For many obvious reasons, doing any sort of self-reflection through writing scared the life out of me, and it wasn't until recently—around the end of last year, that I drew from some barely-anymore-left reservoir of strength within and started writing my thoughts on paper. Not just thinking them or truncating their existence to just my notepads and some rumpled pieces of paper living in the abyss that's my backpack. I started permitting them a smell of the new world, a new world outside of myself. With that came some kind of self-knowledge, and even a little self-confidence, which I never thought I'd have. I realised I could understand my thoughts better when they were before me. It felt like finally meeting the spouse that was arranged for you by your parents and realising you two have a lot in common and understand yourselves and the worst you'd imagined hadn't happened. Self-reflection on paper allows me to meet the voices in my head, and our debates and conversations can happen more smoothly because we see each other, truly see each other, for who we are at those moments—distinct yet intricately woven as one. It's with this in mind I decided to look back at my life as a whole; bring out certain faces and phases that'll allow themselves to be seen, burrow into bits and pieces that'll enable me to see myself fully, and hopefully where I'm headed.

There are two things I vehemently believe in; not everyone should be married and not everyone deserves to be parents. The latter is a core belief. I wish there were some kind of criteria that needed to be met, some mandatory psychological analysis of people looking into having kids, before they went ahead to birth and raise someone in this world.

I was born into a family where I couldn't wait till I was legal before I had to move out. I started catering for my needs by myself quite early and I think that, and the poignant void felt within assisted in developing in me an early disposition to subsistence. By that I mean, I developed certain traits that enabled me to survive, to just survive. Till that became the only thing I knew how to do. So long as I could find a way to eat, have a roof over my head, and somewhat be out of depressive episodes, I was good. Life wasn't imagined beyond that. Or couldn’t be.

As a child, the English language was hammered into me with blows and searing belt buckles and it wasn't until much later I realised this same language became the balm I used to heal my wounds. (My sibling and I were initially raised in a French-speaking community before we moved to Nigeria so our parents could be together, so breaking the yoke of always thinking in French and bursting out words incomprehensible to our new environment were especially difficult for me to stop as I was no longer so little. I still sometimes think or burst out in French but it's more controlled now.) With the language barrier cleared, I settled into my new environment and became recognised as quite an intelligent kid. I took first positions throughout most of my primary school education. I also became shy and docile. I remember those being the exact words my principal used in describing me during an award. An award I can’t remember what it was for but recall seeing myself silently praying for an end to the squabble going on between my parents knowing it could result in a fight. It did result in a fight, and I eventually took my award, eyes filled with tears from sadness and my heart in my mouth from the anxiety of the scene that had just ensued. Every time I remember that day, my brain focuses only on my principal; her praises and the shy and docile remark.

I later understood that I didn't have to do so much to see a little more than average results academically, and I became content with that. Fast forward to secondary school and I’m navigating through that with some serious personal baggage and problems but still just keeping my head above water school-wise. One thing, though, that I had developed at this stage was a love for the English Language, for words, and for a reality outside my own. Books afforded me that and I hungrily dug into them. No, I don’t mean my academic books, novels; crimes, thrillers and horrors to be precise. I’ll never forget a classmate who once came up to me, saw my face burrowed into the pages of a new book I’d exchanged with another classmate and said, “Merveille, if you read your books as much as you read novels, you’d be one of the best in the class.” That sentence dug a hole in my heart and from then on, I began beating myself up for why I didn’t seem to take my academics with as much seriousness as others. Why I didn’t seem as determined to be the best as others were. Why I had changed from what I was in primary school. It didn’t help that at home I was constantly being compared to either my younger sibling academically —who was soaring in science subjects while I was ‘just there’ in the arts, or the skinny family friend health-wise, or the sashaying neighbour who glowed whenever she was about in comparison to my bouncy but gawky steps. I was constantly put on a scale and told I was inadequate, insufficient. It felt like a perpetual fight to be enough for the people who bore me. It exhausted me so much that I grew indifferent. Indifferent to my life and the people in it. I became a quiet but violent teen whose fists were her words. I can say I’d physically fought with every close person in my life before hitting the age of seventeen. That was how I showed my displeasure. That was how I was taught. On the outside, I was this timid child with a menacing look in her eyes and a constant frown on her face. On the inside, anxieties, fears and traumas gnawed at one another. But I kept surviving, I kept keeping my head above water.

