Dear Black People,

Listen. Jason Arday isn’t an isolated situation. In fact, it’s far more common that we care to admit. It’s in big offices, small organizations and even in palaces, ask Meghan Markle. Selective criticism is not an innocent tool for accountability. It is a targeted weapon, and when we strip away the self righteous posturing of those who wield it, you find pure injustice.

​It is a known fact that majority of predominantly white societies hyper fixate on the flaws, real or alleged, of black people while they give people of their own race a pass. We know Jason Arday’s case was not just about truth or standards. Actually, it’s never been about any of these for many similar cases. It has always been about control. It is about signaling who is allowed to mess up and who must be destroyed for merely stepping out of line.

​Jason Arday situation makes me more angry than sad. Arday became the youngest Black professor in the history of Cambridge University. That title alone did put a massive target on his back in an establishment that still views Black excellence as an anomaly, charity or a DEI case. The moment accusations of plagiarism and embellished background details surfaced, the right wing press and online mobs did not just call for an investigation. They launched a total character assassination. They labeled him a diversity poster boy, framed his entire career as a scam, and turned his existence into a battleground to tear down the very idea of Black academics in elite spaces. The pressure was relentless, engineered to crush a human being.

Jason Arday was human. He was a human being doing what human beings do!!! Let that sink in.

Days after stepping down under the weight of this public lynching, Jason was found dead in his home at 41 years old. His family called it what it was, a campaign of sustained abuse and misinformation that was simply too much for him to bear.

​We saw the exact same script play out with Meghan Markle. The moment a black woman married into the British Royal Family, the British press turned selective criticism into a blood sport. Every micro action was dissected, recontextualized, and villainized. If she touched her baby bump, she was attention seeking. If Kate Middleton did it, she was maternal. If Meghan ate avocados, she was destroying the environment and funding cartels; if Kate ate them, they were a sweet remedy for morning sickness. The double standard was blatant, shameless, and deliberate. It was never about royal protocol or decorum. It was about punishing a Black woman for occupying a space that white supremacy believes she had no right to inherit, and forcing her out by making her life unlivable.

I have been blessed to work and live in these circles. I’ve seen firsthand how the game is played and how the rules differ depending on who is at the table.

Dear Black Person, there are layers to this thing. There are nuances that get erased entirely, don’t be fooled. When a white academic or public figure faces allegations or violates social norms, it is treated as an isolated incident of individual failure. These other category get quiet internal reviews, legal protections, benefit of the doubt, and the grace of context. Nobody weaponizes their failure to question whether white people, as a collective, belong in academia or public life. However when a Black person makes a mistake, or even when they are simply accused, their individuality is revoked. They are made to carry the weight of their entire race. Their mistakes are weaponized to prove a faux racist thesis. I am exhausted.

​What makes this dynamic even more sinister is how it tricks people of colour into doing the oppressor’s dirty work. We see members of our own communities jumping in to excuse this targeted brutality, blaming the victims with cowardly lines like “he should have been more careful” or “she should have known better than to poke the bear.” This is respectability politics at its absolute worst. It shifts the blame from the lynch mob to the person being hunted. It is a desperate, pathetic coping mechanism built on the delusion that if Black people just act perfectly, follow every rule, and keep their heads down, racism will spare them. My dear, it won’t.

I am calling out the selective criticism and it does not mean I don’t believe in accountability. It means I’m demanding that the rules apply equally, instead of using standards as a cover for racial execution.

​This selective outcry has a long, ugly history. The media has perfected the art of selective outrage for generations. These mofos audit Black lives under a microscope while turning a blind eye to the massive, systemic corruption of white institutions. I absolutely hate when they dig into the past of a Black victim of police violence to find a minor infraction from high school, attempting to justify their murder, while rushing to interview the neighbors of a white mass shooter to tell us how quiet and polite he was. Following George Floyd’s murder in May 2020, an old adult video surfaced online featuring a man resembling him. All of a sudden we’re to stop thinking about a man who was unalived, we’re to view him in the context of the p°rn he may or may not have done and to allow justice only to the extent of his perceived morality. How pathetic!

​I say this all the time, selective criticism pretends to care about integrity, but its true motive is to enforce a double standard that keeps marginalized people perpetually defensive, exhausted, and disposable. It tells Black people that to exist in prominent spaces, they must be twice as perfect, because any human slip up will be used as evidence that their entire community lacks merit.

​Jason Arday’s death and the systematic hounding of figures like Meghan Markle are horrific reminders of the human cost of this vicious game. The people who drive these campaigns do not get to wash their hands and pretend they were just defending standards. They engage in mob executions fueled by a media landscape that profits off the destruction of Black bodies and minds. Selective criticism is not justice. It is hostility disguised as morality, and it is time we call it out for the lethal, racist tool that it is.

We must hold everyone accountable that contributed to the witch hunt that led this man to taking his own life.

This morning, the first four calls I got became the inspiration for this article. I spoke with my son, my dad, one of the closest people to me, and then a client. All four calls were hard in their own ways.

My son needed guidance on something that could critically impact his life’s journey. My dad, aging and frail, needed support regarding his health and how to navigate this twilight stage of his own journey. My friend cried bitterly on the phone; things have been incredibly hard and life has just been a total bitch lately. My client’s project isn’t going as planned, and he needs a miracle.

I have my own set of challenges to deal with too. Nonetheless, I had to be present, to listen, to care, and to show up with answers. And let’s not even get into my text messages, so many conversations that require empathy, care, and sometimes even cash.

So yes, I’m writing from a place where I am myself standing directly in the heart of the furnace.

There is a silent decade in someone’s life that rarely gets the credit it deserves. It is the stretch between 40 and 50. Every ten-year window has its peculiar challenges, but this particular one is notoriously hard for the vast majority of people.

This window is the crucible. It is the exact point where the currency of youth and raw potential runs out, and you are judged entirely on what you have actually built. Have you heard the phrase, “a fool at forty is a fool forever”? At this stage, the grace period of figuring things out is over. Now, you are the infrastructure and the entire structure.

In your 20s and early 30s, society operates on a currency of potential. If you haven’t figured it out yet, it’s fine; you’re still “young and figuring things out.” But by this phase, the world is no longer so gentle or kind. You are no longer judged on what you might do, but on what you have done.

Speaking as a man, and for the men in this window, life becomes a series of events where you are constantly carrying heavy weight. Whether you are running businesses or managing your career, the margin for error on your decisions is essentially zero.

They call us the sandwich generation. This is the phase where you are looking after aging parents while still guiding the next generation. You constantly carry an anticipated grief for your parents, while simultaneously worrying endlessly about your own children and their future. The daily logistical, emotional, and financial weight of parenting peaks here. You are the shield, the provider, and the anchor for everyone else, with very few people left above you to call for backup.

Let me emphasise this: for most people in this phase who live outside accessible government social programs, there are very few options or fallback plans.

Here, there is a real collapse of optionality. The infinite parallel paths of youth begin to close. The career track you chose, the city you live in, and the relationship choices you made are now deeply set. Pivoting is no longer a matter of packing a few bags, it requires dismantling an entire infrastructure of commitments.

This is the decade of peak professional pressure. In your 20s, career mistakes are cheap. In your 40s, the stakes are existential. While society often romanticises the “midlife crisis” as a cliché of sports cars and sudden wardrobe changes, the reality is far more gruelling.

It is the decade where the body changes the rules too. Staying sharp is no longer a given. Your body isn’t always going to listen to you, and alongside the mental exhaustion, you are often physically spent.

So to everyone currently standing in this gap, managing the noise, holding the line, and doing the heavy lifting without asking for applause, I see you.

Dear Friend,

Keep building, keep leading, and keep taking care of yourself. The weight is heavy, but I am praying for your strength.

I have an interesting playlist. I could be all in my feelings listening to Giveon, then SZA comes in, and after that, Naomi Raine. While I am relishing the organised chaos of this set of jams, I am quickly plunged into even further delightful Afrobeats. And by the way, Fola is doing it for me right now. Lol.

R. A. Vernon’s ‘You Covered Me’ popped up on my playlist today, and I wanted to share a thought regarding it. The lyrics:

“I don’t want to sing latest song

I don’t want to percolate the crowd

I just want to make You smile

I don’t have to listen for my name

They don’t have to walk me down the aisle

I just want to make you proud

Should I make the hall of fame

Or they save a special seat

I just hope that You’ll be pleased”

On the surface, it sounds like the ultimate act of devotion. But if we look closer, there’s a subtle, heavy undertone of performance-based worthiness. It suggests that in order to please the Creator, we must essentially disappear.

