Today, I’m going to talk about anxiety and how it’s tied to first born daughter’s psychology— of course, using myself as a case study .

Since forever, I’ve always struggled with a certain sense of urgency , which anxiety factors in .

I have a habit, from a young age , it’s my most oldest habit that I can remember, and that is because till this day, I still have it— I tend to want to get tasks over with as fast as possible, as fast as I can, almost like there’s a deadline in my head that I’m trying to meet , and even when there isn’t any physical deadline, I still want to get things done as fast as possible. It was a habit my mum took notice of and always teased me for it , especially because “constantly needing to get things done fast makes me prone to mistakes” as she would say.

But, to me , getting things done fast means I won’t be bothered by the thought that they are undone , and can easily move on to more tasks ..

My life, is constantly “tasks” to me , a task I need to solve, a task that needs urgent attention, a problem that needs immediate resolution, tasks tasks and more tasks .

So I grew into a person who just wants to solve , and when I feel like I can’t solve it, I spiral , anxiety upon anxiety , heightened fear upon heightened fear .

“Fear of what?” You may ask — I too have no specific idea , maybe a fear that I’d have to sit with the fact that I wasn’t able to solve it? Or the clock ticking in my head? Who knows?

Spiraling

I said, I inherently view a lot of my life as tasks and that means that when I can’t solve them, I spiral uncontrollably. “Why’s this happening” “what can I do to stop this from happening” “how do I immediately solve this”— and so I go down the rabbit hole of spiralkingdom.

Anxiety rises, and I try to clutch on anything I can as a way to restore my sense of stability or control, whichever one you want to call it . Being a first born daughter meant knowing how to solve problems, to me because if I didn’t , who could?

A change in perspective

Some days ago , something happened that changed the way I looked at things .

On a random day, suddenly you have clarity, suddenly it all made sense . Suddenly, a change of perspective.

Obviously, I don’t mean it happened at the snap of a finger, there were series of events leading up to that , but it came with clarity.

Seeing how someone who is dear to me handled his own what I would call “tasks” in my own world, gave me the clarity I needed.

I realized that it was okay to sit with and through emotions and I didn’t need to treat everything as a task that needed immediately solving .

This time , I paused, took a breather and actually saw everything for what it was , and doing this allowed me to clearly see what I was doing wrongly and what needed my attention— what I needed to solve was within myself .

“Not everything needs immediate resolution, the world wasn’t ending and I could let myself see things for what it was. There was no deadline and I was allowed to breathe without feeling like it was heavy and burdened by problems I was unable to solve at that time.

With this came clarity, and this is genuinely a win for me .

Having this perspective doesn’t mean that there aren’t times throughout the day that anxiety peeks through , but I’ve learnt to ground myself and ride the wave , name what I’m feeling for what it is . There would be times that I might fall short , but as long as I remember that it’s okay to, then there is nothing to worry about..

“I am okay” and that has helped ground me .

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It didn’t matter how long—as long as it came back.

I was never searching for something new, because the old one, regardless of how much I bled from holding onto its thorns, was familiar.

I am drawn to familiar pain.

But this time, I willingly let it go.

The familiarity.

The once-warm rug—I tore it up, pulling it away and leaving behind bare, cold tiles.

I was ready for something new.

I didn’t seek it out.

It found me.

It felt calm. Warm.

And for once, I didn’t have to create warmth in order for it to stay—because it brought warmth with it.

It felt stable.

For once, I didn’t have to wonder when it would leave.

This warmth didn’t require me to bend, or build, or hold it together.

And then familiarity returned, in the most unexpected way.

Pain after pain.

Memories after memories, fogging my mind.

The me I once was would have made space.

Moved the warm rug aside.

Opened myself up again—scraping, digging, rearranging everything just to let it in.

To prove it still mattered.

To soothe that longing for what I knew.

But this time, I didn’t.

Now I know what it feels like to have warmth given, not constructed.

To be seen.

To have a mirror held up to me on days I cannot see myself.

I don’t hold on out of fear anymore.

I don’t try to prove I can make space for what once hurt me.

So I stay here—

in this warmth, completely still, completely present—

closing the door to what I once called familiarity.

Because this is peace.

And in this peace, I’ve found something that also feels familiar.

But not because it hurts.

Because it holds.

Not out of fear.

But out of belonging.

Because I belong.

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The past couple of months have had me living really fast, no time to feel , no time to stop, no time to pause, no time to breathe. Today I was forced to pause — by my body, by my mind, by a memory, by my dread for a particular day — my birthday.

Until 2023, I’ve always loved my birthdays, maybe not super hyper , but it was something I just looked forward to , and even did in 2023.