It was with that same attitude I entered university. Grades were never bad but were never excellent either. I graduated with a Second-Class Upper, some people praised me but I knew I hadn’t done anything special, I hadn’t given my best. It wasn’t as though since I didn’t have excellent academic records then I surely must have been thriving socially. No. Apart from the internal battles I had going on, I still had to take care of others, I’ve always been the carer. I had to take care of my siblings, mom and even relationships. It began to feel like I was attracted to, and doomed to be with the helpless. Maybe because I felt helpless myself. I had a non-existent social life from navigating all these as well as becoming extremely introverted because I had developed a fear of being around people and what looked like Scopophobia. So basically, I still was just existing; hustling just sufficiently enough to get money to keep me fed and sheltered, and sometimes to help at home too. But still just existing.

At some point, I think from the age of twenty, I started having these deep awakenings, questioning almost everything in my life. I began to feel like there could be more. That there should be. I questioned my childhood, my family, my beliefs, my relationships, myself, and everything. I also swung into more bouts of depression with feelings of aimlessness and a lack of ambition. I didn’t still feel like I knew who I was or what I could become despite all these awakenings. The first time I recall, as an adult, stepping out of my comfort zone academically was when I rejected French over Arabic as one of our elective courses. That was a small thing but was instrumental to my becoming. It lit a little spark of ambition in me I didn’t know could be there. The second time was when I attempted to lose weight and although for the wrong reasons and with the impulsiveness I’ve always been known to possess, I went ahead. The third time was in December 2020 when I attempted to learn to code.

You see, with these three things, I failed. I failed with the first because the professor was bent on making sure everyone in his class didn’t pass and so I backed out and went back to my indifference—French. I failed at the second because I hadn’t built the inside first before attempting to work on the outside. I didn’t know what it meant to be a disciplined person and so, although I did lose all the weight, I gained everything and more back in the space of a year. And I especially acknowledge now that I failed there too because I was looking for validation. I wanted to be accepted and praised and loved by the person that has mistreated me the most in my life. I felt since that had always been something I was attacked for, maybe doing the weight loss would bring their love. My failure at the last is the reason I decided it was time for introspection.

In December 2020, I got to know about computer programming. It was interesting and so fun at first, but after a while, I began to see that there were problems. Once again, I saw there was work that needed to be done on the inside. The acceptance of a life where I barely existed and solely survived had turned me into this person that procrastinated, zoned out, lacked discipline and overall, was still just barely existing. I could not move out of that. I began to understand why my life had always felt like I took two steps forward and ten backward.

In January 2021, I joined an online bootcamp with Edconnect. I couldn’t see it through. To date, this remains one of my biggest regrets since the start of this journey because the people in that program were so good, so helpful. They didn’t push you too hard and knew just what needed to be done to get you where you needed to be. They were true teachers. But I didn’t finish and eventually was dropped. Sometimes, when I’m looking for excuses to feel better, I tell myself life happened. Yes, my rickety system died on me and I was forced to put it to a final rest. Yes, I was just entering the workforce and so juggling work and everything else was tough. Yes, I was just… still just excuses, to be frank. If I had the discipline and not some fickle grit that could be drowned in the face of obstacles, I’d have pushed through. I mean, people code even with their phones, why couldn’t I? If I didn’t procrastinate so much, I’d have gone past Javascript a long time ago before the laptop packed up. I didn’t and I missed that opportunity. But something great also happened that year; at the end of it, even the optimism of SpongeBob had nothing on me. I developed this new zeal and positiveness that is refreshing now that I think about it.

In 2022, with my optimism and zeal still hovering over me, I worked on scrapping off so much of the bitterness that had embroiled most parts of my existence. I worked on becoming a better human, for myself. I did a lot of unearthing; traumas, life’s wrongs, my wrongs, who I was, who I wanted to become, etc. There was still so much going wrong outside of me—I was wallowing in debts, responsibilities and finding hustles to see the next meal—but work was going on inside and that gave me some joy. I attempted resuming my tech journey and because I felt I was working well on the inside, I bombarded myself with so much to do that once again, I crashed. I had taken on another bootcamp, this time from ALX ( It was so fast-paced and with the bulk of things outside ALX that also required my attention, I dropped out myself), I had bought coding courses on Udemy, I was beginning to see and take writing seriously as a career, and I was restarting various other hustles I had dropped before; editing, proofreading, transcribing and French tutoring, and with all these, I was still working at a job I rarely relied on financially because it came like happiness usually did for me—once every few months. I did all these and it seemed like I did nothing. Yes, I was happy I finally felt like I had a purpose or knew what I wanted in life, but it still felt like all those were out of my control. It still felt like I was out of my control.

