are too focused on where we are going next. We forget that we are currently living in prayers we once cried over. Living in opportunities we once begged God for.

I remember praying and fasting as a secondary school student, asking God for the opportunity to work in an oil and gas company. Today, I look back and realise that prayer was answered. Not only that, I also have the courage to build something of my own alongside it. That realization brought me peace.

Maybe we all need to slow down sometimes and look inward. Think about where we started. For many of us, the journey has actually been beautiful, but our eyes are too fixed on the future to notice.

Yes, ambition is good. Wanting more is good. Growth is necessary. But gratitude is stabilizing.

Life is not a race happening at the same speed for everyone. Some things come with time. Some things come with experience. Some things come with age.

Forget comparisons. Someone else’s timeline is not your measurement. Your journey is different. Your life is different. Your assignment is different.

As much as you want more and you should, remember to pause and appreciate where you are right now.

Be grateful for the present version of you that past you prayed for.

I want to end with this reminder: You are remembered by God.

You will get to where you are going.

Do not let anxiety steal today’s peace.

As I finish writing this, I’m finally home. I’m listening to Ophelia and just enjoying the moment. Earlier today, someone was complaining about how hard Nigeria is right now, yet moments later the AC was turned on and life continued. That contrast reminded me of something important:

Life will always have pressure, but there will always be small moments of comfort if you pay attention.

See you soon, my friends.🤎

Friends! I had to pause for a second and ask myself if I haven’t written to you this year… but I have. Thank God. How are you?

For me, a lot has happened already. First, my birthday. I think I spent the most I ever have at the start of a new year, shoes, clothes, hair, and so much more. I wanted everything on my birthday list like my life depended on it. I worked toward it, and somehow, I got it. That belief that says “dream it and God will fund it”? It’s real.

I wrote so many things down in my notes and kept revisiting them. At some point, I was honestly scared they wouldn’t be achievable. But then my birthday came. I was excited, yes, but more than that, something shifted in me.

Not long after, I woke up one morning feeling deeply exhausted, especially with everything happening in my industry. It was becoming a lot to carry. And beyond that, I’ve always understood the spirit of ownership. I remember the last pop-up I attended. Everyone came with products carrying their own names, but I showed up with products tied to another brand. That realization hit me hard.

When I got home, I overthought everything. I went back to the videos from a class I paid 150,000 for learning how to make diffusers, room sprays, and candles. But something still felt off. The calculations weren’t clicking. It was frustrating. I even felt like a failure. But I’m someone who’s used to falling and learning again. So I relearned. I asked questions. I fixed my confusion.

Then something interesting happened.

I decided to launch, but at a giveaway price. Extremely affordable. No profits, honestly. But I just needed to prove to myself that I could do it. And that was enough. The reviews were beautiful. Looking back, I should have built on that momentum and fully diversified… but I didn’t.

I was still selling other brands. Spending heavily on influencers that didn’t convert. One morning, I woke up completely frustrated. This business felt like it was taking from me nonstop. I was exhausted. And the painful truth? All my effort was building another person’s vision.

That realization broke something in me.

I couldn’t sleep most nights because I was obsessed with the thought of making money, yet I kept realizing how much I had been throwing away. I had been sowing into another man’s field. And while we can learn from working with other people’s visions, there comes a point where you must ask yourself what you’re truly building.

Maybe I’m talking too much, but one thing I know now is this: we must understand what we’re planting and where. Planting on another person’s land might not always be the best choice.

So yes, I’m in my ownership phase now.

On the outside, I look strong. But in my head, I still have moments. The voice that whispers, “Are you sure you don’t want to go back to selling big brands? Victoria’s Secret, Fragrance World… are you sure?”

And my answer?

I no do again.

I know my customers might struggle to adjust. I know some days I’ll be tempted. But I still won’t go back.

This is a very interesting phase of my life. I’m documenting it so I can look back one day and remember how scared I was , and how I still did it anyway.

As I end this, I’m listening to rain sounds. It’s so therapeutic. I have a soft blue light glowing in my room one of the best things I bought this year. It makes the space feel calm. It helps me reflect. It reminds me to slow down.

See you soon.

Sending lots of love.

Friends,

There’s a quiet heaviness that comes with trying to become the best version of yourself.