If you are a religious reader of my substack posts , then you know how much I loved my dad and how much I write about him— so yeah, my dread for the 1st of April is tied to him. My dad loved me a lot, he loved us .

THE BACKSTORY

At about 6:00am on the 1st of April 2023, my phone rang, I never really wondered who would be calling that early , it was my birthday and it had to be my parents (My dad) he had a habit of always ringing me . It was a video call, and I immediately picked it up, as his face graces the screen.

His glasses positioned lower at the bridge of his nose, his face beaming with so much smile , his teeth shone more. It was just 6am , so it was still a bit dark .

“nyi nyi nyi” like he always called me

“Happy birthday my daughter…” he said as he sang me praises and prayed for me .

He had a habit of adjusting his glasses , so he just did it occasionally, as he spoke and I giggled because I had always wondered if the glasses were just too big for him.

We talked a great length before the network interference , I took a screenshot of the video call and posted a story with the caption “best dad”

My dad passed on the 22nd of April 2023. 21 days after my birthday. You know, it’s crazy, how one day you can’t imagine your life without a person, and the next, you have to wake up each day to the deafening silence of their absence .

How one of the best memories of your life can easily and quickly turn to one that haunts your existence, how one of the best days of your life could easily turn to one you dread , how my birthday which held the memory of the birthday video call with my dad easily turned to one with the Last birthday video call with him .

It’s crazy how grief creeps up on you, one day you think you’re good and the next you’re bawling your eyes out because it’s getting to your birth week and your heart aches so much from the emptiness you feel.

One of the worst voids to feel is one that is unable to be filled, one where you have to push through your entire existence , helplessly , knowing you can’t do anything but FEEL.

People talk about turning this into something positive, but how can I? How am I supposed to see the positive in the fact that it was the last time the most important person in my life would call to wish me a great birthday ?

“It gets better with time” I promise it doesn’t , I’m going to have several more birthdays and each one being a reminder of my loss, is not one I easily turn into something positive. I don’t know how to .

I don’t think I’m ever going to be prepared for this day, — be it in months, years , more years. Because the way the grief always creeps in? the smirk in its face as it holds my neck, the lump in my throat , the ache in my chest, the bitter taste in my mouth, the knot in my stomach . The look on its face as it watches me hurt? It looks very much like a checkmate.

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I don’t know how to stop and stand still.

I’ve always moved—one step, then a brisk walk. I don’t stand still unless I’m forced to.

I’m someone people now refer to as someone who “grew up too fast.”

The way they say it, the smile on their face, I can tell they mean it as a compliment. Their eyes nudge me to accept the badge, to feel honoured by the acknowledgment.

And they’re right. I did grow up too fast.

I never really got the chance to stop and do the same things my peers did.

Being a first child in a Nigerian home is to keep moving.

To keep setting milestones.

To keep meeting milestones set for you.

To set a standard—and meet it.

You never really stop.

So yes, you could say that shaped me into a woman who is always moving.

FOMO—fear of missing out—I don’t even know what that is among my peers, because I never really cared about what I was missing. I was too busy keeping up with what was expected.

Life teaches you many things. Unfortunately, one of the lessons I internalised is that you have to be strong, no matter what.

Exhaust yourself.

Tire yourself out.

Push the next day like your body isn’t screaming for you to stop.

People glorify this. They call it resilience.

But am I resilient if I’m completely discarding the fact that my body and mind are begging for a pause?

If I’m mentally and physically exhausted, yet I wake up the next day and pretend I’m not?

Resilience, huh?

I know it sounds like I’m against it. But how could I be, when it’s the very thing I practice daily?

I live life on the edge—day by day by day.

Each day pushing more than the last, like I’m on a quiet quest to see how much longer it will take before I reach my breaking point.

It feels like daring myself.

Like making a deal with the devil.

A chess game where I sit across from him—

and still choose to sacrifice myself as the pawn on the board.

I don’t have an answer yet.

I’m still playing the game. Still moving. Still pushing.

I don’t know when I’ll stop sitting across from the devil, pretending I’m not the one bleeding.

For now , I’m going to wrap a band aid around this wound, temporary fixes, yes— but that’s what I can afford at the moment.

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I’ve subconsciously counted the days of this month up to today— one would easily think it’s because of the festivity the month comes with, but between you and i, it’s not.

if you’ve been on my Substack from 2 years ago, then you know I’ve not looked forward to Christmas in 2 years.

between you and i, i see people making preparations for the season and i feel a pang in my chest, hurt. jealousy.

the fact that they could make Christmas plans with a smile on their face and joy in their heart— i wish that was me.

my dad’s post humous birthday was on the 12th of December, so for the past 2 years, Christmas has always started with a prior reminder of my loss, which sets the tone for the rest of the festive.

if you read my Substack from last year and the previous, you’d know i spent my Christmas with my family.

