Lawyer. Pop Culture Junkie. Writer. Nigerian. American. Bibliophile. Theology Nerd. Millennial. Gender Equality Believer.
...Figuring out what it means to be a woman & blogging about it...
Join me!
Lawyer. Pop Culture Junkie. Writer. Nigerian. American. Bibliophile. Theology Nerd. Millennial. Gender Equality Believer.
...Figuring out what it means to be a woman & blogging about it...
Join me!
All in Personal Essay
Thirteen years ago today, my mother knocked on my bedroom door around midnight, and I told her to come in. For some reason though, my door was stuck, and my uncle had to break down the door before my mother could come in. As soon as my mother sat on my bed, I knew what she was going to say. I knew that my father had passed away, after a two-year battle with brain cancer.
Empowering women, working towards protecting their rights, and discussing/shaping gender ideologies is what makes me come alive. This is where my experiences, my background, my passions and the voice within have led me. This is my calling, my life’s mission statement, my raison d’être...
What if we shined light on the cracks more often? What if our descriptions of our journeys are the maps that those behind us desperately need? And no, I am not suggesting that we gather all our dirty laundry and air them in the market place. But as discretion guides us, can we at least put our clean laundry out in the sun? Can we acknowledge that the clean clothing we dress our tales in, once had dirt that came out in a rinse?
There are very few things I had envisioned about my wedding before I had a ring on my finger- my mother walking me down the aisle was one of them. When my mother and I began to plan the wedding program and she asked me whom I wanted to do the honors, I responded enthusiastically: “You of course!”
