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The key is consistency

I have always lived my life like I was in a movie set, watching as a 3rd person. I would look at people going about their business and form a web of events that could have happened in their lives that led them to that very moment I saw them. I would see random buildings and try to picture storylines around it. I would hear a phrase from a song and suddenly I’m thrown into another dimension.

The common thing about all the things aforementioned is that they were never planned. I didn’t have to force it, I didn’t sit down with my phone in hand brainstorming for hours about what I wanted to write, it just came naturally.

I used to be so naive, thinking that coming up with ideas meant I should be able to write them down easily. That’s a different ball game entirely. There’s a reason, reading a book and watching a movie feels different.

Coming up with the idea is my opinion is relatively easy, but doing so consistently everyday requires another level of skill. Also as a person, I struggle with converting my thoughts to words.

I can vividly recall the day I tried to write a fictional story. I had a few solid ideas of what I wanted to happen in the book, how the characters would end up, I had all the pieces. Then came the question of how do I start? What would the opening scene look like? What is the back story? How would the characters meet ?

I could think of at least 3 answers to this question, my main problem now was which one would I go with. Then I start to spiral, at that point I just put my pen down. It doesn’t end there, even after I’m down writing, each time I read my work, I can think of a million ways to rewrite what I’ve done. Is it possible to repeat this circle everyday? Nahhh

Then how I do I stay consistent?

I want to make sure that I put myself out there everyday and that whatever I’m putting out there is nothing short of perfection.

The textbook definition of consistency is doing the things in a steady, predictable and uniform way over time.

While Creativity is the ability to produce original and imaginative ideas.

Now my question is can you be creatively consistent?

Because it seems to me that creativity and consistency are not mutually exclusive.

“I don’t have any money “ he said as he counted the large bundle of old naira notes in his hands.

We were seated at a close friend’s party. One of my dad’s closest friend was celebrating his 50th birthday. A friend he has had a little friction with for the past few months.

My dad must think I’m a fool, telling a 10 year old child you’re broke with a bundle of cash in your hand. I tried to whine a little but the man just ignored me.

After a few minutes he went towards the live band and started spraying them for several minutes.

I was so sad, I didn’t understand what moved him to waste all that money on a stranger, just because they were calling home names and saying extra things. I could do that, easily, I thought to myself.

I looked over at the celebrant, my dad’s estranged bestie and the man had a neutral look on his face. Like he couldn’t be bothered.

I can’t remember how many bundles but I knew my dad sprayed a lot of money. When he was satisfied, he came back to his seat and went all went home shortly after.

There’s zero communication between them till this day and it has got me thinking, what happened?

These guys were basically brothers and we always considered them family. We called him uncle and were very close to his children.

I’ve heard bits and pieces of what caused the issue and all I see that it boils down to, is a lack of communication. Are we surprised? A Nigerian man is too cowardly to express his feelings.

The main aim of this story isn’t about their friendship. It’s about the lengths people go to prove a point to people, even if it runs you into debt. Because what do you mean you are wasting money you don’t have just to spite someone who the money isn’t coming out of his pocket?

We all need to heal, I hope that a day will come when we can bodily face the very thing(s) that hurt us and come out on the other side, an updated version of ourselves.

Honey and peace ✌️

When I was very young, i can’t remember the specific age, but I know I was in primary school.

My mother dragged me along with her to the market.

As we walked along the market road we stopped briefly to buy some vegetables.

I remember vividly, immediately we stopped, the woman selling the vegetables handed over the crying child in her hands to her young daughter who was sat by her side, while she stood to attend to us.

The girl looked like she was just a few years older than me, probably junior secondary school.

As the mother stood to attend to us she shouted in Yoruba

“Fùn ómó yen ľ ounje” meaning give that child food.

What happened next shocked me.

The daughter brought out her breast and started breastfeeding the baby.

I couldn’t hide my shock and disgust.

My mother had to pinch me.

A quick disapproving look told me that I was staring too hard.

We walked away but not without me taking a second look back.

I was so angry.

I thought to myself “why would that woman tell her daughter to breastfeed her own child!”

I felt so sad for the poor girl because I thought her mother was maltreating her.

It never occurred to me that there was such a thing called teenage pregnancy.

