37: Welp
XOXOXO
18/04/2026
Today, I woke up with an urge to fix my life.
Nothing substantial is broken, yet I am constantly worrying. There is a slow, creeping fear that my life is thinning out: losing its depth, its colour, its sense of purpose. I can tell something is wrong. I feel it in the way I wake up—heavy hearted, eyes fixed on the ceiling, as though I am waiting for something that never arrives. I reach for my phone almost immediately, like a lover hoping to hear from a long-lost flame.
Today, I decided to follow an advice to rest for 30 minutes immediately after waking up. Siri helped me set a timer, and I stayed still, taking long, deep breaths like I have never known air.
In those stretched-out minutes, I realised I have lost my spark. Unconsciously, I have been looking for it…but in the wrong places. If it were buried in Instagram reels, I would have found it by now.
Recently, I have taken up the hobby of doomscrolling. I shuffle from fashion influencers to relationship adviser to creatives dominating the literature and art space. The other day, I caught myself watching a video on feminine hygiene, and within hours, I had gotten into a vicious cycle of shuffling from one insignificant videos to the other. For context, the “how to make a man want you” and “10 things that cheapen your look as for an independent woman” sorta videos—the old Ogechi would have experienced a convulsion and recoiled.
This constant consumption has done more than distract me. It has planted desires I cannot trace and shaped thoughts that do not feel like mine. The aesthetics, the “mind boggling” conversations about what to accept and what to reject. I have taken it all in. And in doing so, I have misplaced my own voice. In simple word, I no longer think for myself.
Well, I understand that “thinking for yourself” is a fallacy. Every opinion we hold is, in some way, borrowed. They are first opinions that take root within us.
So what do I truly want? What am I searching for?
The small conversations.
I miss the small, effortless moments, the ones where I’m in a worn-out shirt, laughing about the way my father swings his waist. I miss hugging my friends and telling them they look good. I miss the smell of my sweet mother, the warmth of her presence, and the way her eyes widen when I share hot gossip. I miss my brothers. I miss having everyone in one room.
I miss living life in the moment.
Every Saturday, I convince myself that what I need is rest. But rest, to me, isn’t lying in bed alone, it’s lying in bed with the people I love beside me.
Yesterday, I told Tobi that I was lonely. That I missed the warmth of friendship. It was a vulnerable thing to admit, especially since we’ve only known each other for a month, but it felt necessary. It was the first real conversation I had all weekend.
I said nothing was broken, but I lied.
My spirit is.
Recommended Read:
The room.
Visual Interlude:
Curious Find:
The Still, Small Voice:
“Yahweh is my best friend and my shepherd. I always have more than enough.”
Psalms 23:1 TPT
To Brutus (we need you in Nigeria).
A real and relatable read.❤️
You’re beautiful, just so you know. ❤️