How i tried to make it a good one for my siblings and how i made sure they didn’t get to feel my dad’s absence as much— it made me happy, the fact that i could that.

i talked about how everyone tried to be present while we all pretended like there wasn’t a deafening absence. a face we all silently wished we could see, a presence we all silently hoped we could feel.

we’ve mastered the act of pretending to be okay, pretending it doesn’t hurt.

This year, i’m not spending it with family, i got my internship, so this time, i’m very far away from family. i didn’t even do Christmas shopping, lol. i feel like the grinch.

every day since the start of this month has been a constant war in my head, i’ve been doing what i know to do best ‘push the feeling to the back, and keep living’

Today, i’m struggling. really struggling.

i woke up with an aching feeling in my chest, a pit in my stomach and an undeniable void in my heart.

maybe, it’s because i’ve been watching people post about Christmas with enthusiasm, maybe it’s the realization that the world, everyone moves on and keep going, regardless of whatever you are feeling.

maybe i’m just chronically online, and it’s the price i pay for it.

i’ve dealt with festive- season depression, MDD, during these depressive episodes, and its genuinely not a hole i want to crawl back into.

but i’ve had this persistent empty feeling, that i have been trying to push through, and for some reason, it came crashing in on me today.

people say, “be happy” “try to be happy” and i genuinely wish i can, i wish it’s that easy, i wish i didn’t have to be at constant war in my head, and i wish i can be like everyone else.

i hate being the sad girl, sadness is an emotion i loathe, yet one that has clung on to me for as long as i can remember.

and for everytime i feel like this, i remember the words of a certain someone “you’re always sad” and i hate how true it feels.

i’m so tired and overwhelmed today, and that’s why i’m writing— for relief, i guess.

writing always brought me relief.

i don’t feel it today tho . it’s just empty.

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I was so tired of having to spend on uber and since I’d be here for a year, why not get familiar with everywhere. When In rome, act like the Romans or how do they say it?

I was taking a bus from Ajah to ikoyi when this ungodly stench hit my nose

I instinctively scrunched my nose as I mentally swore for the people who dump their refuse on the road side.

people of God, when I looked around at the people in the bus, no one had their face scrunched up, it was like they couldn’t even perceive the stench that was ready to take my life…

“Am I over reacting ? Are these people trying to gaslight me?

CAN YOU PEOPLE NOT PERCEIVE WHAT I’M PERCEIVING??!!! Am i CRAZY??

I was having a mental war with myself. guys, not one person seemed affected by this stench

And that’s when it hit me

they are used to this smell, so much that it doesn’t get any reaction from them anymore..

it’s like a person that smells bad but can’t smell themselves because their nose is used to it.. so it makes sense that lagosians argue that the state don’t smell .

And what’s it with men flinging out their genitals and peeing anywhere? You’d be looking out the window of a vehicle , hissing at how long you have to spend it traffic, and there across the road is a man peeing at a “do not urinate here” sign

What is wrong with everyone? Sir can’t you readdd!??? They said you should not urinate there !

It’s like these people have a mental mantra

“Contributing to the stench in Lagos, one pee at a time

”

You know, for a state that stinks so bad, the people here party a lot, it’s been 5 days since I came here and I’ve gotten so much party invites

I’m starting to think it’s a coping mechanism.

Everyone wants to party , it’s no wonder people see it as the best place to have a Detty December . Don’t invite me no where please, everything’s so damn expensive

I paid 1500 from Ajah to obalande (I don’t know if I spelt it correctly) on Tuesday, today is Friday and I take the bus again

“Oga how much”

“2k”

Is everyone okay? Extra 500 in 2 days ? That’s money for 2 eggs

It’s almost like when your village people can’t get you, they send you to Lagos to do your 1 year medical internship.

I’m in such a dilemma, 5 days down. 11 months , 3 weeks and 2 days to go . Pray for me guys , if i survive 1 year here, I’m afraid, that’s an increase to my bride price.

I’d be writing a series on my stay here, so stay tuned by subscribing.

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When you learn to find wholeness within yourself , the right person finds you . And when they do, you receive from them not from a place of lack, but from a place of emotional safety.

When you’re complete in yourself, as a stand alone, that doesn’t need a person to fill a void but rather a person to stand beside you, love feels safe, and secure — it doesn’t feel like a transaction or a rescue mission, it doesn’t look like a cry for help or an anxious attachment, it’s quiet and steady — it’s free.

You notice the little things, like the way the corners of their eyes smile with their face, the tiny gestures they do when they think no one’s looking , the warmth in their silence, because this time, silence doesn’t feel like rejection or punishment, it feels safe .