It shows up in simple greetings “Happy New Year.” “How are you?” “How’s life treating you?”, questions that sound light but often land heavy.

For me, life has been a constant switching between what works and what doesn’t. Deep reflection has taught me one undeniable truth: life moves in seasons. There is a season of abundance, and there is another side of it , a leaner, quieter, humbling season. Life is fickle. Unpredictable. Full of turns you never rehearsed for.

At some point, BlackBerry ruled the world. Then one day, silence. Now many of us chase the latest iPhones like our lives depend on it.

There were seasons in my life when I couldn’t afford chicken and chips. Now it feels normal, almost insignificant. There was a time when ₦200k felt like everything. Now it barely stretches for two weeks. Life shifts. Standards rise. Needs evolve. Reality expands. But what scares me most isn’t the change, it’s the work.

The work required to stay afloat.

The work required to remain relevant.

The work required to still be excellent.

The pressure to be the next best version of yourself never really stops. The chase is relentless. You want a dress, you get it, then you want shoes. Then a bag. A wig. A car. A house. An upgrade.

I remember when my current

apartment felt like an answered prayer. Now I want a three-bedroom , as a single woman. I want an office space. I want to work remotely. I want to focus deeply on my business. I want freedom. I want growth. I want more.

And I know the truth:

If I get all these things, I will still want more. The wanting never ends. So the real fear isn’t desire, it’s sustainability.

How do you remain wealthy without losing peace?

How do you stay excellent without burning out?

How do you keep becoming without breaking?

How do you stay consistent, in growth, beauty, ambition, discipline without losing your mind?

Life is fascinating. Truly fascinating.

Because no matter what you choose, there are consequences.

If you play small, there are consequences.

If you play big, there are consequences.

If you chase, there are consequences.

If you rest, there are consequences.

So what then?

Maybe the goal isn’t to stop wanting.

Maybe the lesson isn’t to stop chasing.

Maybe wisdom is knowing why you chase, when to pause, and who you are becoming in the process.

Because life will keep moving.

Seasons will keep changing.

And the wants will keep knocking.

The real work is learning how to grow without letting the weight of growth crush you.

See you soon friends.🤎

Hey friends!

Let me be honest with you.

As the year winds down and everyone is doing 2025 in retrospect, it’s easy to feel unsettled. You see people winning, growing, breaking through and yes, it’s okay if it makes you feel a type of way. That doesn’t make you ungrateful. It just means you’re human.

Life doesn’t move at the same speed for everyone. Some people get ease. Some get delay. Some get clarity early. Others pay for it, over and over again.

This year, I experimented. And experimentation is expensive. You remember the first failed pop-up. I cried. I didn’t reframe it. I cried.

And that same night, I paid for another pop-up. That one didn’t bring sales either, but it brought clarity. And clarity later birthed Serenity. I worked on gypsum. It didn’t go how I planned. Serenity didn’t give me what I expected. Money left my hands in the name of “trying.”

At some point, it felt like I was just spending money to learn lessons. I tried writing a wealth book. I did consultations for people, I invested time, energy, and hope into things that didn’t immediately pay me back.

That’s not failure. That’s process. And process is rarely pretty. The truth is, staying stagnant would have been cheaper. But stagnation has a long-term cost that’s heavier than money. So I kept moving, even when movement looked slow, awkward, or pointless. Now to the good, because there was good. After years of postponing, I finally paid for a makeup class, I paid for a cooking class, I got certified twice in marketing.

No applause, Just quiet growth. Most of what I achieved this year happened in the boring. In rooms nobody saw. In decisions nobody clapped for. And the only reason I can say this year mattered is because I didn’t give up when things weren’t responding yet.

I’m not writing this to advise or motivate you. I just want to say this plainly: the life you want is usually hidden inside the work you keep avoiding because it scares you.

Another year will pass quickly. You don’t want to look up and realize you spent it watching others move because they were willing to try.

2026 is close.

I’m moving toward the mark, the referee will blow the whistle and I will run, I will win the race of life, Just still showing up. Showing up even when it makes no sense. Friends! Show up in 2026!

Imisioluwa 🤎

Friends! As I write to you, I just finished reading my Substack articles from 2022, and I honestly felt so proud of myself. Documentation is such a beautiful thing. I’ve been writing on Substack since 2022, and I still remember how scared I was to drop my first article. I over-thought everything — Will people read it? Will they like it? Who even wants to hear about my life? All these thoughts sat heavily in my mind. I was scared.