I remember feeling so unsettled, so much so that I asked my mother on the way home.

“Why did that woman give her daughter the baby to breastfeed for her?”

My mom, in typical African parent behavior, avoided the topic and gave me a nasty stare that told me she wasn’t going to talk about it.

I didn’t get an answer to that question to this day.

Of course, somewhere along the line I came to understand the harsh reality.

My mom probably thought she was trying to preserve or protect the innocent mind of her daughter.

But silence is never the answer.

It really got me thinking.

Different people, different realities.

I didn’t have the easiest childhood growing up.

But I never had to worry about where the next meal was coming from,

I didn’t have to rush back from school so that I could help my mother in her trade.

I didn’t go to school feeling scared that I might not make it back home to my parents,

I didn’t have to hide when I got my first period because there could be a possibility that I would be married off to an old man.

I was young and free (mostly).

I didn’t think it was possible for someone my age to be living a reality that was vastly different from mine.

There is so much wrong with Nigeria right now.

There’s so much wrong with the world we live in.

It’s just so heartbreaking.

And it feels like each day our hearts gets even more hardened.

Because we scream, cry and protest, but nothing is done.

Then we move on and pray it doesn’t happen to someone close to us.

Imagine living in a country where children and adults are being kidnapped, tortured and killed every other day.

A country where the leaders refuse to take proper accountability and protect its citizens.

I can’t imagine what the children and teachers are going through. How hopeless it must feel because it feels like no one is coming to save them.

That asides.

If no one is coming to save us, then I think we can be our brother’s keepers in little way we can.

We really can do better and it doesn’t even start with the government or here on social media.

It starts from your neighborhood.

Do whatever it is you can do within your power to make sure that the next generation is not wasted away before they’re able to fully blossom.

We leave the government to God.

Of course when the time comes to make a move in deciding the next leader, I will do my part, as you should.

A word is enough….

There are only a few people in this world that i can comfortably be myself around.

One of them is a friend I met in church 10 years ago.

I can still remember the pink lace dress I wore that morning but the funny part is that I can’t remember our first conversation. All I know is that the following Sunday we were already greeting each other like old friends. I was attending a proper church service for the very first time in my life (yes I have a Muslim background).

Meeting her I realized that we share the same name, age and we were even in the same class in secondary school at the time. Being friends was a no brainer. My first impression of her was that she was friendly but very shy. Although she can come off as very shy, I promise you the girl has very strong opinions 😂. But she would keep them to herself rather than voice it out. I on the other hand, can never shy away from voicing out my opinion. We became good friends.

We saw ourselves through different phases of life from high school to college/ university, working professional jobs and we even became business partners. We did things together. Slowly she became a girl after my own heart. The sister I never had. We enjoyed each other’s company and are always laughing about something.

Her family became mine and mine became hers, I could show up at her house and her parents wouldn’t question it. There were times I would go over to her place and we would both sit in silence, because we enjoyed each other’s company. Sunday mornings became less grumpy, more tolerable because I knew that I would see her. We were so close and in sync that when we moved to a new church, people thought we were blood siblings.

Whenever one of us is absent, they would ask the other “your sister didn’t come to church today, how is she?”. I initially thought they meant it as a joke. Until one day someone asked “who is older than who?” When I told them we were the same age, the person said “are you fraternal twins?” I had to spend about 15mins explaining to the person that we are not blood related 😂.

I miss her.

You might be wondering why.

Well she decided to pursue a master’s degree abroad. A different country, different continent, different time zone, different schedules.

When she broke the news to me initially, I didn’t think much of it. I’m a certified hard girl. In my head I thought the things we did in person we could do over the phone. We would chat over the phone and catch up every other weekend.

I was wrong.

Calling and texting really isn’t my thing, so it’s been hard to keep the conversation going over text.

Hence, communication has been terrible, it seems like our schedules never really align. I wasn’t too bothered initially because work has had me in a chokehold and I haven’t even been able to go to church consistently.

But this past Easter Sunday, as I sat through service, I remembered something funny and as I turned to tell my friend what it was, I saw the face of a total stranger.

