While it isn’t much in my Prada wallet, it’s enough to know I’ve become well acquainted with starting over.

A year ago, I packed up my life into a moving truck and left California after nearly nine years. I didn’t post a goodbye. Outside of a handful of close friends and family, almost no one knew.

The Call

When I knew it was time to leave LA, I started praying about what came next. Every time I prayed, the same answer surfaced. Dallas. I wish I could tell you I celebrated immediately. But that’s far from the truth. I absolutely did not.

Texas? Lord, you know me and the heat don’t mix. Honestly, it was a “God…are You sure?” moment for me. I’d always imagined myself returning to New York in my 30s. I had the vision: a two-story loft in Brooklyn, morning bagels from my neighborhood café, and commuting into an office in DUMBO a few days a week.

Dallas wasn’t on my vision board. But it was on my heart, suddenly. I’ve been thinking a lot about a sentence from a book I’m reading :

Vision isn’t for validation. It’s for stewardship.

That sentence gave language to what I had been living. Stewardship, I’ve learned, often looks like obedience before understanding. When God called Abraham in Genesis 12, He didn’t hand him a five-year plan. He said,

“Go…to the land I will show you.”

I’ve realized that’s often how God works. He rarely gives us the whole map in the beginning. He gives us the next step.

Looking back, every move before Dallas made sense to me. When I was young, I moved from Lagos to New York in pursuit of the American dream. Then New York became Maryland because…well…I wasn’t exactly the stellar child. Maryland became Philadelphia for college. Philadelphia became San Francisco to start my career in tech. San Francisco became Los Angeles because the pandemic reminded me I had free will. Every move was about opportunity. A better education. A better career. A better quality of life.

Dallas was the first move that wasn’t primarily about any of those things.

It was about obedience.

So this wasn’t a season for announcements. It was a season for stewardship.

We live in a culture that rewards announcements. Every new beginning feels like content waiting to be posted. But scripture reminds me that there is “a time for everything…a time to be silent and a time to speak” Ecclesiastes 3.

This move belonged to the quiet, for now. Because some seeds grow best before anyone else sees them.

The Cost

When I landed at DFW in July of 2025, the Texas heat and humidity slapped me so hard across the face that I immediately realized I would not survive hell. And even questioned if I’d make it in Dallas.

Everything was different here.

The roads. The pace. The people. The silence of coming home to an apartment where no one knew my routines.

The hardest part wasn’t leaving California. It was leaving familiarity.

My twin sister and I had built a beautiful life together. Favorite restaurants. Daily walks beneath palm trees. Oxtail dinners. The little routines that become home before you even realize it.

Some evenings I’d open Instagram and see my sister walking streets we used to walk together. I’d wonder if I’d heard God correctly. I’d miss the ease of texting,

“What’s for dinner?”

I’d miss the version of life that had become comfortable.

Comfort has a funny way of sounding like confirmation. But they aren’t the same thing. In those first few months, I kept returning to Joshua 1:9.

“Be strong and courageous…for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”

I’d read that verse countless times before. But this time I noticed God didn’t promise Joshua certainty. He promised His presence. I’d been waiting for certainty when God had already given me something better. His presence.

God’s presence is the differentiator.

Because His presence makes unfamiliar places purposeful. His presence gives courage when your surroundings don’t yet feel like home. His presence steadies you when your feelings haven’t caught up to your obedience. His presence reminds you that just because you’re by yourself…

doesn’t mean you’re alone.

Share In-Between

At the beginning of this journey, I thought I was alone.

But I wasn’t lonely.

Because God had already gone ahead of me. There are callings no one else can walk for you. There are assignments that require you to leave familiar people and places. But you never walk into them by yourself.

The Gift

If you had asked me a few years ago where I’d be today, Dallas would’ve been nowhere on my list. Yet, here I am making sourdough (flat)bread on Sunday morning. Apparently God didn’t tell me the first loaf would be ugly.

Volunteering on a farm on Thursdays.

Helping a friend plant vegetables in her backyard garden.

Building community in ways I never expected.

Living a life I never would’ve planned for myself. None of those things were on my vision board. But maybe that’s the point of it all. Sometimes God doesn’t replace what we leave behind. He expands our imagination for what life with Him can look like. Looking back, I realize I confused familiarity with faithfulness.

I thought God was asking me to leave home. He was really inviting me to trust that wherever He called me…

He would already be there.

If I had a penny for every time I’ve moved states, I’d have 6 cents. And somehow, every one of those pennies has been worth it.

P.S. If this resonated with you, I’d love to know. Your support not only helps more people find it, but honestly, it makes my day. So, drop a comment, share it with a friend, or come say hi on TikTok or Instagram.