But I did it anyway.

And looking back now, I’m grateful I didn’t let fear stop me, because those words became little reminders of who I was, who I am becoming, and how far God has carried me. Sometimes you don’t see your growth until you read your own history.

As I went through those old posts, one thing stood out to me: life truly moves in seasons.

There were seasons I wrote from a place of hope, seasons where I was confused, seasons I felt stuck, seasons I was grinding, seasons I was soft, seasons I was learning, and seasons I was tired. But no matter how the season felt, I kept evolving.

If there’s anything I’ve learned about life, it’s this:

Seasons will make you think you’ll never leave the level you’re in.

When sales were slow, I thought that was the end.

When my body was acting up, I thought something was wrong with me.

When business felt stagnant, I thought I wasn’t doing enough.

When money wasn’t flowing, I questioned myself.

When I was relearning how to make candles and diffusers, it felt like starting all over again.

When I started building Centric Scents and Elite Hygiene Solutions, the journey felt too big for me.

But guess what?

I moved. The season shifted. It always does.

Seasons lie.

They whisper, “This is your life forever.”

But God is always behind the scenes saying, “Give me time.”

Every tough moment was actually preparing me. Every slow season was teaching me patience. Every doubtful season was showing me my strength. Every transition was building a version of me I had prayed to become.

From being scared to publish my first Substack article,

to becoming someone who now writes openly,

to running multiple businesses,

to managing my 9–5,

to building wealth mindset,

to learning new skills,

to becoming more intentional about hygiene, self-care, personal branding, and everything that makes me feel like me.

it has all been seasons.

Some long, some short, some confusing, but all meaningful.

Here’s what I want to tell you:

Document your life. Your future self will thank you.

• Don’t let fear stop you from starting. Nobody starts perfect.

• Understand that slow does not mean stagnant. Growth has rhythms.

• Your journey is valid, even if it looks quiet right now.

• Give yourself permission to evolve. You’re not meant to remain the same.

• Trust God’s timing. He sees what you can’t.

And most importantly, honor your season. Don’t fight it; learn from it.

One day, you’ll look back, the same way I did today and you’ll realise that every single chapter was necessary. Everything made sense in hindsight. Every delay had purpose. Every confusion had direction. Every waiting season was building the life you’re stepping into.

I’m learning to embrace my seasons,

to honour where I am,

to let go of where I’ve been,

and to trust where I’m going.

I hope you do too.

Love always,

Imisioluwa 🤎

As I write this, I’m listening to soft jazz, the kind that slows your thoughts and forces you to face everything you’ve been avoiding. I’ve been in deep reflection lately. Life. Business. Growth. Money. Everything feels like it’s demanding something new from me, all at once.

Phew.

There’s so much consistency in this thing called life, not the fun kind, but the persistent kind. You solve one problem, another one arises. You meet one need, and suddenly, three more appear out of nowhere. Sometimes it feels like living itself is a full-time job, one that never gives you a break, but still expects you to show up looking calm and composed.

Lately, I’ve been overwhelmed, not because I’m failing, but because I’m trying to keep succeeding. You see, success has its own kind of pressure. People think once you’ve “made it” or found your rhythm, things get easier. But that’s not true. You only unlock higher levels of responsibility.

And one brutal truth I’ve learned?

To stay relevant, you need money.

Money to create. Money to test. Money to fix what didn’t work.

Money to stay in the room long enough for your efforts to make sense.

I’ve been working on something new for Centric, a project I’ve dreamt about for months. And when I sat down to calculate how much I’ve already spent just to test-run things before even launching officially, I had to take a deep breath. I wanted to scream, cry, and laugh all at once. Because I’ve spent a lot, and yet, somehow, it’s still not enough.

But that’s the irony of growth: it keeps demanding more from you.

More money. More time. More mental space. More faith.

Running a business feels like playing chess with the universe.

Every move has consequences.

Every decision affects something else.

You have to think ahead, protect your queen, plan your defense, anticipate your opponent’s next play.

And sometimes, that opponent isn’t a person. It’s fear. It’s self-doubt. It’s the voice in your head asking, “Are you sure this will work?”

