My choyce

"I told my therapist I'm tired of being strong."

The room went quiet.

Not the peaceful kind of quiet.

The kind that sits across from you, folds its arms, and waits for the truth.

So I continued.

"I'm tired of saying I'm okay when everything feels wrong."

You know that smile people wear when they're falling apart?

That smile deserves an acting award.

Because some of us have mastered the art of answering:

"I'm fine."

While our minds are hosting a wrestling match between anxiety, regret, overthinking, and memories that refuse to pay rent.

I told her I don't sleep much.

Not because I don't want to.

But because my brain suddenly becomes a motivational speaker, historian, and crime investigator at 2 a.m.

One minute I'm trying to sleep.

The next minute I'm remembering something embarrassing I did in 2014.

Wickedness.

Then come the nightmares.

The same scenes.

The same fears.

The same unfinished conversations playing on repeat like a DJ who only owns one song.

I told her I miss people.

The ones who left.

The ones who disappeared without warning.

The ones who promised, "I'll always be here."

Only to vanish faster than free Wi-Fi.

And the hardest part?

No goodbye.

No explanation.

Just silence.

The kind of silence that leaves you standing at an emotional bus stop waiting for a vehicle that already changed routes.

Then I told her about hope.

How every time I start believing things are getting better...

Life sometimes pulls a plot twist.

Like those Nigerian generators that work perfectly until visitors arrive.

Suddenly... darkness.

Again.

I expected her to hand me a magical solution.

Maybe a secret formula.

Maybe a motivational quote strong enough to pay emotional bills.

Instead she looked at me and said:

"You have to learn to breathe."

I almost laughed.

Because breathing sounded too simple.

Until I realized she wasn't talking about my lungs.

She was talking about my soul.

For years I had been holding everything in.

Holding grief.

Holding disappointment.

Holding expectations.

Holding pain.

Holding the version of me that thought strength meant never breaking.

But maybe strength isn't carrying everything.

Maybe strength is knowing when to put some of it down.

Maybe healing begins when we stop pretending we're superheroes and start admitting we're human.

So if you're tired today...

If you've been fighting silent battles...

If you've been carrying the world on your shoulders while telling everyone you're okay...

This is your reminder:

You don't have to be strong every second.

Even the strongest hearts need rest.

Even the bravest souls need healing.

And sometimes the most courageous words you'll ever say are:

"I'm not okay right now."

Because healing doesn't start when the pain ends.

Healing starts when the truth begins. ❤️

If this spoke to you, leave a ❤️ in the comments. You never know who needs to know they're not walking alone.
Scholar Uche Global shoe business MrFitness My choyce Japel

Nobody warns you that one day… life will suddenly taste different.

Not metaphorically.

I mean literally.

One morning, I drank tea that used to comfort my soul like a warm village hug…

…and it tasted like boiled disappointment. ☕😭

That was the beginning.

At first, I blamed stress.
Then adulthood.
Then the economy.

Because somehow every Nigerian problem eventually circles back to “the economy.” 💀

But deep down, I knew something had shifted.

Life itself had changed flavor.

The things that once excited me became strangely quiet.
Parties became exhausting.
Noise became unbearable.
Even my phone ringing started sounding like a threat from the underworld.

Meanwhile, as a child?

You could give me ₦100 gala and a cold drink and I’d feel like a billionaire investor.

Simple joys carried heavyweight happiness.

Now?
You buy something expensive and five minutes later your brain whispers:

“Nice… but have you paid NEPA bill?”

Wickedness.

And don’t let me even start with friendships.

When life tastes different, you discover who truly season your soul… and who was only adding noise like too much pepper in stew.

Some people only visit when your plate is full.
The moment struggle enters, they vanish faster than free hospital gloves.

But strangely… difficult seasons sharpen your tongue for truth.

You begin to appreciate quieter things.

A peaceful morning.
A genuine friend.
A successful hospital discharge.
A good laugh after crying all week.
The miracle of sleeping without anxiety tapping your shoulder at 2am.

One evening, my grandmother noticed I’d become unusually serious.

She stared at me while chewing kola nut like an ancient philosopher preparing wisdom DLC.

Then she said:

“Life tastes different because your mouth has grown.”

I laughed.

But she continued:

“As children, we swallow happiness whole.
As adults, we chew pain slowly.
That’s why the flavor changes.”

Silence.

Even the ceiling fan paused emotionally.

Then she added:

“But soup sweet pass when many ingredients survive the fire together.”

That sentence sat in my chest for days.

Because maybe life isn’t becoming worse.

Maybe we’re simply learning the hidden ingredients:
loss, patience, survival, gratitude, heartbreak, resilience, healing.

Things children cannot yet taste.

And maybe that’s why older people laugh differently.

Not loudly.
Not carelessly.

But deeply.

Like people who have eaten bitterness… and still chose joy anyway. ❤️
MrFitness Scholar Uche Global shoe business