Religion often teaches us to labour for approval. It suggests that God’s smile is a reward for our self-sacrifice. But the reality of a loving Divine is far simpler:

• God isn’t waiting for you to “earn” a smile from him. Good earthly parents don’t do that, how much more the Heaven Father. You aren’t a project to be finished. You are a masterpiece already on display.

• Your joy is not a distraction. Being walked down the aisle, hearing your name called for an award, or reaching the “Hall of Fame” doesn’t subtract from your spirituality. These are human celebrations of the life you were given to live fully.

• Existing is enough. You have divine acceptance by default. You don’t need to “percolate the crowd” to be seen, but you also don’t need to hide in the shadows to be holy.

“The glory of God is a human being fully alive.” — St. Irenaeus

True spirituality doesn’t rob you of your humanity; it illuminates it. You can be ambitious, you can enjoy the spotlight, and you can celebrate your milestones, all whilst being deeply connected to the Divine.

God is already proud of you. Not because of what you’ve sacrificed, but simply because you exist.

Some gentle reminders:

• Stop Auditioning: You already have the part. When you finally stop trying to prove you deserve to be here, you actually start living. You can breathe. You can create. You can mess up and realise the show still goes on because your acceptance wasn’t based on your performance, it was based on your existence.

• Take the Seat: If there’s a seat in the Hall of Fame with your name on it, sit in it. “Let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works...No one lights a candle and hide it under a bushel”. These are the direct words of Jesus. Taking that seat isn’t about ego; it’s about acknowledging the gifts and the journey you’ve been given. When you shrink yourself to make others comfortable, or because you think God prefers you small, you’re actually dimming a light that was meant to be seen. You aren’t showing off by being successful; you’re showing others what is possible when someone walks in their purpose.

• Listen for Your Name: My dear, it is okay to be celebrated. The Divine is likely in the front row, cheering the loudest. Seriously, start listening for your name. When someone says something nice about you or gives you a praise and your immediate response is “we give God praise” or “it is God o” you are only reinforcing the negative religious programming that seeks to diminish you. Stop it. God doesn’t have low self esteem such that he’s angry when you’re acknowledged. We spend so much time deflecting praise, almost like we’re afraid that if we accept a compliment or a trophy, we’re stealing glory from the Divine. If you were watching your own child win an award or walk down an aisle, you wouldn’t be sitting there thinking, “I hope they feel guilty about this.” You’d be the one making a scene in the front row, screaming their name and bursting with pride. Why do we think the Creator is any different?

Lastly my friend, always remember this, God is not mad at you. God is proud of you. He is pleased and, by default, constantly delighted by you. The Divine is already smiling.

I can call myself a Lagosian. I’ve lived in the city for 18 years now. We are hustlers and always in a hurry. However recently, I can say since COVID, I have figured out how to be slow, deliberately and strategically.

There is a quiet power in stillness, in the simple act of staying put and refusing to act on impulse or fleeting emotion. Great strength lies in restraint, it is the discipline of slamming on the brakes to critically observe the moving parts swirling around you. Whether in business, romantic relationships, or the mundane rhythm of everyday life, there is immense leverage in pausing until you reach a point of deep conviction.

This message is the direct opposite of what we’ve been taught, how that fast is more important than being right. Against popular culture, I’ve come to realise that not everything requires a rush. Speed is not always an advantage, and the "first mover" is rarely the guaranteed winner.

There is a toxic valorisation of grinding through the storm. Like, ‘ride till the wheels fall off’. But why exhaust your resources fighting a gale when you could simply wait for the weather to break? Sometimes, the superior strategy is to slow to a complete halt until the coast is clear and the storm has passed. We don’t always have to ride the storm out. Often, we actually need to wait it out.

Survival isn't just about strength, it's about efficiency. Deep conviction requires clarity, and clarity is impossible in the middle of a blur. Waiting for the storm to pass is actually better logistics and not cowardice. It ensures that when you finally do move, every ounce of your energy goes toward progress rather than mere survival.

Google wasn’t the first search engine, Yahoo and Altavista were. Google waited, watched the flaws of early movers, and entered when they had a superior conviction. Apple rarely invented a category. They weren't the first with the MP3 player, the smartphone, or the tablet. Their power lies in strategic patience watching the market struggle with clunky versions, then entering with a refined, "perfected" move once the storm of early innovation has passed. Same as Facebook. It was preceded by Friendster and MySpace. Zuckerberg’s advantage was observing why those platforms failed to scale or maintain stickiness before making his move.

I’m currently building an AI company and we’re not in a rush. I’m looking and studying all that is being done right now and patiently refining our solutions based on what we observe as the weaknesses of those who have gone ahead.

Remaining still, devoid of emotional or physical reaction, tilts the power dynamic in your favour. By the time you finally move, you are more likely to win because you have already made the most important decision of all, the decision to think and to wait.

The most dangerous person in the room isn't the one talking the loudest or moving the fastest. It’s the one who can sit perfectly still while everyone else is unraveling. We’ve been sold a lie that speed is synonymous to success and that "first to market" is the only way to win. But there is a silent, predatory power in restraint, the kind that allows you to slam the brakes, let the noise settle, and watch the moving parts reveal their true shape.

When we act on raw emotions like anger in a relationship or panic in a market dip, we are essentially handing the remote control of our lives to our dopamine and cortisol. Whether it’s a collapsing deal, a heated argument, or the mundane chaos of a Thursday, the real leverage belongs to the person who refuses to be hurried.

Research from MIT Sloan shows that in high-stakes negotiations, a mere three-second pause can shift the entire power dynamic. This isn't just about being quiet, it’s about allowing the prefrontal cortex to override the 'amygdala hijack' of our impulses. Research from the American Psychological Association also suggests that even a 20-second delay allows the prefrontal cortex (the rational brain) to "log back in" and override the impulse.

Stillness is such a power move. In any negotiation, whether it's a multi-million dollar contract or an argument with a partner, the person who can sit in silence the longest usually wins. Staying still when someone expects a reaction is disarming. It shifts the "center of gravity" in a room toward you. When you refuse to be moved, others begin to move around you, eventually overextending themselves and giving you the upper hand.

In a world that fetishises hustle culture and is biased toward action, do not be pressured to move or make decisions until your convictions are solid.

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I’ve been retracing my finance roots and diving back into economics this January. In wealth management, it isn’t enough to simply save, the goal is a positive net yield. You have to account for inflation and all the hidden costs of maintaining an asset.

You have to account for inflation, taxes, and management fees. If your portfolio is growing at 5% but the environment is draining you at 7%, you are effectively losing wealth. Relationships work the same way. When you pour virtue, time, and emotional labour into a space with no container to catch it, you aren’t just giving, you are depreciating. If the overall yield doesn’t put you in the positive after considering external emotional costs, you are practicing bad personal economics.

I recently applied this and looked at the portfolio of my energy, the time I spent trying to bridge gaps in relationships that were fundamentally mismatched. I realised that if you are pouring 100% into a space that only has a 10% capacity, you aren’t just giving, you are experiencing a 90% loss. Even after considering all external factors, if the yield doesn’t put you in the positive at the end of the day, you are effectively bankrupting your spirit.

Connection isn’t just about intent, it’s about capacity. For a long time, I believed that if I just gave more, explained better, or showed up with more virtue, the connection would eventually stabilize. But I’ve learned that you can have all the love and depth in the world, and if the person across from you doesn’t have the container to hold it, that energy simply spills onto the floor.

And though it isn’t always a character flaw on their part, it is often a massive cost to yours.

The Burden of Depth in Shallow Waters

There is a specific irony to personal growth which is, the more you know, the heavier the silence becomes. The higher your awareness levels, the less likely you’ll find a fulfilling match easily.

To be perceived as being “too much” for an environment is a real thing. If you have developed a certain depth and resilience, soon that depth will feel like a burden especially when you are surrounded by people who have not had to swim in deep waters yet.

One of the ironies of depth is that the same depth that keeps you grounded, often feels like an anchor when you are trying to float in a shallow pool. I know it’s crazy but it is what it is.

Motion vs. Movement

When you have high capacity, you often become a safe harbour for people who are still lost. You become a mentor by accident. While they are gaining data and growth from you, you are gaining nothing but exhaustion.

We create these weird dynamics with people where we are constantly “working on it,” yet the unit never moves forward. You’re kicking it with people who have much lower vibration and are using their alliance with you to figure out what makes them thick or worse, for them, you’re a laboratory where they test-run their own emerging abilities.

Willingness is a nice sentiment, capacity is a functional requirement.

We need environments that have the capacity, not just the willingness, to fill us back.