〰 Taiwo

Hopped into my Uber by 5:23pm, determined to be on time, to make a good impression on my new braider. The booking page included a 15min grace period, so arriving at 6:05pm wasn’t the worst thing.

It took a few topics to warm up, but somehow we landed on…boys. That’ll do it. She was excited about her first real relationship, first apartment, the novelty of adulthood unfolding in real time. The kind of season where everything feels new and full of possibility.

And as she greased my scalp, I’m nodding, smiling, sharing words of encouragement from my own experience, but she didn’t know that the night before, I told God

“I need to get my faith up.”

The truth is…the thing I once prayed for now feels heavy. Don’t get me wrong, I believe God is who He says He is. But there are still days I wonder, is all of this really for me to carry? By myself? The assignment feels big. And chile, I’m only 5’1.

Lately, I’ve been in a season of doing.

Doing. Doing. Doing.

And If I’m honest, very much like Martha. Busy. Trying to hold everything together. The kind of busy that looks like obedience but feels like pressure.

But Martha was distracted with much serving, and she approached Him and said, “Lord, do You not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Therefore tell her to help me.” And Jesus answered and said to her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and troubled about many things. Luke 10:40-41

And that part, left me to serve alone, that’s what got me.

Because that’s exactly how it felt.

Like obedience had somehow turned into isolation. But why does obedience feel like exhaustion? And the thought that there’s still more to do made me feel like I was doing it alone. Carrying something I was never built to hold.

I even asked God, half joking, half serious:

Is this supposed to be done in my single season… or with my husband? Because I could really use some husband help today.

Or maybe I should be praying for a miracle?

And I know God must be listening, thinking, oh ye of little faith. And He’s not wrong. Because I’m the same person who tells my friends “God can do more in my rest than I could ever do in my striving.” But even knowing that, the doubt felt louder than what God already said.

That night, I was reminded of a song I wrote last summer. Nothing polished, just a voice memo I had shared with my homegirls via text. It was titled ‘Isaiah 40:28’ put to a melody.

So I sang it out loud:

Have you not known? Have you not heard? The everlasting God, the Lord, The Creator of the ends of the earth, Neither faints nor is weary. His understanding is unsearchable. He gives power to the weak. And to those who have no might He increases strength. Isaiah 40:28

It felt like God knew I would need those words months later. That there would be a moment where I had no might and would need Him to increase my strength. That song, plus prayer, plus fasting… led me to that salon chair Tuesday evening.

And somewhere between her parting my hair and me giving advice I preached to myself, I realized:

I’ve watched God come through time and time again

in my career,

in my family,

in the lives of my homegirls.

And yet, here I was again. Overwhelmed.

Like I hadn’t seen this before.

Like there weren’t receipts.

Like there wasn’t a whole portfolio of proof.

God has a track record of delivering. Not once. Not sometimes. Consistently. But I forgot to pull up His portfolio. I was too busy trying to build mine… in His name. Trying to prove I could execute what He called me to do instead of trusting that the one who called me already had the credentials.

Jesus is the same yesterday, today, and forever. Hebrews 13:8

The same God who carried me then is the same God I’m questioning now. There’s a kind of spiritual amnesia that happens when you’re focused on the creation instead of the Creator. You forget who God has been because of what’s in front of you.

By the time she finished my 8 stitch braids, nothing on my to-do list had changed. But something in me was different.

I didn’t need a miracle.

I needed better memory.

P.S. If this resonated with you, I’d love to know. Your support not only helps more people find it, but honestly, it makes my day. So, drop a comment, share it with a friend, or come say hi on TikTok or Instagram.

〰 Taiwo

“He shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that brings forth its fruit in its season, whose leaf also shall not wither.” — Psalm 1:3

That scripture was my vision board.

I dreamed of fruitfulness. To me, that looked like New York. Brownstone mornings, a husband who speaks fluent Yoruba, Tuesdays with fresh flowers. A home that felt like a modern episode of The Gilded Age. Books and scented candles. Writing that mattered. Work that meant something. While that Sam Smith record I’ve overused for all my friends’ wedding recaps plays in the background. Not for a wedding. This time, just for me.

Is that too much for a girl to ask for?

Maybe I’ve streamed too many romance series. Still, whenever I think of trees, I think of fruit. Of something I can hold. Pick. Taste.

Even Genesis starts that way:

“And God said, “Behold, I have given you every plant yielding seed that is on the face of all the earth, and every tree with seed in its fruit. You shall have them for food.” Genesis 1:29

So can you blame me for dreaming of harvest?