Chess teaches you strategy, patience, and sacrifice. You can’t win without letting something go sleep, comfort, even your pride.

And yet, the beauty of the game lies in watching the plan slowly come together, move after move, step after step, even when no one is watching.

Because truth be told, the real work doesn’t trend.

No one claps for the nights you cried quietly but still showed up the next morning. No one sees the invoices you pay, the rejections you get, or the silent prayers you whisper before sending a risky message. Social media won’t tell you about the exhaustion that comes with consistency, it only shows the highlight reel.

But I’m learning that not every phase of life is meant to be loud. Some seasons are meant for building quietly. Some are designed for strategy, for tightening your systems, for pruning distractions. And in those moments, it’s easy to feel invisible, to think life has forgotten you.

But here’s the twist: while you’re wishing for someone else’s life, someone somewhere is praying, maybe even fasting for the life you currently live. Now, you have to be thankful for where you are. Sigh.

It’s wild, isn’t it?

How gratitude and perspective can completely shift your mood.

The truth is, I don’t have everything figured out. Some days I’m filled with confidence and direction; other days, I’m just trying to make sense of why things are moving slower than I hoped. But even in the chaos, I’m beginning to understand something deeper, life is a strategy game, not a sprint.

And just like chess, the player who wins isn’t always the loudest or the most talented, it’s the one who stays calm under pressure, who studies the board, who takes their time before making the next move.

So if you’re reading this and you feel stuck, exhausted, or uncertain about your next move, breathe. Friends, breathe!

You’re probably just in a quiet season.

The part that doesn’t trend, but matters the most.

Because when the board resets, when the next opportunity comes, those who have learned strategy, patience, and discipline in private will play smarter, move wiser, and last longer.

This is the work that doesn’t trend.

Friends, the work to build the life you want is filled with tears, burnout, and strategy upon strategy.

There will be days you’ll doubt yourself.

Days you’ll question your path.

Days you’ll whisper, “Why am I doing this?”

Do it anyway.

Because one day, it’s all going to make sense. I hope it does make sense because it doesn’t make sense for some people.

It will all be worth it. (Hopefully)

Sending you lots of love,

Imisioluwa 🤎

As I write this, I just finished watching Ayetoro Town by Funke Akindele. Such a beautiful piece of comedy-drama. If you’re Yoruba, you’ll probably connect with it more, the humor, the culture, the drama. I had fun watching it, and now I’m ready to face capitalism again (sigh).

But then again, I found myself reflecting on the word consistency. The internet can’t seem to stop talking about it; “be consistent,” “stay consistent,” “consistency is key.” We’ve heard it all. But no one really tells you how exhausting it can be.

Consistency can be boring. It can be tiring. Sometimes it feels like a cycle of repetition with no immediate reward. You have to keep the fire burning even on your dull days, your sad days, your I-don’t-feel-like-it days. Yet, that’s exactly what makes consistency powerful.

It’s not just about business or success; it cuts across every part of life.

You have to keep showing love to your partner even when emotions fade a bit.

You have to keep going to the gym long after the excitement of “new goals” dies down.

You have to keep working hard to meet your basic needs.

You have to keep trying new marketing strategies to keep your business afloat.

You have to keep showing up online, offline, in rooms, and in conversations because visibility is one of the ingredients for success.

Recently, I took a short break from doing the things I’d normally do, the things that bring me results. And guess what? My results became lacklustre. It was a subtle reminder that momentum only stays with those who keep moving.

Friends, life itself is one long drama. We are all actors on this stage, each with our own roles and scripts. But the difference between those who merely act and those who play the game is consistency. Those who play it well intentionally, continuously, persistently end up enjoying the show more than anyone else.

So today, pause for a moment and reflect.

We’re all living in a world filled with unending drama. To win, you must keep showing up. You must keep playing , even when the scene gets tough, even when the light dims.

Consistency isn’t just a word. It’s a lifestyle, a discipline, a quiet superpower.

Keep playing your part, because one day, all your scenes will make sense.

Sending you love and light

Lately, I’ve been asking myself why life insists we must walk through the valleys before we reach the mountain tops. A few weeks ago, I cried to you all about losing my phone. Three days later, I got another one. thanks to my savings and my man. But even now, the pain still lingers.