It’s Not Malice, It’s Volume

This realisation isn’t about villainizing others because it isn’t always a lack of kindness on their part, sometimes, it’s just a lack of volume. A shot glass cannot hold the contents of a gallon jug, no matter how much it loves the water. Stop being angry at the glass for its size. Instead, honour your own volume.

Choose environments where your flow has a place to go, and find the people who can contribute to the progress of the unit.

There is a deeply nuanced conversation I saw on Facebook (Click here) where Rev. fr Prince Chidi Philip shared about the need for a gospel for the rich.

I’m going to be touching on a tension that has existed for centuries, the relationship between temporal power, in this case wealth and spiritual authority. My perspective as a former insider of the church gives me a unique x-ray vision into the mechanics of the church and the relationship dynamics between spiritual leaders and their followers.

I read the reflection of Rev. fr Prince Chidi Philip with a mix of appreciation for his honesty and a heavy dose of skepticism born from my own time behind the pulpit. While I respect his personal journey toward repenting for transactional pastoring, I believe we need to look closer at the architecture of “Gospel for the Rich”. As someone who walked away from organised religion after seeing the machinery underneath, I see a different reality regarding the spiritual poverty of the wealthy.

First let me be clear, branding the rich as a niche that needs to be reached by pastors is a very slippery slope. Again for emphasis, I’m not just an outsider throwing stones, but someone who has seen the backstage of the theater. The so called pastors of the rich are in many cases opportunists and clout-chasers themselves.

The idea that the rich are an overlooked mission field is a fallacy. In Nigeria and globally, the rich have never lacked access. They have private chaplains, front-row seats, and direct lines to General Overseers. The difference is that for the rich, religion is often a curated experience. They don’t just find God, they often fund a version of God that validates their status. The rich are never without options.

He mentioned that “poor clergy speak the same economic language as the poor.” The inverse is also true. Celebrity pastors speak the language of the elite. However, that language is rarely the language of the Cross (sacrifice and detachment). It is the language of the Inner Circle. When a billionaire “encounters God” through a celebrity ministry, does that ministry ever challenge the source of that wealth? Or does it simply provide a spiritual wash for their public image?

We must be factual about how the rich got rich. These are people who understand systems, leverage, and branding. They are rarely blinded by the charade, they often participate in it because it serves a social and psychological purpose. The rich don’t need more access to the Gospel, they are already surrounded by it. What they lack is authentic confrontation.

He praised the “redistribution of grace” to the rich, but in organised religion, grace often follows the money. When the Church focuses on converting the rich, it rarely results in the rich becoming like the poor (humble and detached); it usually results in the Church becoming more like the rich (corporatized and power-hungry).

I realised that in the hunt for influence, these clout-chasing pastors often stop being a shepherd and start being a concierge.

But as long as their envelopes fund the mission, that truth will always be whispered, never shouted.

The Gospel shouldn’t just be about how to reach the rich, it should be about being brave enough to hold them accountable.

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I love Christmas and the many happy feelings that accompany the season. Usually I spend December in Lagos and some part of it with my family at our hometown. I plan my gifting and shopping right from the middle of the year. I have rituals that I love and I’m usually very giddy about the holidays.

The holiday season however isn’t just about the fun and food, is also acts as a relentless social mirror. For some, the reflection is warm because they have a house full of people who showed up. However for many, the holidays reveal a chilling relational deficit. They look around and realise they’ve been a placeholder in people’s lives rather than a pillar.

As Esther Perel suggests above, the “village” isn’t a feeling; it’s a functional system of mutual debt and reliability. When that system fails, it doesn’t just hurt your feelings, it compromises your survival.

In our current culture, reliability has become a casualty of the “vibe check.” We cancel plans 20 minutes prior because we’re “peopled out.” We leave “read” receipts on for three days because we don’t have the “emotional bandwidth” to reply. While self-care is vital, many have weaponized it to avoid the ‘price of admission’ for deep friendships, which is inconvenience.

Many confuse access with connection. We think because we can see someone’s “Stories” on Instagram, we are part of their story. But a “village” isn’t built on views. A community is built on the inconvenient and un-glamorous work of showing up.

A tourist enjoys the sights of a city but takes no responsibility for its upkeep. A resident pays taxes, cleans the street, and looks out for the neighbours. Many of us are friendship tourists. We want the warmth of the fire without ever having to gather the wood. However belonging is a two-way contract.

In psychology, community is often discussed as a protective factor. This isn’t just having friends to hang with, it is a literal buffer against the erosion of mental and physical health. High-quality social bonds are proven to lower cortisol levels and improve cardiovascular health. When crisis hits, job loss, grief, illness etc. those with a reliable village experience less trauma. The community absorbs the shock so the individual doesn’t have to suffer alone. Your true friends will provide a buffer.

If you find yourself lonely this December, it may be a sign that your social safety net has holes that need mending or that you have been building it on the wrong terrain.

We all have some friendships that feel like projects. They’re the ones defined by a perpetual state of emergency. These individuals are experts at consuming other’s effort, they occupy the front row of your life when their world is tilting, yet they are conspicuously absent when the dust settles. The hard truth is that you cannot build a village out of such people, people who are only capable of being rescued. While there is a place for compassion, there is also a place for discernment. You can keep these friends for the fun moments or the shared history, but you must stop treating them as part of your protective infrastructure.

For someone who showed up for others all year, it’s a bitter pill to swallow when you realise your phone is silent during the festivities. This lack of reciprocity usually stems from one of two hard truths:

• The Proximity Trap. You may have been there for people, but were you there for the right people? We often pour energy into high-status or charismatic friends who enjoy our support but lack the character to return it. If your reliability is being treated as a service rather than a relationship, it’s time to stop auditing your effort and start auditing your audience. Your effort isn’t the problem, the people you’re pouring into are the ones that lack the capacity to honour your essence.

• The “Strong Friend” Tax. Sometimes, your reliability is so seamless that people forget you have needs. If you are the person who has it all together, your community might not think you need an invitation or a check-in. Compassion requires you to speak up and authority requires you to demand the same level of care you provide. Remember you’re not their fan, you’re a friend.

Now, let’s talk about those who ride solo. I’ve reached a point where I cannot trust the perspective of anyone who believes it’s okay to live without a reliable village. Love takes many shapes in this world, and many are just as satisfying and fulfilling as romantic ones. I’ve noticed that people who pride themselves on being lone rangers are often actually in codependent romantic relationships. They force their partners to provide the support and validation that only an entire community should. These people eventually wake up to realise how much they’ve missed because they couldn’t or wouldn’t share their lives meaningfully with anyone outside their romantic or nuclear circles. I can unpack this further in a separate article.

Still in line with Perel’s words, there is a “Price” of the village. Community is a protective factor precisely because it is expensive. It costs time, ego, and comfort. If you are currently surrounded by love, recognize it as the dividend of your investment. You are being rewarded for the times you checked in when it was boring, for the times you helped someone, and for the times you kept your word when it was easier to renege.

If you are feeling alone this year, let it be the catalyst to change your strategy for 2026.

• Audit your reliability: Are you someone people can actually set their watch by?

• Assess your circle: Are you investing in people who value vibes above reliability?

Reliability is the currency of belonging. Without it, you aren’t in a community, you’re just in a crowd. Many things in life are cyclical. Seedtime and then harvest; summer and then winter. Having a community is a crop you plant deliberately, not a wildflower. It does not just happen to the lucky. It is planted and tended. If your harvest this holiday season was thin, don’t just mourn it, prepare the soil for next year. He who wants a friend must himself be friendly. Be the friend who is committed beyond convenience, and eventually, you will build a village that is thick enough to protect you from any storm.

Be a reliable friend in 2026.

Song Recommendation: Count on Me by Bruno Mars

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We’ve all heard the saying, “healing is nonlinear.” It’s a comforting idea, a gentle permission to stumble and rise again. But what if some of the pain we carry as adults isn’t just a bump in the road of life, but a reverberation from a time we barely remember? What if the very foundation of who we are was laid with cracks that, though unseen, still influence our every step?

I had a wonderful childhood, not perfect, but nothing crazy. I am grateful for my parents and the family I come from.

Despite this foundation, I got divorced and as a single dad of teens, I often wonder how my broken marriage will show up in my children’s future relationships. My daughter wasn’t yet four when her mum and I went our separate ways, her brother was six. They were very young and witnessed a lot of dysfunction. Even after the initial separation, there were long, almost unending court battles which they also witnessed.

A part of me carries a lot of guilt, and sometimes I struggle with the idea that ‘they will be fine,’ as my friends and family try to assure me. Though we’re all in therapy and I know the negative experiences they had aren’t necessarily a prediction of a negative outcome for them, I can’t pretend it won’t have any impact whatsoever if I do not take proactive steps to help them heal any trauma they may have experienced.