You give not from a place of trying to keep them or make them see your values, but from a place of wanting to share yourself and the things you have with them , because it makes you happy knowing that they hold a piece of you.

The irony is beautiful; how when you stop searching , the universe brings someone who is an echo of your growth and suddenly all the work you’ve put into yourself makes sense, like it was preparing you for them, and them for you .

The synchronization is crazy , and timing feels like it couldn’t be more right because this person holds space for you and lets you be a unapologetically yourself, because they want to see you in your truest form without an iota of judgement in their heart.

And this time, because of your growth, you’re able to name it for what it is— safe love, healthy love . And you’re able to receive it in it’s entirely because it’s the purest form of love and because you’re safe in yourself, emotional safety becomes a priority for you . Settling for less becomes impossible, because they make you see how much you’ve missed from having to settle for it.

You look at them and it feels like you’re living in an answered prayer , like all the love you have poured into the wrong people has finally made its way to you , in the most safest way possible — in the safest person you’ve ever met.

And the most beautiful part? You don’t feel the need to hold onto them tightly . You don’t panic when they have their own space, because you trust what you’ve built — within yourself and them can stand life’s chaos. Because love to you isn’t about possession anymore , but presence . About choosing each other everyday without fear or desperation.

You realize safe love isn’t loud or dramatic , it’s subtle and real, in the way they remember the littlest details about you , celebrate your wins like it’s theirs . You sit and count your blessings and they’re part of it, and in those quiet moments you feel profound gratitude— not just for them , but for yourself. Because the work and patience you put in yourself has finally paid off and led you to a place where you recognize this love and is able to receive it.

It teaches you to keep growing , to keep being unapologetically you . It doesn’t replace , it enhances. So you start to understand something sacred— love doesn’t fix what’s broken , it honors what’s already whole.

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In English they say I miss you.
But in literature we say:
every second without you feels like I’m stuck in time.

The seconds drag into hours,
and it feels like time is holding me captive.

So I sit by the clock,
counting down every tick
until I see you again.

In English they say I miss you.
But in literature we say:
my heart aches for you.
My body betrays me
because it yearns for you more than it yearns for breath.

My eyes feel like they’ve lost their purpose,
recalling every second spent staring at you.
My senses remember,
and my mind is haunted by your absence.

Every second away from you feels like time wasted —
time I could have spent with you.
My body throbs with longing;
it yearns for you endlessly.

In English they say I miss you.
But in literature we say:
not being with you feels like I’m trapped in a void.
My being feels empty,
shaken by echoes
and then the deafening silence of your absence.

It feels like being stuck in space and time
until we have a purpose again.

In English they say I miss you.
But in literature we say:
even my dreams conspire against me,
and my mind plays tricks on me.

Even in my sleep,
my mind molds your face from the shadows,
and my memories with you are played in a cinematic style,
as if taunting me.

My mind whispers your voice in my ears
as I wake up and reach for you,
certain that you should be beside me,
because even in sleep, my body remembers you.

In English they say I miss you.
But in literature we say:
I hold my breath until I see you again,
because without you the room feels filthy,
and I need the breath of fresh air
your presence fills it with.

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I didn’t even realize how long I’d been hiding until you made it feel safe to stop.

You didn’t just say you saw me — you meant it. You saw right through me, to the centre.

Not the me I present to the world. Not the mask, not the façade, not the self-preservation I’ve learned over time.

You saw the real me — the me I am when no one’s looking.

You looked at me like I was bare, and I didn’t mind. I wanted you to see, because you made me feel safe enough to let you look… to let you see.

You didn’t look to judge or change or fix me.

You looked to understand — to learn me.

I was like a book you didn’t mind studying because each page felt more interesting than the last.

You peeled me open layer by layer, holding each one like something sacred.

You peeled with patience, like you were unraveling a gem.

I didn’t know what not hiding felt like — what it meant to stop giving people the version of me they wanted — until you saw me.

The way you see me teaches me about myself.

Because in your eyes, I learn who I am… and what it means to finally see myself.

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People say to keep an open mind, but I don’t just keep one; I make room for the moment it all falls apart.

No, it’s not pessimism. It’s my body, my nerves, constantly asking me to prepare.

I anticipate things before they happen, because maybe — just maybe — if I saw them coming, it wouldn’t hurt as badly.

Maybe being prepared would give me an edge, and even if it still hurts, at least I wasn’t blindsided.

You know, it’s scary for me when things are easy. When they come easily. When I catch myself smiling more than usual.

So when I notice I’m having happier days, I prepare.

I count my losses before I lose them, because maybe counting them keeps me alert.

So I mourn them before they’re gone.

