Diary of a Thriving Mum

Nigerian mothers—and those big mummies in our lives—are the most dramatic, I tell you. Ever since my marriage ended, my mummies (you know those aunties that are like your second mothers) have been calling and crying as if I died. This week, I spoke to two of them, and honestly, I almost cried too. But as always, I was laughing, and they said, “Ife, keep smiling because that’s the Ife we remember”—with pity in their eyes.

And that hit me.

Because the Ife they knew? She’s gone. I mourn her some days. But this is not a sad post.

The Ife typing this is learning to live again.

You see, I have realized that I carry GRACE. Because this should have broken me—completely. But instead, here I am, in my own little way, being used by God to impact lives.

I am walking in foreign territories in every way possible. My grandparents had the cutest marriage, my parents, aunties, uncles, cousins—they are all still with their spouses. And me? I am here, standing alone in this unfamiliar space. It feels lonely. Sometimes I ask, “Why me?” I am in a different country with only a handful of family and friends. I am used to a large community, to people, to noise. But I have stopped asking God, “Why me?” and started asking, “Why not me?”

Isn’t it pride to think that I am so great that this couldn’t happen to me?

Honestly, I am grateful. Grateful that it was me and not my siblings. Because I believe there is something about my life that God is about to turn into something beautiful. Gold is purified through fire, and maybe, just maybe, I have the grace to walk through this fire so that something greater can be birthed—not just for me, but for my family and the generations after me.

Today, I saw how truly broken this world is. And I don’t think I would have understood its with this level of depth, if life hadn’t first tried to break me. Now, I have a fire and passion for people like never before. I understand depression. I understand anxiety. And I pray differently for those who walk through these shadows. I also rejoice differently when I see people healing and choosing to live again.

Pain changes you. But if you look closely, you’ll realize it also unlocks something in you—a strength, a gift, a purpose.

I never thought I would love writing. But when I was drowning in pain that spoken words couldn’t express, writing found me.

So to my online family—those navigating unfamiliar experiences, those crying silent tears, carrying unseen burdens—I see you. I know how heavy it feels. But I want you to look closely. What could this pain be pushing you towards?

The world needs the songs that will be birthed from your struggles. The stories you will tell. The creativity that will emerge. The poetry, the movies, the movements that will come from this fire.

Please, don’t waste this pain. Don’t let anxiety and fear silence you. That was never God’s plan for you. Remember—ALL things work together. The good, the bad, the ugly—somehow, they all work together for your good. And if I may add, for the good of a nation and a generation.

One day, I hope to meet you and hear your story, your victories. Until then…

I love you. I am praying for you.

XOXO,
Ife

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