That’s why we are doing the work. We are talking openly and not burying things like they don’t matter. We travel and consciously create new memories. We apologize, and we speak our minds, even when the things we are saying are uncomfortable. Crucially, we are drawing a baseline of what healthy family dynamics look like, and we are constantly reminding ourselves what our family values are.

Many of us walk through life convinced we’re “fine.” We present a polished, capable version of ourselves to the world, a carefully constructed persona that navigates careers, friendships, and daily challenges with apparent ease. This might even feel like our “true” self, a strong and independent alta ego. Yet, beneath the surface, a quieter, often unheard self struggles.

Our inner self, perhaps a wounded child still holding onto old hurts, fights to stay buried, its unmet needs and unspoken pain subtly influencing our choices, our reactions, and even our deepest beliefs. My therapist told me recently after describing some of my recent heartbreaks, “you have a type”. Apparently we all do.

Psychology offers a profound lens through which to understand this phenomenon. Attachment theory, for instance, highlights how our earliest relationships with caregivers shape our internal working models of the world and our sense of self-worth. If these early attachments were inconsistent, neglectful, or even traumatic, the child learns to adapt in ways that might protect them in the moment but leave lasting scars.

As adults, these adaptive patterns can manifest as anxiety, avoidant behaviors, people-pleasing, or a deep-seated fear of abandonment. Research consistently demonstrates the long-term impact of adverse childhood experiences (ACEs) on adult mental and physical health. A study published in the American Journal of Preventive Medicine (Felitti et al., 1998) revealed a strong, graded relationship between the number of ACEs and a wide range of negative health outcomes, from depression and substance abuse to heart disease and cancer. The data is clear, what happens to us as children doesn’t just disappear, it becomes woven into the fabric of our being.

Our unresolved wounds don’t just reside in our minds, they become lodged in our bodies. Peter Levine’s work on Somatic Experiencing beautifully illustrates how trauma gets “stuck” in the nervous system, leading to chronic tension, digestive issues, autoimmune disorders, and a host of other physical symptoms. Our bodies, in their profound wisdom, hold the story of our experiences, often long after our conscious minds have forgotten. The tightness in our shoulders, the knot in our stomach, the persistent fatigue, these can be the somatic expressions of unaddressed emotional pain.

The ripple effect of unresolved trauma extends far beyond the individual. They profoundly impact our relationships. I’ve heard someone say, “if you don’t heal your wounds, you will bleed on those that did not cut you”. This is true. We might unconsciously project our past wounds onto our partners, expecting rejection or betrayal where none exists. We might struggle with intimacy, unable to fully trust or allow ourselves to be vulnerable. Or we might inadvertently repeat unhealthy relationship patterns, drawn to dynamics that mirror the unresolved conflicts of our past.

Another painful truth is that without conscious healing, we risk passing these patterns on to our offspring. Epigenetics, the study of how environmental factors can switch genes on and off, provides a fascinating and humbling insight here. Research suggests that traumatic experiences can lead to changes in gene expression that can be inherited across generations, influencing how our children and grandchildren respond to stress and adversity. We carry not only our own history but sometimes, those of our ancestors’ unhealed pain. This is why you hear people talk about ‘generational curses’ like they’re some mystical, supernaturally occurring things, when in fact, they’re often just maladaptive generational behavioral patterns passed down from unhealed parents to their children, who then unconsciously repeat the cycle.

This understanding isn’t meant to overwhelm, but to empower. It’s an invitation to pause, to listen to those whispers from within, and to offer ourselves the compassion and understanding we might have been denied as children. It’s a gentle admonition that while we can build impressive facades, true peace and alignment come from tending to the foundations.

So, where do we begin? We begin with awareness. We start by acknowledging that the pain is real, that it’s valid, and that it doesn’t make us weak. We can seek support from therapists who specialize in trauma, explore somatic practices like meditation, or engage in creative expression that allows these buried emotions to surface. It’s a journey of excavation, of gently unearthing what has been hidden. Our goal is not to blame or shame, but to integrate and heal.

This path isn’t easy, and it certainly isn’t linear. There will be moments of clarity and moments of confusion, some steps forward and some steps back. But every act of self compassion, every moment of honest introspection, every gentle breath we take to soothe our inner child, is a profound act of love. It’s an act of breaking cycles, of reclaiming our wholeness, and of building a future where the past no longer dictate our present or future.

You are worthy of this healing. You are capable of this journey, and in the brave act of tending to your own wounds, you offer a gift not only to yourself but to generations to come.

Song recommendation: Bloodline by Alex Warren (feat. Jelly Roll)

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The air feels different now, doesn’t it? We’re entering that final stretch, the home run of the year. For many, this is a time of cozy anticipation, but for others, it can feel like a time of intense pressure. December excites me because I love the holiday season. However I also realise it’s a season of immense pressure for many.

As we see the calendar winding down, a very important question keeps running through my mind: are we counting our blessings, or are we allowing the whisper of defeat to steal the beauty of our journey?

If you’ve been listening to that nagging voice, please, stop right here. Take a deep breath with me. This message is for you.

It’s so easy to look back over the last eleven months and see only the gaps, the goals you missed, the dreams that didn’t quite launch, the resolutions that gathered dust. I’ll be honest, I had grand plans this year too. Two major goals sit right at the top of my “didn’t happen” list:

1. Publishing my first book. I actually have three completed, edited manuscripts ready to go. Three!

2. Launching a podcast. I have the ideas, the mic, and the passion.

Yet, here we are, and neither materialized. This is largely because the fear was louder than the dream. I got stuck in the quicksand of “What if it fails?” but also the equally paralyzing fear of “What if it succeeds?”

I couldn’t shake the impostor syndrome, that jinx that convinces you the work isn’t good enough. But then, the next fear struck: the fear of fame. As a committed introvert, the thought of sudden attention, of losing my comfortable quiet space due to a popular book or podcast, was terrifying. I allowed the anxiety about failure, motivation loss, and unwanted popularity to become the final, unmovable editor of my year.

But here are some foundational truths I’m learning, and I pray you internalise them too.

Fact: You woke up today.

Fact: You navigated challenges that would have crushed the person you were a few years ago.

Fact: You showed up.

For me, the real win wasn’t publishing the book; it was completing three manuscripts in the first place. That required discipline, passion, and resilience. For you, maybe the victory was changing your mind on certain plans, a quiet act of wisdom and self-preservation. Wanting to do something and deciding against it after some time or after receiving better perspective and clarity is progress too.

The quiet, persistent growth you’ve experienced in your character, your resilience, and your ability to keep going, even under the weight of fear and everyday life challenges are also forms of successes. Please be gentle with yourself, and honour the internal battles you’ve won.

It’s the digital age’s greatest trap. We scroll, we compare, and suddenly, our own monumental achievements feel microscopic.

For me, the true measure isn’t the bestseller list, it’s the fact that I completed the story and defeated the blank page countless times. Our behind the scene moments are not meant to be measured against someone else’s highlight reel. Our quiet fulfillment is infinitely more valuable than a loud, hollow success.

Many would give anything for the quiet, precious life you possess right now. Your life is a singular masterpiece, not a mass-produced print. Embrace the fact that you’ve preserved your peace this year, even if it meant delaying an action that might have stolen it. You may not have saved a lot of money but you’ve saved your life! That’s precious.

When the future feels uncertain, anchor yourself in this profound truth: You are known, you are seen, and your life is not an accident.

When I look at my unpublished manuscripts, I have to believe the timing is protected. The fear, the introversion, it wasn’t just a hurdle, maybe it was a hedge of protection. Maybe there is wisdom in the delay.

The scripture tells us that all things work together for good for those who love God. Even the dreams we didn’t launch, even the comfortable path we chose over the scary one, are simply ingredients being mixed into the masterpiece of our purpose. He has you covered. Trust the Divine Architect. You are where you are meant to be.

You are breathing, you are capable, and you possess a unique light that literally no one else on this planet carries. Life is precious, and your existence is proof of continuous possibility.

Even on your hardest day, your kindness, your laughter, your willingness to keep showing up, they all ripple out. Never underestimate the power of simply being here and doing the work behind closed doors.

Hope is a profound act of defiance against despair. Hope is, and will always be, the most fashionable thing you can wear. Keep it on!

A Final Note of Encouragement: Choose Gratitude.

I am genuinely excited about your existence, and I am a relentless cheerleader for your future. I know your path will continue to shine brighter and brighter, and perhaps next year, a few of your dreams will find its way out, on your terms, and at your pace.

This year may not have looked exactly like the vision board you pinned up in January. Your success may have been less about doing and more about being, being alive, being resilient, being present, being gentle with yourself. And those are victories worth celebrating.