Because maybe if I mourn them early, it won’t feel like a loss that hits you in the throat.

And so I prepare.

The sky is clear, no sign of rain, but I take an umbrella with me.

I walk with the umbrella just above me, in anticipation of the storm.

I prepare, so when it rains, at least I was prepared.

I overthink, overanalyze, and count the days until I see it — my fear unfolding.

Because maybe if I face those fears now, I won’t be as scared when they finally stand in front of me.

And then one day… it happens.

Everything I thought.

Everything I imagined.

Everything I overthought.

And the only thought echoing in my head is:

at least I was prepared.

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One day you’re looking at a stranger, barely taking full note of them— and the next, you feel the safest when you’re with them.

One day , you know just their name — and the next , you have a nickname for them.

One day , they’re just someone you barely know— and the next , someone you look forward to seeing.

One day, they’re just one of the many faces you see everyday— and the next, the very face you always want to see.

One day, their presence is barely noticeable—the next, their absence is loud enough , you could hear it in a room filled with people

One day, their voice is just one of the many you hear every day— the next , it’s one your body recognizes even in your sleep.

One day, you don’t even notice them around— the next, you catch yourself looking for them in a room filled with people .

One day, they’re nothing to you, and the next— they feel like home. Warm, comforting, Safe.

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It’s second nature to me , like i was birthed into it, and held by some invisible obligation to uphold it .

“carrying it well” a concept i’m used to hearing . Am i carrying it well if the weight pulls me down enough to have the earth just before me ?

The sand in my face , like if i move my face an inch closer, my nose touches it.

“Carrying it well?” Pft..

You know what carrying it well will be?

Standing tall and not bending to the weight of it. It’s having to not pretend like it isn’t heavy at all.

It’s not counting hours till the end of the day because then i get to be in my bed and let it feel every wave of sadness cursing through my body.

It’s looking forward to the morning because it’s supposed to be a new day and not a carryover of the night

You know,

My Favourite thing about my room is my bed, how it sees me in my purest form,

the form i hide from everyone else, how i slowly shapeshift from what everyone knows me to be , to this sad , sad girl.

why do I have to pretend to it?

It already knows

every name I’ve ever cursed out, every pain I’ve ever buried , every weight I’ve ever carried

But in my bed, atleast i get to be me.

I would have loved to tell the younger me that it gets better, that it gets easier , that we finally didn’t have to carry it alone .

But I’d be lying to her.

Does it get better?

And if it gets better, can i share the weight?

I’ve lived my whole life carrying it, what if by the time i can share it, I’m already hunched over by the weight of it?

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When you fall in love—
I hope you fall heads first .
fall knowing that you’re enough.
I hope you look at them and they quench your thirst .

They say to fall , 
you have to be prepared to be hurt.
But when you fall ,
Oh when you fall ,
I hope it’s someone you trust. 
Someone who isn’t afraid to play catch.
I hope you look at them and think—
I have met my match. 

When you fall in love 
I hope it’s pure—
That it’s pure like a dove above .
When you fall, I hope it’s secure .
I hope they make you feel sure.
I hope it’s a love that is mature .

I hope you look at them —
and they don’t remind you of your past .
A breathe of fresh air , a clean slate.
I hope it’s so clear, the contrast .
That you don’t see any gray area—
And you just think it’s fate.

When you fall in love—
I hope you feel like a kid .
I hope they make you laugh ,
so much your stomach hurts . 
I hope you feel like it’s a bid.
You’re at an auction , 
and you got the best plus desserts.

When you fall in love—
I hope it’s safe .
I hope they look at you like you’re shiny.
I hope they don’t let a tear down your face.
I hope they look at you and say—
“Shiny things shine, they don’t cry”

when you fall, 
I hope they fall with you.
when you fall…
you look forward to start of the day 
And when it’s through.
Because you get to talk to them.

When you fall—
I hope it feels calming .
What do they call it?
Water to your flames, your ying.
Or you could be the ying , 
And they the yang , perfect fit.

When you fall in love,
I hope it feels like one out of a book,
type that curls your lip into a smile.
has you glued to the pages, hooked.
One that warms your heart,
that’s your style. 

When you fall,
I hope you don’t break .
And I say  ‘hope’
Because they make sure the ground is safe enough for you to land—
Concrete for beds , they’ll cushion the floor.

And when you fall ,
I hope they catch you .
Showering your face with kisses.
They look at you with so much love—
That others can see 
just how much they fell for you in their eyes.

When you fall in love,
I hope you believe that you’re deserving of it.
That you embrace it and them.
That you don’t get in your head, that pit.
That you tell the voices in your head,
“If they’re good, I deserve them”. 