I’ve never been the careless type. In fact, since I’ve existed, this is the very first time I’ve ever lost a phone. People keep telling me to move on, and maybe they’re right. But how do you simply “move on” from something that carried so many memories? I bought that phone in April, lost it in September, and here I am again with another one in the same September. Life has a strange sense of humor.

And yes, I know some of you might say, “It’s just a phone, thank God for life.” I do. I really do. But still, thieves are so heartless. They don’t just take a device, they steal sweat, sacrifice, and the little joys stored in photos and moments. If I had all my pictures back, maybe the pain wouldn’t cut this deep.

I’ve been trying to move forward, to breathe through the loss, but I still feel detached from everything. Maybe it’s not just about the phone; maybe it’s the country too. Nigeria has been unfolding like a badly written script. Just the other day, Zenith deducted VAT and transfer charges earlier than expected. We were meant to start feeling that bite in 2026, yet here we are already paying for tomorrow’s problems today. Sometimes it feels like Nigerians are always borrowing pain from the future.

Still, I’m hopeful. I keep telling myself 2026 is pregnant with testimonies. Something good has to unravel soon. In the meantime, I’m taking a quiet break from the chaos of capitalism. Oddly enough, that pause feels like peace.

Life is unpredictable. I might still face another shocker before the year ends, but I’m praying not to let anxiety consume me. At the end of the day, problems don’t stop. They are unending. So what’s the lesson? Live your life fully. Find joy in the small things. Because one day, we’ll all leave this world, and the problems will no longer matter.

See you soon.

Sending lots of love,

Imisioluwa

As I write this, I had just updated my WhatsApp community about something I never thought would happen to me, my phone was stolen.

It was Saturday, 5th of September, 2025. I came back from the gym that morning ranting about how I wanted to change gyms, the one I had in mind was too expensive, but still, I wanted it. I even posted my gym fit, got home, ate oatmeal with lots of water, and felt refreshed. Something in me didn’t want to step out again, I felt uneasy, but I had already promised a customer I would send her package to the park for delivery to Ibadan. And if you know me, you know I don’t play with my customers. I carry them on my head and keep my word no matter what.

So, I told myself, let me just drop it and come back to shower. Park is just one keke away from my house, I thought I could manage. I used my deodorant, packed my bag, and set out.

The junction outside my house was unusually busy that day, but I stayed calm, holding my phone in my hand. Finally, I found a keke. I wanted to sit in front, but the driver barked at me to move back. His tone was firm, but I didn’t think too much of it—I just wanted to get to the park and return quickly. I sat at the back with two other passengers.

Barely 5 minutes into the ride, the driver said, “Keep your phone very well, they are robbing ahead. Put it in your bag.” It sounded like good advice, so I slipped it into my bag without thinking twice. A few minutes later, he asked me to help him with something. Looking back now, that was the distraction. I helped him, and then suddenly, he pulled over and said, “I’m not going to Ojota again.”

I was shocked. What do you mean you’re not going again? Why pick me if you knew you weren’t going that way? I kept arguing for a few minutes, not realizing that in the middle of my frustration, the passenger seated next to me had already stolen my phone. By the time the keke zoomed off like he was running from something, I instinctively checked my bag.

And then it hit me.

My heart dropped. My body went cold. My hands trembled. My phone was gone.

“Oh gosh! Oh gosh! My God! My God!! My phone! My phone! He took it! He stole it! I’m doomed! My God, my God, my God!”

I shouted like a mad woman in the middle of the road. The security man nearby looked at me with pity and said, “Sorry dear.” But sorry didn’t fix it. Tears blurred my eyes. I crossed the road crying, helpless, repeating, “My phone is gone. He tricked me. I didn’t even know.”

I had just ₦300 on me. All my money was in that phone. I managed to take another keke back to my junction and walked home with tears in my eyes, dragging my feet like my body was carrying a thousand stones. I went to a friend who owned a supermarket nearby and narrated what happened. He sighed and said, “That’s how they do. You didn’t know? They’ve been operating like this.”

I felt a fresh wave of pain—how come nobody told me? How come I didn’t hear? Why me?

He immediately called his friend who advised me to run to the MTN office to block my SIM. My mom was already trying to reach my sister to block it too. My whole head was spinning.

At MTN, instead of comfort, all I got was unsolicited advice;

“You shouldn’t have answered them.”