Stay deeply thankful for how far you’ve come, for the battles you survived, and for the lessons that have made you stronger.

You are loved. I am proud of you.

I challenge you to pause today and redefine “success” for the year 2025.

If you’re comfortable, share one small, quiet, or internal victory you had this year that no one else sees, maybe it was finally saying “no,” breaking a bad habit, or simply surviving a storm. Drop a comment below and let us celebrate the unseen, resilient, beautiful victory that is you.

Song recommendation: The Climb by Miley Cyrus

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I recently completed my sleeve tattoo. I love it so much because of what it means to me. One of the texts reads, “the Lord is my Light and Salvation”! This scripture centers me. Believe it or not, my mind isn’t always blissful. When emotions are raging and feelings are becoming a challenging mix of confusing data, reminding myself that I’m the Lord’s and that he guides me and keeps me safe is critical. I’ve come to learn never to rely on or trust completely what I’m feeling. Sometimes I need clarity, truth, and hope. In those moments, I need to align my feelings with something outside myself to gain a clearer perspective. That’s why my reliance on God’s salvation is so important, amidst other things I’m about to share.

So, my friend, grab a cup of your favourite drink, settle in, and let’s talk about something incredibly vulnerable and real: your feelings.

We’ve all been there, that moment when a feeling hits you like a tidal wave. Maybe it’s a flash of rejection when a friend doesn’t text back right away, a look from an acquaintance that signal disapproval or maybe it’s deep-seated fear when a project goes sideways. In that moment, the feeling is so intense, so immediate, that it feels like the absolute, undeniable truth of the universe.

Your heart is racing and your brain shouts, “This is real! This is fact! I am being abandoned. I am failing. I am not liked.” But here’s the quiet, compassionate truth we need to hold onto: Feelings are interpreted data. They are not fact.

Our emotions are an amazing, core part of our being. They are our body’s internal communication system, a constant stream of signals telling us what’s happening in our environment and inside our hearts. Think of your feelings like the dashboard lights in your car. If the little engine icon starts blinking, that’s data. It’s telling you that something is going on. It’s a crucial signal that demands attention.

However, that data alone doesn’t tell the whole story. The light doesn’t specify the problem. You don’t know if you’re running low on oil, if a sensor is faulty, or if the engine is about to fall out. The light itself isn’t a fact, it’s a call for investigation.

Your feelings work the exact same way. That intense feeling of anxiety or sadness is the dashboard light. It’s a real, physiological signal because you are genuinely feeling it, but it is not the universal story or the final fact of your situation.

The challenge however is that we rarely read this data in a neutral way. We filter it. Our history, upbringing, past trauma, etc. create lenses through which we see the world and receive data. Every piece of emotional data, every slight look, every quiet room, every delayed email, passes through a highly personal, deeply entrenched filter before it becomes a narrative. That filter is made up of every past hurt, every childhood lesson, every insecurity you’ve ever carried.

The crazy thing is that sometimes, there’s really nothing sinister going on. Our signal or internal data processing system is just faulty.

So when you feel rejected because of an unanswered text, remember that it’s highly likely that your feeling isn’t about the text itself. The data is “text not answered.” The story your brain tells you might be, “I am unimportant and unloved.” That story is being written by the memory of the last time you felt abandoned.

This is why two people can experience the exact same event and have completely different emotional responses. One person interprets the data as a minor inconvenience, while the other interprets it as a catastrophic failure. Our feelings are almost always our personal versions of what’s happening, not necessarily a universal truth. They’re a map of our history projected onto the present moment.

The Freedom in Questioning Your Feelings

This brings us to the most empowering practice of all, proving your feelings.

When a feeling hits you and tries to convince you of a narrative, maybe that you’re worthless, that you’re doomed, that your relationship is ending etc. your job is not to squash the feeling, we never want to do that. Your job is to listen to the feeling, thank it for the data, and then gently, compassionately, question the story it’s trying to sell you.

This isn’t about denial; it’s about self-kindness. It’s about auditing your own emotional ledger before you make a major life decision based on faulty information.

When you’re ready to start this gentle interrogation, take a deep breath and run the feeling through these simple, powerful questions. Keep them handy on your phone or in your journal.

Questions for Introspection:

1. What is the core data? Example: My core data is that my boss looked unhappy after my presentation. Or, my partner didn’t text me when they woke up.

2. What story is my feeling telling me? Example: The story is that I am going to be fired and I’ve ruined my career. Or, my partner’s love for me is weaning.

3. What evidence do I have to support this story? List three concrete things, not feelings. Some examples: He just looked at his phone. He didn’t say anything critical. I have no evidence.

4. Is there any other interpretation of the data? Example: Maybe my boss is having a bad day. Maybe he was just thinking deeply. Or, Maybe my partner wasn’t with their phone. Maybe they don’t have battery power. Maybe they are sick.

5. If this feeling were 100% true, how would I respond? Example: I would panic and quit.

6. How can I respond based on the data instead of the story? Example: I can email my boss for feedback tomorrow, but for now, I will trust I did my best. Or, I can call my partner and check-in with them.

7. Is this feeling familiar? Example: Yes, I always feel this way when I finish a project. Or, I feel this way when I am stressed and need more emotional support. It’s the feeling of my inner critic, not reality.

In a lot of instances, you’ll notice that your feelings are in misalignment with what’s actually going on. If we don’t learn the fine practice of questioning everything including the interpretation we give the data we are receiving, we run the risk of hurting not just ourselves but our relationships.

The moment you introduce those questions, you create a tiny, powerful space between the feeling and your reaction. In that space, you find freedom. You also realise that you don’t have to be a slave to every dramatic story your heart tells you.

You honour the data, but you should as well reclaim the power to write a better, more accurate narrative for yourself. And that, my dear friend, is the real path to emotional wisdom.

Song recommendation: Spiritual Peace and Happiness by Lenzspot

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Last week I went on an adventure trip with some friends. We stayed at Blue Mountain and did a few risky activities. One was axe throwing. Before we were allowed to begin or even pay, we had to sign a waiver and accept a few nonnegotiable conditions for admittance. The strict warnings gave us a clear indication of what to expect and also a chance to back out.

This made me think about love and loving someone else. Unlike our axe throwing adventure, there’s something wild about love. You don’t get to sign a safety waiver before jumping in. You just feel the pull, close your eyes, and fall. And that fall, it’s equal parts beauty and chaos.

I’ve loved in ways that split me open. I’ve stayed when I should have walked. I’ve walked when I should have stayed. Each time, I learned that love never comes without a cost. So this is a letter to my younger self. One that I never sent.

Loving Is an Act of Courage

When you love, you hand someone the power to wound you. Wild but true. You let them see the unguarded version of yourself, the messy parts, the scars, the fears. That’s a terrifying kind of trust. Don’t forget, this person may also be dealing with their own traumas, fears and unhealed parts.

But here’s the truth most people avoid saying out loud. Love without risk isn’t love. Real love asks for your whole self. It wants your time, your vulnerability, your hope. It asks you to believe even when the odds don’t look good.

You might get hurt. You might lose your footing. You might even lose the person. But you’ll find something deeper, you’ll find yourself stretched, expanded, alive.

The Myth of Playing It Safe

Control is an illusion. You’ll be tempted to shut down, to guard your heart and to make excuses for not letting people in. You’ll call it strength. Don’t do it. Safety is quiet, but it’s also lonely. You were not built to live halfway. You may try to protect yourself from love. You may even tell yourself “I’m focusing on me,” when really, you are just hiding.

Listen, silence gets heavy after a while. Nights get too quiet. Songs don’t sound the same. You start to realize safety has its own kind of pain, the pain of not living fully. You can’t escape the ache. You can only choose which kind of ache you want.

The ache of loss, or the ache of emptiness.

Which one teaches you more? Which one moves you closer to the person you want to become?

Love Is Not for the Fainthearted

To love is to risk disappointment, being misunderstood or wanting more than the other person can give. But it’s also to risk joy, to risk laughter that feels like sunlight and moments that make you forget every heartbreak before them.

That’s what love does, it reminds you that you’re still capable of wonder. I believe that’s the point of living.

Love is never about guarantees. Marital vows are great but more importantly, loving someone is about showing up even when you know it might hurt. If you must choose, I hope you choose to live raw and open rather than numb and untouched.

The Heart Always Recovers

You may ask, “What if I get hurt again?” You will. At some point, you will get hurt. But your heart isn’t made of glass. It’s muscle, literally. It grows stronger the more it stretches. Every heartbreak, every disappointment, builds resilience. The same heart that breaks learns how to love better next time.