Then it sank in properly for the first time, my friend is literally on other side of the world. Service ended eventually, I remained sitted, looking around I saw everyone had broken into groups, smiling, laughing, sharing gossip and taking pictures. I on the other hand felt really awkward where I sat. The journey back home felt heavy and quiet as I reminisced about how the drive back home from church used to be.

I miss my friend.

I miss her company.

Someone tell her to please come back before I do something drastic 😌.

I should write an email to her school and demand they give her the degree already 🙄 and just get on with it.

I don’t understand why they have to hold her hostage for a whole year 🤧.

Day 110?

When something very painful or traumatic happens to me, I don’t feel anything initially.

I used to find this strange, especially when I was young. A lot of times I would fake my emotions and pretend to grieve, because I didn’t want people to think something was wrong with me. Deep down in my heart I knew that my brain hadn’t processed the situation.

Growing up, I have learned to give myself grace, so I don’t try to force it or rush myself.

The most recent, was when my grandmother passed on 2 years ago.

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On the 4th of November at around 9pm,

I was laughing cheerfully with two of my friends as we watched a movie at the cinema when I received the call from my mom.

“Maami is dead” was the first thing she said

I knew somewhere at the back of my mind that this was bound to happen,

But never in a million years did I think it would happen that night.

Just six days before her 92nd birthday

I didn’t know what to think,

I didn’t know how to feel,

I felt numb.

My friends noticed the change in my demeanor and asked what was wrong

i laughed and said ‘’I think my grandma just died”

Then and there the atmosphere became sober,

“Was she sick?” One of my friends asked

“No” I said.

“I need to go home, you guys can finish the movie” i said as I prepared to leave.

They looked at me like I grew a second head.

I smiled reassuringly at them.

“This movie tickets were expensive, we can’t all waste it”

They weren’t buying it at all, My friends watched me carefully, trying to gauge my reaction.

They insisted on following me home but I couldn’t let them because we lived very far apart and we all had work the next day.

On the ride home I still felt nothing.

I just thought at the back of my mind that when I see her, then I’d probably burst out in tears or something.

When I got home that night, relatives were  scattered all around the house, some were quiet, some were crying, some were consoling. I walked past everything like I was invisible. I just wanted to see her.

But when I got to her room and saw her

As she laid in  bed, she looked like she was sleeping so peacefully.

Still I felt nothing,

Don’t get me wrong I was sad, or I think I was.

But still I couldn’t fully understand what had happened.

It felt as though she would wake up at any moment and say something mean like she would usually do and we would all have a good laugh and call it a night.

But as I continued to stare at her, nothing happened.

The burial process went smoothly. Afterwards, my family threw a big party in her honour. She had lived a long and healthy life.

About five months later(April 21, 2025)

Something happened and I knew that if she was alive, it wouldn’t.

So I went to bed missing her.

I had a vivid dream,

The Dream

I saw my grandma sleeping in a coffin bed,

She was alive but sleeping.

I was with someone, a woman, but I can’t remember who or what she looked like.

It was night and we were preparing for bed

Eventually, we fell asleep.

I heard my grandma cough gently so I woke up.

I went to her side and asked if she was ok,

She said she was fine and was feeling peckish,

So I gave her some yellow crackers which was her favorite,

As she ate,

I hugged her so tightly and kissed the side of her head

And told her how much I loved and missed her.

she smiled and consoled me, she told me she was fine and that I didn’t need to worry.

I went to bed again and was woken by the sound of people crying and saying she was dead.

End of Dream

I woke up sad but content.

I narrated the dream to my mom and immediately I spoke I couldn’t stop the stream of tears that fell from my eyes. I cried so much that I had snort coming out from my nose.

Then and only then, was I able to fully close that chapter. Now when I remember her, I understand what happened and I feel happy for the life that she lived.

All my life I never thought I needed a man.

I have been reading books for as long as I can remember, as soon as I shut those covers,

It ends there.

Even when I had moments of fleeting affection for the opposite gender, and even when I dated.

It was never anything deep on my path. (My exes will tell you)

Never.

Strange right?

My friends would always tell me It because I haven’t met someone I was head over heels for.

That statement in itself feels wrong.

I didn’t think I needed a stranger to come into my life and sweep me off my feet.

Oh how my view on that has changed significantly.