“You should have chased after him.”

“You should have been smarter.”

But how was I supposed to know? How was I supposed to sense that trap? It felt like jazz, like my mind was clouded in that moment.

Now, I’m writing this with a new phone. My heart still feels heavy, but I’m grateful for life. My case, as painful as it is, is even better compared to people who have lost their lives to these same robbers.

This whole experience was a harsh reminder of the reality of living here: as long as you are a Nigerian living in Nigeria, your safety is never 100% guaranteed. This country will humble you.

Life just happened to me. Nigeria happened to me.

But I’m still here.

With love,

Imisioluwa

Friends,

As I write this, it’s 12:35 on a Saturday morning. I just finished launching Business Haven, a platform where business owners come together to share not just strategies, but struggles, wins, and lessons. A safe place for emotional support, where we learn how to balance life, work, and business without losing ourselves.

This idea has been sitting in my heart since last year. I can’t even remember which exact month it came, but I do remember sharing it with a few friends and they believed in it. But it took me months to finally execute. Why? Because I wanted it to be perfect. Aesthetically pleasing, dramatic, “Instagram-worthy.” And honestly, I didn’t know how to start.

But here’s the truth: sometimes dreams won’t wait for your perfect timing. Some dreams are not meant to stay in your head, they’re meant to be chased aggressively. And when you chase them, they have no choice but to align.

Friends, let’s be real. We’re all dreamers. We want the big things, a beautiful family, a thriving business, financial freedom, peace of mind, a comfortable lifestyle. But none of those things happen by wishful thinking. If you don’t chase your dreams with intensity, you’ll end up working hard to build someone else’s vision while yours dies quietly inside you.

Life is not easy. In fact, life is hard, very hard. But the process, as tough as it is, is necessary. The process is where your story is born. The process is what makes your testimony powerful. And if you can endure it, if you can fight through the tough nights and the confusing mornings, then you’ll look back one day and realize it was worth it.

I’ve made up my mind: I am chasing my dreams with everything I’ve got. With strategy in my head, fire in my heart, and persistence in my hands. I tell my dreams, “You must work. You have no choice but to work.”

This isn’t a “perspire to aspire” speech. This is a reality check. If you don’t start building now, you will spend your life as a tool in someone else’s building. You’ll be a worker in another man’s vision while yours fades away. But here’s the good news: a consistent builder—no matter how long it takes will one day complete the house.

So, my friends, as I close this note, let me leave you with this: You are responsible for your life. Your choices, your actions, and your consistency will determine how bright your future shines. And never forget, life is a long game. Play it with strategy. Stay alert. Refuse to remain a pawn. Rise, take control, and step into your role as the queen (or king) of your own board.

Your story is waiting to be written. Start building. Start now.

And that’s why I created Business Haven so none of us have to chase our dreams alone. This is more than a community; it’s a family where we can be real, share the struggles behind the scenes, and celebrate the wins together. If you’re building, fighting, and dreaming, then you belong here. Let’s grow together.

lots of love

Imisioluwa 🤎

Before I sat down to write this, I re-read the last letter I sent you. And wow! it reminded me why documenting life is so beautiful. Journaling isn’t just scribbling on paper; it’s keeping a living archive of your soul. Every page becomes a tiny museum of moments; sweet, some bitter, all valuable.

The past few weeks, I’ve craved journaling more than once, but I’ll be honest, I avoided it. Why? Because I dreaded reading my own words weeks later and realizing I had been fussing over something ridiculously small or worse, discovering I was once a little foolish. But that’s life, isn’t it? We cringe at our old selves, yet those selves are the reason we grow.

How am I? Well, life’s been mixed, but honestly, it’s always been mixed.

The difference now is that I’ve learned boundaries real, healthy boundaries and with them came a level of peace I didn’t know I could have. But peace doesn’t mean life stops testing you. Just a few weeks ago, some drama unfolded around me that forced me to confront how much I had been doubting my own capabilities. But I’m fine now stronger, even.

Last month, I launched my Serenity Box. Remember I told you I was going to test-run before officially launching? Yeah! that didn’t happen. I realized there is no such thing as the perfect moment. I needed funds to start, and they weren’t coming. I was battling the fear of the unknown, convinced no one would be interested.