Don’t let fear turn you into someone who stops trying. Because real love isn’t something you find. It’s something you build, one risk at a time.

Loving Anyway

A real lover is one who is able (or willing to learn how) to lean into their situation even when they can’t see the entire picture and still trust that their partner will catch them.

If you’re with someone that in spite of their imperfections are willing to catch you and make room for you, let them.

There’s no courage without vulnerability and to love another human wholly, requires courage beyond what comes naturally. Especially because that human being is an autonomous entity with core needs, fears and ideologies. It’s indeed a risk and that’s why we don’t only need to be vulnerable but we also lean into our vulnerabilities, accepting them as okay.

Love will always ask for more than you planned to give. It will test your patience, your pride, your ability to forgive. Still, love deeply. Say what you feel. Show up, even when it’s uncomfortable. Let people know they mattered. The point was never to avoid pain. The point was to live, all in.

Song Recommendation: “LOML” by Savy Henry

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I’m in awe of the grand designer of life, the quiet genius who shaped everything with such detail and intention. I find it remarkable that everything is both similar and different, familiar and mysterious, ordinary and divine. If my entire life were to be put in segments, I could trace a pattern and quietly underneath every thread, I see how everything is connected.

Listen friend, nothing in life is wasted. Every season, every person, every twist and turn is a piece of the puzzle. I told a mentor at lunch recently that my entire life feels like a map drawn in hindsight. There’s been one thing happening right now that reflects or reminds me of something in the past. Every joy, heartbreak, mistake, and victory has carried me here, whispering lessons I didn’t recognise at first. The good, the bad, and the ugly, they’ve all been teachers.

That’s why gratitude is so important and has been a key stabilising force for me. Constantly remembering to be thankful for things seen and unseen has been helpful is staying grounded.

Looking back, I see that even my hardest moments were compasses. They didn’t always show me where to go, but they always pointed me toward who I was becoming or to the Divine. My past victories remind me that I’m capable while my scars remind me that I’m still here. My regrets too, they remind me that I’m still learning. Nothing was ever random. Today when I struggle, I only need to open my journal and read something, maybe from last month or last year or even further away like before COVID. I always find a map, or prophecy or something to be grateful for. It changes everything in the moment, at least in my mind.

If you’re reading this and you’re going through a rough patch, I want you to remember that pain is not punishment. Pain is not the enemy, it is a passage. Sometimes the ground must break for something to grow. You may not see it now, but you are being shaped into someone stronger, wiser, softer, and truer. The darkness you feel isn’t permanent. It’s a transition between chapters and you will only see this if you’re grounded and mindful.

You need a system that helps you achieve this. Journaling and meditation helps me remember to stay true to my journey. I realised that we don’t suffer because of what we’re going through, we suffer because of the interpretation and meaning our minds give to what we’re going through.

Contentment is one of life’s greatest gains. To be content doesn’t mean settling, it means seeing clearly. It’s the quiet peace that comes when you stop measuring your worth by what’s missing and start seeing how much you already have. It’s realising that even in uncertainty, you’re surrounded by grace and God.

So I pray, may you never forget how much you’ve already overcome. May you remember that the same strength that got you here will take you further. May you stay grateful, for the laughter, for the tears, for the people who stayed, and even for those who left. Everything is part of your becoming.

When the days feel long and lonely, I hope you catch the small winks of God, the quiet reassurances hidden in ordinary moments like a stranger’s kindness, a good song at the right time or a memory that makes you smile again. Today, I encourage you not to wait only for the thunderous nods. Sometimes, Heaven speaks in whispers.

You are still becoming, you are still guided and your story is still unfolding beautifully, purposefully, and right on time.

I’m rooting for you!

(Song Recommendation: He is Enough by Kaestrings)

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So many people don’t know how to love.

They don’t even understand what love really is. What a lot of people feel and call “love” is just infatuation mixed with convenience.

It’s desire rebranded and lust packaged as devotion. It’s attention as long as it’s easy. That kind of love can never withstand a storm. It always falls apart the moment pressure comes because it was built on convenience, not commitment.

Real love is something else entirely. The author of 1 Corinthians 13 spelled it out clearly. Love is not a feeling that rises and fades with the moment. Love is not butterflies or comfort.

Love is patient.

Love is kind.

Love does not envy.

Love does not boast.

Love is not proud.

Love does not dishonor others.

Love is not self-seeking.

Love is not easily angered.

Love keeps no record of wrongs.

Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.

Love always protects.

Love always trusts.

Love always hopes.

Love always perseveres.

Love never fails.

That’s the definition, not gifts, sweet words, Hallmark cards or social media captions. Definitely not the shallow stuff we’ve been trained to accept. Read that list again. Slowly this time and then ask yourself, do you actually love like this? Do you let people love you like this?

Here’s the hard truth, what many of us call “love” doesn’t even come close. We confuse chemistry with covenant, attention with affection. We confuse obsession with devotion and then we wonder why it doesn’t last.

Love is not built for convenience. It’s built for storms. It’s built for when everything is tested. The nights when you don’t feel like showing up. The moments when forgiveness feels impossible. The times when you want to choose yourself, but you choose the other person anyway. That’s why Paul ends with “love never fails.” Because real love doesn’t quit. It doesn’t walk away when it’s hard. It doesn’t shrink when it’s inconvenient.

So here’s the question only you can answer. Are you really loving? Or are you just clinging to convenience and calling it love?

If you want real love, you’ll have to die to your pride, your ego, your score-keeping, your “what about me.” You’ll have to grow patience. You’ll have to practice kindness even when you don’t feel like it.

It won’t be easy. But it will be real and real love is always worth it.

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Growth is beautiful. It shows in temperance, in self-regulation, in learning to stay grounded not just in values but also in identity.

I never used to be able to love someone while also disliking elements of their being or character. You’re either in or out. If I was hurt, resentment came quickly. I was harsh with others’ failings, and I rarely gave people second chances. But something changed in me in recent years.

Not too long ago I was deeply hurt by someone I love. In the past, that would have ended in anger, outbursts, and withdrawal. However this time, the hurt did not turn into bitterness. I was able to forgive. I gave them grace, while still drawing boundaries. In the midst of it, I noticed something, I could still hold love in my heart without denying the pain. This is the kind of growth that feels most difficult but incredibly necessary, to love someone while still being honest about their failures. The growth that helps you stay grounded without losing yourself, the one that makes you extend grace without erasing boundaries.

When my son recently asked me what drives me, I told him my purpose is to help people. He was going through some of my old files and saw credentials I had earned as early as 21. Programs I had taken and certification exams I had passed even before I ever needed them. He was amazed and that made him ask why I was so driven.

I discovered my overarching purpose as a teenager through the New Testament scriptures. In 1 Corinthians 12:28, the “gift of helps” is described as a special empowerment to provide practical assistance, support, and service to others. That resonated deeply with me and has guided my life ever since. Everything else I do flows from that purpose, whether it’s my work as a management consultant, my charity work through Peter Adegoke Foundation, or even my everyday relationships. I need the drive I have, both to be who I am and to do all that I do.

That same passion for helping has shaped my friendships and my romantic relationships. I am always looking for how to make my circle better, sometimes to a fault. My father often warned me: “jọ mi jọ mi, òkú rorò ló ń dà” (when you involve yourself too much in people’s lives and want their good more than they want it for themselves, you risk becoming the villain in their story). This I’ve learned by experience.

Which is why this new growth means so much to me. It is not about just practicing detachment, it is about finding balance. Loving fully but wisely. Helping without overreaching. Forgiving people, holding space for their contradictions even, while still protecting my own peace.

I’ve learned that growth is not the absence of hurt. Rather it is the ability to sit with conflict and not let it poison you. Growth includes being able to love those who wound you without abandoning yourself and also learning that forgiveness and self-preservation are not opposites but partners.

That is where I am now. Living in that tension. Still holding on to love, still holding on to purpose, but also holding on to myself. That balance is real growth.

Let me leave you with this, do not let hurt harden you. Do not let disappointment push you into bitterness. Give people grace and allow them to be human with flaws. Hold on to love, but hold on to yourself just as firmly. Forgive, but protect your peace. Help others, but do not lose your center in the process. Growth is not perfection, it is balance and you deserve to live in that balance, where your heart stays open and your soul stays safe.

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At the beginning of the year, the song Joy is Coming became very popular, and I can understand why. January makes you hopeful, and it creates a feeling of new beginnings. Fast forward to September, and many still haven’t felt the joy they hoped for. Dreams remain far away, and their realities feel distant from their expectations.

I know waiting can feel like a slow ache, especially when joy feels far away. A younger friend recently told me how much he wanted my life, and I had to remind him that he has time. I wasn’t this person when I was his age.