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My bad habit is overexplaining .
not a habit i made— but one i developed .
The first time you told me
 “you haven’t given me any reason to doubt you”
I had to pause. 
with over explaining, it was like i had a degree.
 

But this degree i couldn’t put to use anymore 
It’s foreign to me— being understood .
Having answers prepared at the door ,
That was more of my thing .
A card I’ve been dealt by previous people,
A game i played, even tho i always lost.

I’m so used to having to defend my silence 
Explain how calm doesn’t mean ‘guilty’
So when you asked questions— 
I immediately felt like i was under that lens.
The one where I’m guilty ,
The one where I fumble for the right defense.
The one where i lose regardless.

But you— you’re so different 
Different from what i know, what I’m used to
Maybe this time , it isn’t a trial

Maybe this time , 
Someone wants to understand.
Maybe this time ,
I don’t have to shrink, hide or perform
Because you see me . 

With you—
 i have to continuously remind myself 
Remind myself that you’re real ,
That you’re here .
That this is all you .

That I don’t have to over explain .
That you understand, even when I don’t speak
That this is real—
And i should accept it.

My bad habit is thinking —
That it’ll come crashing before it takes off, 
That everyone ends up showing their true self,
That I won’t get better.

And so, it feel surreal.
You feel surreal. 
For some reason, I’m willing to trust you.
For some reason, you feel safe . 
You’ve said , and you’ve shown me. 
And I’m willing to trust that . 

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the day we first met.
I remember looking over to you —
 Thoughts and thoughts running 
through my mind.
 “Haven’t we met yet?”

It was the first time my eyes ever saw you .
But somehow it felt… like I knew you.

I remember watching beads of sweat run  down your face—
As they get in your eyes.
And I thought
  “do they … sting”?

The day we said our first hi .
It felt familiar— 
like our souls knew each other.

“Hi” i said back.
My face lighting up with a smile .

I know you felt it too — 
the familiarity , 
The ease in our conversations, 
Our sense of humor .


It felt … right. 
It was like I had met you in a different 
lifetime , 
And there’s an invisible thread 
pulling us together— this time.

We held each other’s gaze.
We were in sync .
I was so confused at first— 
no, not confused.. scared. 
I think that’s the word.


Scared that you saw me. 
That you could see me. 
You could sense what i needed , 
even before I said it. 
It was like we had a link .

Your eyes 
not only saw me— 
but it saw my soul.

It’s scary, yes .. 
and sometimes I can’t place my fingers 
on it .

How you see through me— 
like I’m a piece of paper with zero opacity .

how attuned you are to me.
The soft “something’s changed” 
you say when you notice me low.

it was like the world stood still,
and you only saw me.

You know that’s my favorite thing —
about you .
How we could be across from each other in a room 
and still feel close.

How we walk past each other
 in a room filled with people 
and our fingers somehow find each other

Very Subtle, yes—
but enough to make my heart flutter 

Sometimes, it’s confusing .
The way my heart flutters when you’re close.
Your stare . 
the way your pupils dilate when you look at me.

Both of us— 
like kids in a candy store. 

I used to read books— romance novels .
I grew up reading wattpad stories, 
giggling and kicking my feet in the air . 

With you, 
it feels like I’m living in one, serene .

The set,
 the scenario— 
and it feels like there’s a director screaming “and scene!” 

I remember when I read books so good that i didn’t want them to end .

Or when I’d google similar books  because I couldn’t let go of the story just yet. 

I want to hold on to the sparks, 
the tingles, 
the giggles — 
and hopefully , 
it doesn’t have to end. 

Whatever this is,
it feels like home —
and that’s enough for me.

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acts of service as we all know is a love language to some, and as a first-born daughter, i can say it is at the top of mine. it’s something i actively look out for in friendships and relationships.

for every time i’m asked the attribute i seek out in a partner, kindness has always been the first answer i gave.

this is because a kind person is aware enough to realize what you need in a moment and is able to offer that or at least attempt to.

for every relationship that i have ended, the most common reason has been i didn’t think they matched my kindness and i didn’t think they’d be able to truly give me that in the way i deserve.

as a first daughter, i have spent my entire life living and caring for others, overextending myself if i feel the need to, and this stretches beyond family and transcends into individual relationships, and even to strangers.

my first instinct is to help, to make a load lighter, to show care, to give. i’m very solution minded, i see a problem and i immediately want to solve, especially when it involves people i care about.

as someone who is used to putting the needs of others first before mine, being shown care is very foreign to me, and is therefore not something i actively expect from people.

this is why the littlest form of kindness literally melts my heart.

you know, romantically, when asked what my type is, i usually answered that i didn’t have one, but as time passed and i learnt more about myself, i realized attraction builds for me based on how i am treated.