Before we get into that, please do me the honors of hitting the button below 👇

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I’m here to shamelessly announce that

I want to be loved silly,

I’m not a fan of physical touch but I want a man to be all up in my space.

Someone who loves and is very expressive about it.

I want to be loved the way Kaden loves Calla   (If you know, you know)

I want to be cared for in the way Hakkeran does for Sollel

My guy spent 3 lifetimes orchestrating a plan to free his lady. (If you know, you know)

I sometimes catch myself admiring the love that exists between two people.

The kind where you never seem to understand their inside jokes.

The kind where both parties are constantly thinking about their partners need (bonus points if the guy does this more).

But truly speaking,

I just want a love that’s unique to me

A love that’s as sweet as my name

Oyindamola: honey mixed with wealth

The kind of love that keeps you high on a Monday morning in Lagos traffic.🤭

That has your heart racing and the butterflies in your belly fluttering like they’re having a festival.

The kind that adds an extra kick to your steps when you realize it’s time to go home.

People can argue that these expectations are too high and very unrealistic.

This doesn’t rule out its existence or possibility.

If the chances of it happening are less than one percent best believe that I’d be part of that one percent.

You might be wondering what brought about this drastic change of heart.

Especially for a person like me,

Who isn’t a fan of PDA or physical touch

Who struggles to express her emotions and can’t take love confessions seriously 😂

Well,

My cousin (basically my sister )got traditionally married in December and let me tell you!!!!

I couldn’t believe my eyes.

Prior to the wedding, she had talked about her now husband fairly well

She would blush deeply and just casually say the usual, he’s kind and sweet. I knew for a fact that she wanted to say more but couldn’t find the right words for it. This made me curious.

We (cousin, her husband and myself) had to work closely over the phone to sort out some wedding arrangements

And I could tell off the bat that he was a very serious and meticulous man.

This made me even more curious, because I wanted to meet the person that managed to sweep my strong headed sister off her feet.

If I didn’t know anything about her at all, I know for a fact that we had identical views on love and all the things I mentioned earlier, she does too.

We don’t even hug ourselves often, unless something significant happens, because physical touch is not our thing 😂.

Fast forward to the week of the wedding,

I had taken time off from work so that I could enjoy that time with her.

When I met him in person, I understood why my cousin couldn’t maintain composure 😂. He was infact a serious person but whenever she came around, you could physically see all that seriousness wash away.

And watching their interactions, you could just tell that these two people were completely enamored by each other. He treated her like his little princess (as he should, not just because of their height difference 😂). Constantly making sure she was ok, not in the loud and obnoxious way, but in the subtle eye contact, the quick little back rubs and much more. Things that you wouldn’t see unless you were paying really close attention like I was.

My head was just swelling and I had a proud sister moment ❤️ (she’s older than I am).

The only way I can describe their love is “Mature and sweet”

I was so sober and content on her wedding day as I watched my sister enjoy her new reality.

I even cried!!!!😂

I didn’t think I would, but I did, I was so happy for her.

Best believe that I have been constantly teasing her ever since.

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Till the next post 😘

I wasn’t looking forward to it, nevertheless I put on my big girl pants and started preparing for work. I packed my journal in hopes that i would make some last minutes lifestyle changes.

Interestingly work was really calm and fun. Coincidentally I was working with most of my work friends which elevated everything by a 100%. We ordered food, snacks and some drinks. We all converged from various departments into one place.

The food was sweet and the gist was even sweeter. I came to realize that although I had been working there for a while, I was completely oblivious to most of the work drama. The love triangles were unbelievable 😂. All in all no one wanted the night to end.

It didn’t feel like we’re working at all.

It was a good way to kick start the year.

Now the curtains are about to be drawn as the year draws to an end. A new one is about to begin.

A perfect opportunity for a fresh start.

I took some time to evaluate myself and I was able to isolate my weaknesses. I’m working on it already, so that once the new year comes around i don’t get overwhelmed by all the lifestyle modifications and goals that i set for myself. I want to hit the ground running.

This is also part of understanding who I am.

I know that I get overwhelmed easily, So I need a system in place to help buffer and ease my transition.