Then there was Seyi. Poor girl got my full fear-rant in her DMs “What if it fails? What if no one buys?” She responded with encouragement after encouragement, even sending Bible verses to steady my heart. And then, in the middle of my panic, the Holy Spirit dropped an idea into my mind:

“Ask ChatGPT to make an image of the box, use it to promote, and test the market.

Boom. I gave pre-orders a try. And guess what? I sold 15 boxes without having the funds to produce them upfront. Fifteen!

I was reminded again , God is beautiful, and people are incredible. I didn’t just sell products; I experienced the power of community. The books and courses I’ve taken suddenly made sense. Community building is wealth. Now, I even have my own diffuser line under my name. And let me tell you… ownership tastes different. Building for your own vision hits differently than breaking your back for someone else’s. But I get it, sometimes you have to build for another man first to learn how to build for yourself. Every empire has a starting point.

So, thank you. Thank you for encouraging me to document my life one moment at a time. It’s been over three years of writing to you, reading your replies, and realizing how precious this is. You’ve made journaling something I treasure deeply.

Right now, as I close this letter, I’m sitting in a full-blown capitalist environment, tea cup just emptied, about to drink five glasses of water so I won’t feel hungry until 3 p.m. (What? The body must bang!)

Life lately…….

I just finished reading The Unfair Advantage by Ash Ali and Hasan Kubba. Easily one of my favorite reads of 2025 sharp, practical, and perspective-shifting. On my table now is Shifts by Sam Adeyemi. I’ve read it before, but some books deserve to be re-read, because the second time, you see things the first version of you couldn’t.

This week, I am prioritizing peace. I will avoid anything and anyone that tries to rattle my mind. I’m entering a new adventure, and I want to journal it intentionally, not just the big milestones, but moments that make life rich.

Because here’s what I know now: Our fears and anxieties are rarely as bad as they seem. Most of the time, the real drama comes from the way we handle them. So, I’ll write through the mess, laugh at the small worries later, and celebrate the beauty of just living……..

Until next time,

Sending you so much love,

Imisioluwa 🤎

Friends!

I’m writing this with a warm heart and a slightly sore jaw… because I’m currently eating the corn I waited 1 hour and 30 minutes for. Was it worth the wait? 100%. Did it hurt my teeth? Also, yes. 😂 But when a craving is that strong, pain becomes background noise.

That corn reminded me of something important: Some things are worth the wait, especially when the craving runs deep.

Which brings me to what I’ve been up to lately.

I just finished taking another round of training on gypsum, diffusers, and scented candles. Yes, again. The first time left me feeling unsure of myself. My work didn’t match the vision in my head. And instead of pretending I had it all together, I decided to go back and learn properly. It felt like repeating a class, but this time, I showed up with humility and purpose.

It wasn’t easy. Day one? I doubted myself. I felt small. But I kept going.

Because excellence is intentional.

Because Centric is not just about selling scents, it’s about selling confidence, emotion, and experience.

So I paid the price again. Time, money, and energy.

And today? I feel proud. I know what I’m doing. I’ve met beautiful people, reconnected with my why, and most importantly, I’m ready to do more.

And now?

My house smells like cherry blossom from the diffusers we made. My candles are carrying delicious notes of chocolate, caramel, sweet strawberry, and milkshake. There’s even a playful hint of bubble gum in the air. Honestly, it smells like joy. And I feel so, so happy and fulfilled. It’s like living inside a beautiful memory.

I got home feeling beautiful and exhausted. I thought about resting, but honestly… my brain had other plans. It whispered,

“What’s next for Centric?”

That’s when I realized something else: I’m deeply in love with this brand. I breathe it. I dream of it. I want more people to feel what we’re creating.

I told a friend, “If I ever love a man the way I love my business, just know he’s a national treasure because I don’t play with Centric.”

So, here’s me checking in with you.

Thank you for being part of this journey. For buying, referring, reposting, asking about our next move.

We’re not just a fragrance brand. We’re a movement.

And trust me, what’s coming next will smell like success.

With so much love.

PS: Want to smell what I’ve been working on?

We’re crafting new blends and prepping for our next big release. Until then, you can shop our favorites or simply reply to this email with your scent wishlist! You never can tell you can a win free samples.

Sending lots of love your way.

Imisioluwa🤎