how a person makes me feel, breaks or makes my attraction to them.

for every time i have broken off things with people, be it friendships or romantic relationships, they sometimes say “but i did this and that for you, weren’t they kind?”

the thing is, sure they might have done all that, but what about the things i really wanted? the ones that were supposed to make my load lighter?

i believe if you love people, you instinctively want to lessen their burden? because that is what love to me is.

and so, if i see you don’t mind me having to suffer, then you are not the one for me.

as a first daughter, i am hyper independent, i find it very difficult to seek help from people, i could literally be drowning and say nothing, and instead try to save the next person that is drowning.

so, when a person stretches’ their hand for me to take it, i cherish it.

as a hyper independent first daughter, it feels really nice to be taken care of, to be prioritized.

and to every first-born daughter reading this, i hope you meet people who would instinctively want to take away your troubles, people who would ask about how you’re doing because they want to know every detail so they can make your life easier.

people who would ask about your day and listen genuinely because they want to make it better.

people who don’t mind cooking for you because they can tell you’re tired.

people who would show you that they love you through effort and care instead of just words.

you’re deserving of great friendships and soft love.

you don’t have to carry it alone, and when you find these people, i hope you are able to let them in, and let them share what you carry with you. rooting for us.

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we wait, pray and toil, we check our emails every day, expecting that life changing one, we dream and work towards goals, we wait— that wait sometimes clouding our minds with the anxiety of waiting.

then the news we’ve been waiting for comes, that email drops, that goal gets accomplished, that call comes in, and we celebrate for a short amount of time and then move on like it never happened.

like we weren’t just waiting for it, like we didn’t just fight anxiety during the period of waiting.

we spend so much time on getting things done, waiting for the next chapter, preparing for it, but when we get it, we just move on to the next

we get so lost in thinking about what hasn’t come, that we forget to live in the moment of what already is, to appreciate it and acknowledge the hard work that led us up to that moment, how much time it took us to get there.

we are so focused on the end, that we don’t sit to appreciate the means.

This is why we are never okay, why we are in a constant state of comparison, why we are generation of sad people.

don’t get me wrong, it is okay to dream, i am a dreamer myself, i set goals, and even when i accomplish them, i don’t acknowledge how hard i had to push to get there.

everything i have right now in my life, down to this very laptop i am currently typing on, i once wanted, i had to save and save, strip myself of some pleasures so i could get it, but now i have it, and i have never sat to think about the days when i used to want it.

how hard it was for me to get it, and this is just a very little instance that transcends into bigger pictures in our lives.

i think we need to sit with the processes more, acknowledge them, because they happened.

when we acknowledge these things, gratitude becomes imminent. you realize how far you’ve actually come, how hard you’ve worked, and then extend grace to yourself.

you are not stagnant— yes you might not be where you want to be yet, but you’re surely not where you started, and for that, you deserve to pat yourself at the back.

you’re doing enough.

life makes more sense when you acknowledge how you have had your own back.

scrap comparison, i know that’s hard to do especially since we are in an era where we can easily see the accomplishments of others, we scroll and we see something that makes us question how well we are doing.

but hear me out, there is a time frame for everything, and we are all on our different individual journeys.

there’s so much more that we don’t know about ourselves yet, people we haven’t met, experiences we haven’t had, all of these which are supposed to make our bigger picture clearer, and that is the beauty of life.

let’s all try to keep our heads above the water and don’t forget to acknowledge how your processes led you up to whatever moment or phase that you are in.

do not forget to extend grace to yourself because you deserve it. rooting for you, stranger.

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I can’t say for sure when I became one, but I know I’ve always felt the need to clarify and re-clarify, even the smallest things.

I say “no,” and immediately feel the urge to explain why I did, why it should be understood, why it shouldn’t be taken the wrong way, why it shouldn’t be upsetting. I just… explain.

It’s said that people who have a habit of over-explaining often do it for reasons like past experiences of being dismissed or misjudged, anxiety, childhood trauma, or people-pleasing.

I over-explain for a lot of reasons — but mostly to reassure the other person. I find myself trying to manage their emotions, which isn’t my responsibility. I inherit their emotional baggage and make it mine, disguising it as “providing more context.”

Don’t get me wrong — explaining your stance so people can better understand you isn’t wrong.

But over-explaining because you’re trying to salvage a situation that doesn’t need saving, is.

Why do you feel the need to over-explain why you set boundaries?

Boundaries exist for self-protection and preservation — they’re meant to protect you and your emotions.

Why do you feel the need to over-explain why you couldn’t respond to a text on time because you were sleeping?

Or why you said no to a sexual advance because you just didn’t want to? Isn’t “I don’t want to” enough reason to say no?