Joy isn’t gone, it’s just quiet right now. Sometimes it hides in the smallest places, a laugh you didn’t expect, a kind word, or a quiet morning. This is why I’m such a huge fan of journaling. Writing down your little victories, small miracles, and even unexpected blessings helps shift your perspective. Joy doesn’t always arrive in fireworks. Sometimes it comes like a whisper, soft and steady.

Patience isn’t about pretending everything’s fine. It’s about giving yourself permission to hold on while things unfold. You’re not behind, and you’re not missing out. You’re simply in a season where your roots are stretching deeper.

Those who compare themselves with others set themselves up for misery. Your journey is uniquely yours, and your path is uncharted. You must carry a resolute assurance, even in the face of daunting circumstances, that all will be well in the end.

If you let patience guide you, you’ll notice the little sparks that slowly light the path forward. You’re doing better than you think, even on the heavy days. I believe the joy that’s meant for you will not pass you by, it’s on its way, and it will meet you right where you are.

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If you often feel burdened by regret or overwhelmed by the idea that you’ve missed out on life, this is for you.

Your life is like a song being performed before a grand audience. You’re the one performing. And even when you miss a beat, a lyric, or your step, God, the grand conductor and concert director, continues to play the beat and guide the orchestra. If He hasn’t stopped giving signals or showing His hands here and there, it’s because your song still carries a beautiful tune in His ears.

You may think you’ve lost something or missed an opportunity. But stop and notice what you’ve gained. You’ve gained experience. You’ve gained hindsight. You’ve learned how not to do things. You’ve picked up valuable life lessons, maybe even tangible things too. Minus one, plus one, and you’re back to balance. It’s not all losses.

The frustration often comes from expecting life to be a straight line of wins. But real life doesn’t work like that. We win some, we lose some. We fall, then rise. Victory here, defeat there. Nothing stays constant forever. You feel bad right now but that feeling isn’t the full truth. Feelings shift. They’re loud, but not always accurate.

Gratitude for what’s going well can shift your state fast. Imagine you’re heading to a party. You’ve glammed up, you’re excited. Then your car breaks down. You fix it. You’re back on the road. Next, you miss your turn. Your GPS recalibrates, adds 30 minutes to your trip. You already feel late. Still, you keep going.

When you finally arrive, you realise the party hasn’t started fully. Food hasn’t been served yet. You get your jollof and small chops. You dance. You see your friends. You laugh. You forget how stressful the journey was. This is how life works.

God holds the party in place for you. Your GPS (grace positioning system) will always recalibrate. You’ll still get to where you’re meant to be. Remind yourself, your jollof is still ahead. Your party isn’t over. You’re not late, you’re just en route.

God is holding it all together for you. Yes, it will take time. But practising gratitude helps. It calms your mind. It helps you recover from the grief of loss. While you’re still on the road, sing songs of worship. Be thankful for what’s going right. Write things down. Remind yourself, you’re not missing out.

We’re all where we should be.

You’re still on time.

I hope this is the first thing you’ll read today or the last thing before you lay to sleep.

May you never forget who you are. Not for a moment, not in the silence, not in the chaos.

May you wake each day with the quiet certainty that you are deeply seen, deeply known, and still so deeply loved.

May your choices speak with courage, not desperation. May they whisper, I know my worth, I know the light I carry, I know who walks with me.

May you see yourself the way the Father sees you, not through the lens of your past, not through the eyes of others, but through the fierce tenderness of the One who calls you His.

You are the apple of His eye. You are His delight, his masterpiece. May these truths do more than comfort, may they anchor, may they rise up and build a fortress in your mind, so that no lie can breach it, no voice can drown it, and no loss can erase it.

And when the storms come (and they will) when people leave, when your name is misunderstood, when the weight feels too much, may heaven rally for you. May many angels stand at your side, and people who love like home remind you of your name.

May you stay unshakable, unmoved, held. May you walk through this world with light in your eyes and springs in your step.

May you never feel ordinary in a world that tried to dim your flame. May you never feel alone when silence stretches wide and long.

May your soul remember you were crafted with wonder, spoken into being with love, carried by breath that never leaves.

May you know even when the room is empty, even when the ache is loud that you are still surrounded, still chosen, still LOVED.

The year is already halfway gone, and I’ve been thinking a lot about my love life. There’s some of it I’d like to share. I have known great love and heartbreaking loss. I've learned a few things and there are many things I still don’t have words for. But this I’ve come to understand, some endings don’t happen when the love ends. They happen when clarity begins and no matter how deeply you feel for someone, love alone cannot carry a relationship.

Have you ever met someone who felt like magic? Like maybe, just maybe, they were the one who could finally meet you in all your bigness, your softness, your fire? For a moment, they did. Until they didn’t. You’ve been married before or you’ve been engagement and you thought you’re with your forever person until they aren’t…listen, you’re not alone in experiencing this tempest called life.

They say love is a risk and yes, it is. However too often we mistake our willingness to love as proof that we’re ready to be loved well in return. Sometimes we offer the purest parts of ourselves to people who simply don’t have the emotional tools to hold them. It is often times not because they’re cruel (not always). Sometimes they’re just under-equipped. If you’ve learned how to communicate, manage your emotions, and reflect on your actions but they haven’t, you’re not building a relationship you’re stuck in a cycle of fixing and explaining.

Staying true to yourself is a skill you’ll have to learn. How to stop the emotional labour of carrying the relationship alone and calling it love is a hack you’ll need to master.

You can’t build something stable with someone who disappears during hard conversations. You can’t be at peace with someone whose silence punishes your honesty. You can’t be safe with someone who does not choose all of you. You can’t heal when every disagreement leaves you wondering, “Will they shut down? Will they walk away again?”

So, ask yourself:

• Can they sit with discomfort or do they flee?

• Do they take responsibility or do they defend, deflect, disappear?

• Are they available emotionally or only when things feel good?

• Can they truly see you or do they only love the version of you that doesn’t challenge them?

These are not romantic questions. They’re grounding ones and we need to ask them early, not after we’ve handed over our trust.

Love isn’t just how someone makes you feel when things are sweet. It’s who they become when things get hard. Do they lean in or shut down? Do they soothe, or stonewall? Do they stay, or do they run? Do they remain accountable and vulnerable to the love you share?

Compatibility is a mutual commitment to repair when rupture happens because rupture will happen. No one is perfect but some people are trying. Others are just hoping you’ll keep forgiving what they never intend to fix.

To the ones who love deeply, don’t lose that. Your love is not a weakness. It’s not too much. Rather it is sacred. It’s rare. Continue to give it deliberately. Give it where it can be received, reciprocated, respected. Never where it’s romanticized then mishandled.

You deserve someone whose nervous system doesn’t see your truth as a threat. Someone who doesn’t make you pay for needing clarity. Someone whose apologies are not just in words but behaviour change.

When love and loving hurts (and it will) return to this poem by Nayyirah Waheed:

“stay soft. it looks beautiful on you.

some people will never see you.

keep shining anyway.

if someone does not want me

it is not the end of the world.

but if i do not want me

the world is nothing but endings.”

Let that settle in your spirit. You can want someone deeply and still choose to protect your peace. You can miss them and still walk away.

Love and loving is wild!

So, if you’re reading this with a heavy heart, maybe fresh from an ending, I hope you know your ability to love is not what failed. Your standards didn’t ruin anything. Your boundaries weren’t too harsh. Your emotions weren’t irrational.

You were simply asking for the bare minimum of emotional safety and that’s not too much. You were brave to love. You’ll be even braver to love again with wiser eyes, a steadier heart, and a stronger spine.

Choose with your whole self next time, not just your longing, not just your history and definitely not just the hope. Choose the one who chooses you, fully, freely, repeatedly. Until then, stay with yourself.

You are worth staying for.

Love will crack you open. Sometimes gently, sometimes like a train wreck. Love will shape your heart in ways you didn’t think possible. Love will make you feel the best joys or the worst pains. I’ve seen it bring out the best in people. I’ve lived through my own heartbreaks. I’ve also watched friends get lost trying to make something work that never could. Recently I had to journal some of the deepest and most profound eternal verities I’ve come to realise.

These are the truths that keep me grounded even when the world around me tremble.

1. You are whole on your own

Many people believe relationships are what completes them. Their worth subconsciously is tied to the people in their lives and the validation the relationships provide. No this is not accurate. Your worth is not up for debate and your value isn’t applying to be auditioned.

When you measure your worth only by how much of yourself you sacrifice in your relationships, you gradually begin to lose yourself without even realising it. Nothing is ever worth that sacrifice. I once had a relationship where I slowly started giving pieces of myself away. I thought I was being loving, generous, committed. However when it ended after 11 years, I realized I had nothing left for me. My goals, my voice, my sense of self all were gone with the relationship.