Feeling burnt out and with nothing to show for it, I spiralled into another depressive episode, this one felt different because I was seeing me give up on myself. So many times I thought about what it’ll be like just ending things. So many times I flirted with the thought of disappearing. It got to a point it took everything in me to just be awake. I became an even worse recluse, I zoned out, I abandoned people, I disconnected, and people gave up on me. Again. As always. I hit 25 In September and I didn’t feel a thing. I was disappointed in myself because with all the self-awareness I thought I had opened, all the introspection and work I thought I had done, I still saw nothing. There was nothing to show for my internal work. My situation even seemed worse if I looked at it from certain angles. Why didn’t the work I did translate to me handling everything I was juggling better? Why didn’t I see progress, visible progress?

While steering those dark waters, one of the things I remember constantly yearning for, and even telling my sibling, was the sight of a child borne from my sweat and tears. No, I don’t mean an actual child created from the fertilisation of sperm and egg. I craved to see something borne out of me; from my imagination, brain, creativity, sweat and blood. I wanted to have something that I knew was made by me. To see it and be proud. And be consoled that this life, these moments, that childhood, those traumas, all that aimless pathfinding, weren’t all for nothing. That I had a purpose and could see it.

I came out of that depression eventually. Again. As always. The yearning for this child helped me get out. I came out, yet again, with a new determination to restart, to give myself permission to work my way out of a past I do not want defining me, to do right by me. It’s been about a month since that dreadful period. I feel better these days, no longer constantly longing to just sleep and forget. I’m at it again, starting over. I want to learn from my previous mistakes. I want to learn from the lessons of the years before 2020 to give myself room to keep searching, growing and evolving. To do things for me first and most importantly. To not seek love in toxicity. I want to learn from the lessons of the year 2021 to give my all to something I really want. To be more disciplined and focused. I want to learn from the lessons of the year 2022 to remember to be kind to myself above all, to remember everyone functions differently and just because certain people can take on so much and still appear fine doesn’t mean I can too. To take goals one at a time if that’s what my brain requires. I want to learn to accept that there are days I’ll fall, that I’ll not stick to a routine or a promise I made to myself, but I need to just keep going, remembering that so long as there’s even just a little progress, I’m not doing so bad after all. I’m learning to better understand all that I am, all that my brain is. It’s complex but it’s mine and I’ll make it all work together. I’m learning. This past month, I also realised I have a persevering spirit. That I haven’t given up when looking at the overall picture. I’ve fallen, but I’ve stood back up every time, no matter how long that took. I’ve also accepted that this journey isn’t going to be smooth just because I’ve had all these awakenings. There are still more to come. I know there are still many battles and lessons, but also many wins waiting for me ahead. These days, when a voice reminds me that it’s been four years since I graduated from university and I still have nothing to show for it, I find ways to soothe my impatience. I find ways these days to appease all that is me, to acknowledge all my feelings. It’s alright to want to achieve so much but the groundwork can’t be rushed. Some people are faster than others. All these things are fine. I am fine.

A few days ago, I resumed my tech journey again. This somehow feels embarrassing to tell anyone given that I’ve spent two years not really being deliberate about learning. Two years starting, pausing then picking it up again to restart. Hopefully, I do better this time around. I’m recommitting. I’m being careful about not putting too much pressure on myself. I’m also constantly reminding myself to not seek validation, to do this for me and when it doesn’t seem to be working, to pause and ponder till I find a solution and move ahead. Especially move ahead, because I do not want to be stuck in a place for too long to the point I contemplate giving up again.

The goal right now is to be good enough to land even an internship by September as a twenty-sixth birthday present to myself. I’ve never gifted myself a birthday present. That’s six months from now. I’m also back to writing. I’ve realised how much this helps me. So I’ll concentrate on tech and write about it, about life, and some occasional fiction here and there. Documenting everything completely has become crucial to me now. I’m opening a new chapter of my life where I write through everything. Lessons have been learnt, are being learnt and would continue to be learnt, so it’s essential to have something tangible showing it all.

I know this might not be the kind of review many people would expect from a twenty-five-year-old. Or maybe it is, I don’t know and it doesn’t even matter, to be honest. Some might have held out for some kind of happy climax that leaves you with the taste of a happy-ever-after, the reward earned after a tedious journey. This isn’t it. At least not yet. This for me is the start of a journey towards acceptance, discipline, love and commitment to self. I’ll have another review at the end of this year, this time, with a happy climax.