One of the things that ticked me off this year, was the fact that I couldn’t get a good journal. I was scrolling on TikTok yesterday and I saw a post by Demilade. She struggled with the same issue. So she decided to created one on canva, print it out, then add a cover to it. It look so cute.

I drew inspiration from this and decided to make mine as well. I haven’t attached the cover to it yet. When I do I’ll try to post it here on Substack. Please be nice about it.

This just goes to show that there are absolutely no rules except the ones you make for yourself.

I’m scared and also excited for the things that will unfold in the new year.

This time around I won’t be working into the new year. I’m so excited that I’ll get to crossover into the new year in the presence of God.

Ó dàbò 👋

I’m 5ft3, 78kg and a UK size 12

Yes it’s the same story as always

I was insulted in school for being chubby

Whenever there was an heated argument and the other person had nothing left to say

They always resulted to body shaming me

You must think this started out in secondary school

Nope

It started as early as primary school

From family members making insensitive jokes about my weight, to me hitting puberty at the age of 10.

It was a lot

Please note that my nuclear family never participated in any of this jabs

They filled my ears with words of affirmation

And told me there was nothing broken in me

But I’ve always thought since they were closest to me, they were probably blind to my flaws.

So I took matters into my own hands

And I started taking only fruits to school in primary 3

I told my mom I didn’t want to eat anything else apart from fruits and vegetables.

But did I lose weight?

Nope 😂

I had body dysmorphia from a very young age

Always staring at my mirror and taking note of the slightest change

And after a few years I just let myself be.

Last year I decided I wanted to be fit

I wanted to become the best version of myself

I didn’t want to always look older than my age like I always do.

I set an unrealistic goal for myself

Hoping that people would appreciate the effort I put into myself

I wanted every guy that I walked past to stumble in awe of my transformation

Wow 😂😂😂

This is such a pick me behavior

And I didn’t realize this until I sat down to review my goals

Have I seen physical improvements ?

Yes

Do people pay attention ?

Yes

Is it enough?

No

if the motivation is wrong then the results will never be satisfactory

Don’t get me wrong

I’m doing this for myself

I want do better for myself

But it sure feels great when people look at you in admiration

It’s a constant battle these days

I spend long hours trying to decide what to wear whenever I want to leave the house

Because I want people to pay attention when I step into the room

This is so wrong on so many levels

So to combat my primitive desires to be seen

I decided to dress more modestly

Nothing too fitted or exposing or revealing

But it just feels like I’m beating myself down

Like I’m caging my inner child

What do I do when the inner child wants to be vain and naughty ?

This is the constant inner battle I face almost every day.

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@tobeugeh unfortunately you can’t outsource self love.

This post reminds me of a very sad time in my life. A time where I left my happiness in the hands of humans.

I consider myself to be a person who celebrates the success of others, friends included. I come from a big family where everything you do matters, no matter how small. Little wins are celebrated like a festival, whenever there was a program (birthdays, graduations, matriculations etc) my family always showed up in large numbers. I grew up seeing that and it became a part of me.

I go all out for my friends, I celebrate their wins, I show up and show out. I prioritize birthdays as well, ensuring that I find a way to gift them something they would love and appreciate. I’m happy doing that, even in tough times when they’re going through rough patches, I always make sure to be there for them in the capacity that they need me to, because that’s what friends do. I did this for years without genuinely expecting anything in return.

Until a few years ago, I suddenly realized that I had never celebrated my birthday with my friends, it was always a family thing for me. So I got really excited that year and thought to myself “let me plan a birthday brunch” .

The more I thought about it the more excited I got. A nice restaurant, surrounded by my friends, good food and vibes. What could possibly ruin such a beautiful day?

I created a group chat so that it’d be easy to share more info about the outing. It seemed all well and good, slowly the day rolled by. A week to the day (my birthday), one by one I started to get rain check messages, it happened back to back until it was just 3 people left who could attend.

The way it happened felt planned, because how can 80% of the invited people all have a reason to cancel.

I was so distraught after that, I cancelled the whole thing and cried more than I’d like to admit. I felt so sad, no matter how much I tried to rationalize the situation it made no sense. Even on my birthday none of the people who canceled personally reached out to check on me.

Before you judge me and say they might not known that I was upset. I literally cancelled the entire thing i had spent weeks planning and dissolved the group chat. I believe that a concerned friend would know something was up.