But a couple of years into my 30s, what was supposed to be fruit has felt more like seeds. Naturally, I turned to my Bible for answers. I discovered that “seed” appears 103 times in the NKJV, and 13 of those are in Genesis. The beginning.

One of the Hebrew words for seed is zera (זֶרַע): fruit, plant, sowing time, child.

In my younger years, I saw my 30s as the ending of striving, waiting. But in this in-between season, I’m learning that it’s actually the beginning of becoming. I thought my 30s would feel like arrival. Instead, it feels like departure from a vision I once had.

Maybe fruitfulness no longer means New York City, or brownstone mornings for the woman I’m called to be. The woman I’m slowly becoming. There is a birthing in this season, it feels like. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from the mothers in my life: pregnancy takes time. At times painful. Rarely convenient. But never wasted. Eventually, something beautiful breaks through.

And as poetic as that sounds on paper, the hardest part has been grieving what I thought this season would look like. Instead, I’ve had to lean on sacrifice. Obedience. Surrender. Letting go of timelines I thought were guaranteed. Making peace with the not-yet. The in-between.

By 30, I wanted trees. But maybe God loved me too much to skip the good parts, the seed stage.

P.S. If this resonated with you, I’d love to know. Your support not only helps more people find it, but honestly, it makes my day. So, drop a comment, share it with a friend, or come say hi on TikTok or Instagram.

〰 Taiwo

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Not rescheduled.

Not delayed.

Just… canceled.

After I’d already planned my outfits to pair perfectly with a slick ponytail. Normally, I wouldn’t take something like this to heart. I travel often. I get that life happens. But this was the final straw in a week full of delays, surprises, and the kind of stress that moves in slow motion. So there I was, mid-breakdown during an evening walk, when it hit me:

I’m not the one driving this Porsche. God is.

That truth didn’t magically fix everything. It didn’t rebook my appointment or undo the emotional weight of the week. But it did shift my perspective. Because if God is truly in control, then I’m not the driver.

I’m just the passenger princess.

“But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession…”

— 1 Peter 2:9 (NIV)

And if my life is the vehicle, please believe it’s a Porsche: elegant, sleek, and a little extra. And one thing I know about princesses from my fave, Mia Thermopolis—is this:

“To be a princess, you have to believe that you are a princess.”

But how do you begin to believe that, especially when so much of your life has been defined by doing?

Driving.

Planning.

Leading.

Checking things off the list.

You loosen your grip on the idea of how things were supposed to go. You let go.

Letting go of the wheel only works when you trust the one driving. But what does it actually look like to trust the Driver?

Do I trust Him with timing?

With my plans?

With the version of the life I imagined?

Do I truly trust the Driver, or just like how that sounds on an Instagram caption? I’ve realized that so much of adulthood is just spiritualized backseat whining. Am I behind? Will I get the job? When will I meet my person?

Honestly, they’re all just adult ways of asking, “Are we there yet?” But when I truly trust the driver, I stop fixating on how long it’s taking, and start spending time in His presence along the journey. Because isn’t that what this whole thing is really about?

Not just the destination, but who you become en route, and who is leading you, on the way there. Hyper-fixating on time is actually a waste of time. Because God’s timing rarely aligns with mine. Like the old church used to say:

He may not come when you want Him… but He’s always on time.

And then there’s Ecclesiastes, soft in its certainty:

“He has made everything beautiful in its time.” (3:11)

‘Has made.’ Already done. Even when the route feels slow. Even when it makes no sense. Even when things fall apart two days before your flight.

So I boarded my flight from Los Angles with my hair undone. Landed in New York City with a nine-hour layover. And booked a same-day knotless braids appointment at a local shop.

Plan A? Gone.

Plan B? Showed up with grace.

Not what I pictured, But still part of the story.

That’s the thing about trusting the Driver. It rarely looks like control. It looks like dancing to the playlist. Like rolling the windows down. Like choosing joy on a layover you didn’t plan. And somewhere along that unexpected road, a familiar verse found me again. Softly now:

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart,

and lean not on your own understanding;

in all your ways acknowledge Him,

and He will direct your paths.”

— Proverbs 3:5-6

P.S. If this resonated with you, I’d love to know. Your support not only helps more people find it, but honestly, it makes my day. So, drop a comment, share it with a friend, or come say hi on TikTok or Instagram.

〰 Taiwo🧪

I followed the rules. well, mostly.

I studied public health in college, pivoted into tech, and somehow found myself at companies like LinkedIn and Meta. It’s been nine years.

But somewhere along the way, I started wondering:

What even is “work” anymore? Who made up these corporate rules, and why are we still following them?