An over-explainer thinks, “Maybe if I give them more context, there won’t be room for misunderstanding. They’ll see my intentions are pure. They’ll understand.”

Here’s the thing — people who know you’re an over-explainer, bank on it.

They’ll intentionally cross your boundaries, guilt-trip you with a one-liner, and disappear.

Do you know why? Because they know you’ll come back — your habit of over-explaining will bring you right back to explain yourself.

This creates a power imbalance — one where you’re constantly chasing validation and trying to control conflict, while they wait for you to do it.

And you know what this cycle does? It gives them more power, confirming that you’ll always circle back to be “heard out.”

Contrary to what we believe, over-explaining doesn’t prevent misunderstanding — it actually creates it. It makes you appear guilty and puts you on the crime scene every time you do it, because you validate what the other person already assumes.

They start to think, “Why do they feel the need to over-explain if they’re not in the wrong?”

To you, you’re clearing up confusion. To them, you’re proving guilt.

I am a serial epistle writer — I could write hundreds of paragraphs if I feel misunderstood.

I explain why I set boundaries, why they shouldn’t be crossed, and still find myself soothing the feelings of the person who crossed them.

Sometimes, I even use it as a measure of care — because in my head, “I wouldn’t be over-explaining if I didn’t care.”

It’s partly true. In almost every relationship or friendship that ended, they could always tell it was over when I stopped over-explaining.

As an over-explainer, quitting isn’t a walk in the park.

But I’m learning — not every silence needs to be filled, and not every misunderstanding needs rescuing.

Sometimes, peace is choosing not to explain — and trusting that the right people will still understand.

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you learned to over-function in childhood, mistook endurance for love

measuring it by how much of your will, you can bend

you didn’t mind; you did it. and did it

until it became a scale on which you measured your dedication

you wake up one day, and you realize you’ve become a vessel

constantly taking in more than your insides could hold

it wasn’t a problem, at least the vessel is elastic, you thought

you stretched every bit of it, to contain chaos that was never yours

diverting and collecting every bit of the rain, the storm, all that baggage

You measured love by how much yes you could say

it didn’t matter if it’ll break the vessel, you didn’t care

so, you said yes, every, time.

you didn’t mind shrinking, how much could it hurt?

you were elastic

You were getting to your limit

but you wanted to show them how dedicated you were

you wanted to show them you could hold space for them

the more space you made, the more they needed

the more you bended, the more they wanted you to,

it was like they didn’t care if you snapped, and broke

You stopped complaining, you were tired of pushing back

there was no need for it, you thought they didn’t understand

most of all, you had something to prove

you wanted to prove to them, that they were never a lot

that they were enough, each and every one of them

You thought.

if you could carry enough,

bend far enough

bleed quietly enough.

then maybe they would see you, and how much you’ve had to contain

You didn’t care; you never did

it was all about them, always about them

so you bled quietly

But the body gets tired of being a container

you realize, there’s only so much you could hold

the soul grows restless in the cage of proving

You were starting to spill

all you thought you could contain, starting to seep out

and you realize even an elastic has its limit

now, it’s you or them, and you have to push back

harder than you ever have

One day, you wake up, and you don’t recognize yourself anymore

you held space for everyone but neglected yourself

of course, they knew they were asking too much

that they were stretching and shrinking you

but they never cared, as long as they got what they wanted

So, one day, you wake up, and realize boundaries aren’t walls

you need it, you need to set it, or you end up losing yourself

so, you realize, boundaries are doorways back to us

it’s how you find yourself again

and that it’s not rejection, but reclamation.

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It’s been two years since I lost my entire world, it hasn’t gotten easier, so maybe they lied.

“Grief hits you out of nowhere” they say, they are right.

Sometimes , I forget my dad isn’t here anymore, sometimes, I forget he died two years ago.

Until something happens, and I remember I’m actually doing life without him and it’ll be like that forever.

I’m reminded of him in the littlest of ways— like doing a data subscription from my bank app and remembering I used to do the same for him.

To scrolling through my contact list and seeing his name, and I’m immediately hit with the realization that I can’t call him.

That the line wouldn’t ring because he just isn’t here anymore, that I won’t hear his voice ever again.

Everytime I hear lucky dube, & Bob Marley , I imagine he’s speaking to me . He loved them — we used to bond over them. I loved them because he loved them.

Sometimes listening to them breaks my heart, other times, it makes me feel closer to him .

I still speak about him like he’s still here— “my dad used to do this” “ my dad used to say this” and then I remember.

It all feels so unfair , the fact that he isn’t here anymore, the hurt I’m in.

I don’t know how I’ve been able to survive this long without him, and I’m supposed to keep surviving without him?

It’s so unfair .

Grief really does sneak up on you

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