I also watched a close friend do the same. She built her whole life around someone else’s dreams. When it crumbled, she had to rebuild from scratch. Love should be an addition, not a replacement. You’re worthy and whole, in and by yourself.

2. You teach people how to treat you

A friend of mine stayed in a situationship for almost a year. The guy would text when it was convenient, disappear for weeks, then reappear like nothing happened. She kept giving him another chance. Eventually, he stopped trying altogether.

She cried a lot when it ended, but she also said, “I trained him to treat me this way by always accepting it.”

That hit me hard. When we quietly lower the bar to keep the peace, we haven’t only betrayed ourselves, we also have created a pattern and template of what’s acceptable to us even when they’re wrong.

3. Feelings are not facts

I loved someone once who wasn’t good for me. Every moment with them felt electric but also unstable. I knew it wasn’t right, but my feelings kept pulling me back.

Another friend told me something I’ll never forget: “Just because you feel it does not mean it is true. You can miss someone and still need to stay away.”

That changed how I handled my own heartbreaks. Feelings may be valid but they’re not always accurate representation of what’s going on. Chemistry and vibe aren’t the only yardsticks for measuring the health of your relationships. Your feelings (good or bad) must be assessed in light of other factors like authenticity, emotional safety, fulfilment and mutual understanding.

4. Communication means nothing without comprehension

I was in a relationship where we talked a lot. Late night calls, long texts, endless check-ins. It was good on my end but I often noticed misalignment on theirs. There were issues that we didn’t quite have similar views on. So I always have to explain myself over and over. Example, I remembered vividly when I asked, “how do you approach or resolve conflict” and the response I got was, “I’m afraid of conflict and I believe people in love may never have to have real conflict”. I had to explain how that’s not accurate. However, that really never landed with them. There was no growth, just more noise. They ran at the very first misunderstanding we had. They just couldn’t repair and didn’t have the emotional maturity or tools required to navigate tough situations.

A couple I know had the same problem. They talked but they never actually heard each other. It wasn’t about lack of effort. It was a lack of understanding. Talking isn’t the same as connecting and in hindsight, connection should be fostered with people at our level of emotional maturity and self awareness. To ignore this may mean you constantly find yourself needing to explain your soul.

5. Consistency is love’s true language

One of my closest friends dated someone who was all charm and chaos. Sweet messages one day, radio silence the next. She kept trying to decode his behavior like it was a puzzle. She finally told me, “I was so used to guessing, I forgot I deserved clarity.”

I understood her because I’ve waited on mixed signals too, hoping they’d turn into certainty. They never did. The very first person I dated actively after my divorce was such an avoidant person that at some point I no longer know how to ask that my legitimate needs be met. They will return any demand for accountability with silence and stonewalling. That behaviour can make you so unsure about yourself till you actually no longer know what you want or how to ask for what you want.

6. Love without safety is chaos

A psychologist once said, “If your nervous system is always activated, that’s not chemistry, it’s a warning.” She was right. You shouldn’t have to recover from love.

If you’re always anxious in a relationship, checking your phone constantly, overthinking every word, then you’re not in love, you’re in survival mode. Don’t confuse anxiety with passion. When you’re in survival mode, you’re not building connection, you’re managing threat. Real love shouldn’t fry your nervous system. It should help you breathe easier, not make you hold your breath.

It is easy to fall into this trap. Recently, I mistook intensity for intimacy. Just because it’s deep doesn’t mean it’s safe. Safe love doesn’t mean boring. It means you’re not constantly worried if today will be the day they pull away, lash out, or shut down. It means you can be vulnerable without fear of punishment.

7. Growth is not optional

I’ve seen what happens when two people stop evolving. They stayed with a partner who was comfortable being stagnant. No curiosity. No ambition. No emotional work. They just kept waiting for the other party to change.

Relationships like this won’t fall apart suddenly. It will fade away, bit by bit. Growth isn’t a luxury. It isn’t optional if you want something real to last. I’ve seen too many relationships where one person is trying, healing, learning and the other is just coasting. It doesn’t work. Emotional maturity doesn’t magically appear with age. You have to earn it. You have to be willing to look in the mirror, take accountability, and unlearn the habits that keep ruining good things.

Love can’t carry both people if only one is growing. Avoiding the hard stuff like setting boundaries, apologizing properly, or managing your triggers doesn’t make it go away. It just builds resentment. The couples that make it? They talk about the uncomfortable things. They admit when they’re wrong. They grow together. Not growing isn’t neutral. There’s always an outcome. It’s a slow way to lose what could have been great.

8. You can leave and still love

This one hits closest.

I had to walk away from someone I cared about deeply. Not because I stopped loving them but because I kept breaking my own heart trying to stay.

Another friend did the same. She told me, “I didn’t leave because I stopped loving him. I left because I started loving myself more.”

Sometimes walking away is the kindest and most loving thing you can do. Love isn’t always enough to fix what’s broken or force alignment where there’s a fundamental mismatch. Staying when your needs aren’t met, your partner isn’t committed to their own growth or when you’re constantly shrinking to keep the peace isn’t love, it’s self-abandonment.

I’ve learned these lessons in pieces.

Through my own mistakes. Through the quiet observations of others. Through stories that echo long after the relationship ends. If any of these feels familiar to you, maybe it’s your cue to pause and ask:

Are you losing yourself trying to keep something alive?

Are you calling confusion “passion” and anxiety “chemistry”?

What would it look like to choose peace over patterns?

You don’t have to be perfect but you do have to get honest.

There are moments in life that force you to make bold choices, choices you believe are right, even when you can’t fully see where they’ll lead. For me, one of those choices was ending four beautiful, stretching, chaotic years of homeschooling my kids and enrolling them in regular school.

We made that shift in January. It felt necessary, right even. But it came with more turbulence than I anticipated.

The truth is, it was hard. Hard on them and hard on me. Nothing about that transition was smooth. There were days I questioned every decision. Nights I lay awake, wondering if I had made the right call. Weeks where I watched them struggle and blamed myself. I spiraled mentally more than once. The doubt was loud. The shame was louder.

Yet, here we are. It’s a new term. Tomorrow, we go again. Not because everything is perfect, not because all my questions have been answered but because I’ve realized something powerful: to succeed, to truly succeed in life, there will be days and even seasons when you simply cannot afford the luxury of shame.

Shame is a Thief

Shame feeds on your second-guessing and makes a home in your most tender places. It tells you you’re the only one struggling, the only one who’s unsure, the only one who is not getting it right.

However, that is not the truth. The truth is that every big decision, especially the ones made out of love and vision, comes with bumps, learning curves, and unexpected costs. And sometimes, even when it gets messy, you have to stand by your choices and grow through the process.

Let’s Talk About This Week

If you’re like me, maybe you’re stepping into a new week with a bit of dread. Maybe you are not where you hoped you’d be by now. Maybe the weight of last week (or last term) is still sitting on your shoulders, here’s your reminder: you can still go forward.

This isn’t the time to shrink back or beat yourself up. It’s the time to get up, dust yourself off, and walk into this new week with the grace to begin again.

Here are some actionable reminders for the week:

1. Name the Storm

What’s the thing weighing you down right now? A decision you regret? A result you didn’t get? Name it. Sometimes the act of simply saying, “This was hard, but I’m still here,” is what shifts the energy.

2. Choose One Courageous Act

This week, do something that reflects the person you’re becoming, not the one you fear you were last week (or last term). Show up at drop-off with hope. Make that tough call. Say the encouraging thing. Do the courageous stuff. You'll be surprised at how much courage compounds.

3. Be Gentle With Yourself

This isn’t a boot camp. This is life. Talk to yourself with the same tenderness you’d give your child. You don’t have to have it all figured out to keep going.

4. Commit to the Now

You can’t rewrite the last chapter, but you can shape this one. What can you do today that your future self will thank you for?

5. Identify 5 Things you're Grateful for

Thinking about and mentioning the things that are going okay for me and counting my blessings, small and big made a significant difference. It will for you too.

This Week…

If you’re carrying shame, I get it. I’ve carried it, too. I’ve worried I ruined things. I’ve wondered if I was enough. But I’ve also learned that most of the time, the fact that we care this much means we’re already on the right path.

So as my kids put on their uniforms and we head out again into the unknown of a new term, I’m choosing to walk forward with heart open and shoulders steady. I’m choosing to believe in fresh starts, in messy grace, in the quiet strength of doing our best, again. I want to invite you to do the same.

Leave the shame.

Keep the lesson.

Take the step.