Is it still about purpose, or just looking productive online? Between Pinterest-perfect desk setups, color-coded Notion dashboards, iced matcha at 9:03 a.m., and “I don’t dream of labor” TikToks, It’s hard to tell what work is actually supposed to give in 2025.

So today, I’m unpacking a simple but loaded question: What is work? And who decided what it should look like?

🪵 Part 1: I'm a survivor I'm not gon' give up

THE SURVIVAL ERA.

Before BIG GIRL jobs, “I’m thrilled to announce” LinkedIn posts, and team off-sites in Portugal, there was survival. You hunted. You farmed. You traded. That was the work. And no one was asking “What’s my 5-year plan?” when their job was literally catching dinner.

(According to ChatGPT, the word “career” didn’t even show up until the 1500s.) So if you’re feeling confused about yours, maybe that’s not a failure. Maybe it’s just evolution.

🏢 Part 2: Don’t make it your whole personality

THE IDENTITY ERA.

Then came the Industrial Revolution, factories, punch clocks, 40-hour workweeks. Work became structured. Rigid. Measurable. Post-WWII, men were in suits. Women were in secretarial pools…until they weren’t. For many of us, especially Black women and people of color, just getting in the room was the work. This is where our parents’ mindset came from:

Pick a path. Climb the ladder. Stay loyal. You didn’t just do the job. You were the job.

Work wasn’t about joy. It was about pride. Status. Security. A pension. Loyalty was currency. You got in, and you stayed… for years.

🎀 Part 3: Soft Life, Hard Deadlines

THE AESTHETIC ERA.

Then came the mid-2010s and suddenly, work got… cute, REAL cute. We swapped cubicles for co-working spaces. We weren’t just project managers, we were Tech Baddies in Balance. It was the soft life era. Remote work. Wellness stipends. Color-coded everything. Careers became content (cue my DITL TikToks).

Productivity became branding, and suddenly, everyone was building it.

I started working in tech during this time: Free breakfast, lunch, dinner. Kombucha on tap. Nap pods. ‘Bring your dog to work’ days. Meditation apps. The works. We didn’t kill hustle culture. We just rebranded it—with pastel fonts and oat milk.

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🤔 So… What Is Work Now?

In 2025, the definition of work is… blurry. For some, it’s about survival. For others, identity. For many, it’s just a way to pay rent with a little dignity left over. We have people building empires. We have people quietly quitting. We have people trying to figure out if they even want to work at all.

And all of it? Is still work.

Maybe the better question isn’t what do you do? But why are you doing it?

P.S. If this resonated with you, I’d love to know. Your support not only helps more people find it, but honestly, it makes my day. So, drop a comment, share it with a friend, or come say hi on TikTok or Instagram.

〰 Taiwo🧪

Tuesday, December 21, 2021 7:00 AM

I remember the first time I hit “publish” on a blog post on my website. I was a little nervous, overthinking every sentence, wondering if I had anything valuable to say. I just knew I needed a place to figure it out. To write like no one was watching. So I opened up this 📝little corner of the internet in January 2022.

Not to build a brand. Not to go viral.

Just to put language to the experience of being a first-gen Nigerian-American woman, working in tech, growing in her walk with Christ, and trying to find her way.

It was never perfect. But it was mine.

Over the years, I wrote through career pivots, promotions, testimonies, heartbreaks, and relocations. And somewhere between “I think I’ll start a blog” and “What even is work anymore?”…I changed.

As written in one of my favorite books:

The end of a thing is better than its beginning. — Ecclesiastes 7:8

I became a researcher. A better storyteller. And honestly? A different kind of writer. The questions I want to explore now don’t always fit neatly inside one blog post.

They’re bigger. Messier. Sharper.

They live in voice notes, in unfinished Notion pages, in late-night conversations with my homegirls.

So I’m moving, not homes this time. Not off the internet either… at least, not yet. Just over to Substack. A quieter corner of the internet I’m calling:

🧪 In-Between — For when you’re between places, between jobs, or between versions of yourself. Where transitions are tested.

This isn’t a newsletter with answers. It’s a space for experimentation. And as a Researcher, that feels true to form. I’m experimenting with careers, with the places I call home, with becoming. Because transitions don’t need to be rushed, they need to be witnessed. Anchored in the belief that the process itself is valuable, not just the outcome.

Writing, especially public writing, was once a privilege. Gatekept by class, gender, and education.

But this? This is mine. And if you’ve made it this far, It’s yours too.

So if you want to keep reading, keep thinking, keep building with me—come find me in the In-Between.

We’re just getting started.

P.S. If this resonated with you, I’d love to know. Your support not only helps more people find it, but honestly, it makes my day. So, drop a comment, share it with a friend, or come say hi on TikTok or Instagram.

〰 Taiwo🧪