Life had taught me an important lesson in a hard way. Choose who you call your friends wisely. It was a hard pill to swallow, considering the fact that I had known these people for over 6 years.

Whenever I look back at the situation, I laugh because looking at the friends I have today I’m surprised I settled for less. There are people who come in to your life to drain you and it’s important to cut off such people before they leave you dry.

I’ve learnt to prioritize myself, love myself more, because unfortunately self love can not be outsourced

When I pray these days I thank God for my friends, they are really a blessing in disguise, good friends are hard to come by.

I think it’s a good day to appreciate your friends 🥳😊

Thank you for reading ❤️

This is very random, but I think every reader should answer these questions:

~ Why do you love to read?

~ How did you get into reading?

~ What do you picture when there are no pictures in the book?

~ How do you narrate a book like it’s a movie (optional)

~ How are you able to sit with a book in hand for hours non stop ?

I know no one asked, but here are my answers to these questions 👇

Why do you love to read?

Reading, for me, is like a ticket to an imaginary world where anything is possible. When watching a movie, you’re limited to what you see. Reading, on the other hand, gives you freedom, you’re only limited by the extent of your imagination, and that in itself is limitless.

How did you get into reading?

Curiosity 😂

I would stare at big books and wonder, what kind of stories are hidden within these pages? My mother loved reading novels, while my father, on the other hand, read strictly for academic purposes. So I guess reading wasn’t really an option, it was a family habit.

You can probably imagine the wide range of books we had in our closets. When my siblings and I were younger, our parents would punish us whenever we were naughty by picking out huge, complicated literature books for us to read 😂🤧. We were expected to read a chapter and summarize it.

It was terrible for me at first, mainly because I didn’t understand much of the grammar (especially the old English). But over time, I got the hang of it, especially after becoming best friends with my dictionary. So, I’d say my love for reading started with curiosity, but it was greatly influenced by my parents.

What do you picture when there are no pictures in the book?

Sometimes, when I’m chatting with someone who doesn’t read, their biggest question is, “How do you even picture what you’re reading?”

The answer to that is a no-brainer. Questions like that sometimes make me wonder whether imagination is real, a skill, or even a gift bestowed upon readers. (Just jokes 😅)

I usually explain it this way: I tell them to think of something specific, like a red ball. Then I ask, “How did you come up with that image in your mind?” Exactly.

It’s all about imagination. The mind is a muscle and reading is one of the best ways to strengthen it.

How do you narrate a book like it’s a movie?

This question cracks me up every time. Whenever I read an amazing book, I love telling people about it. Midway through my narration, my friends often stop and ask, “Wait, this is a book?”

When I ask what made them say that, they usually respond, “You’re narrating it like you saw everything unfold.” 😂

Well, technically, I did see it unfold 😉

Reading exposes you to so many angles you might never experience in real life. Sometimes, you’re thrown into the first-person point of view, you understand the character’s reasoning and thought process. Other times, you’re reading from a third-person perspective, where you’re merely a spectator, watching everything play out. It’s a wonderful adventure.

How are you able to sit with a book in hand for hours non-stop?

Honestly, this happens unintentionally 😂. In my defense, it’s usually out of concern for the characters 😌. I just need to know what happens next! No one warned me that the drama would take hours of reading to unfold 😂.

Thank you for reading,

❤️ & ✨

Yes, I was very self conscious. I looked at myself through the eyes of others, watching their facial expressions, body language and giving meaning to every single thing. I would have bursts of happiness whenever my friends gave me a compliment or did something that made me feel like my friendship with them was worthwhile. But those happy moments were transient. At the end of each day, I would play out the day’s event and score myself with an imaginary checklist. All the while the real girl was bleeding inside and slowly losing herself.

Looking inwards over the years, I’ve come to realize that people come and go, but I would always have myself. I couldn’t give what i didn’t have. I had to take a moment to look inwards, figure out what I missing and trying to find out there.

Love is something you can only give when you have. Which brings me to the bone of contention. Is self love self improvement or self preservation?

If indeed I love myself, then I should be willing to admit that I am flawed and work needs to be done. I need to work on myself in order to become the best version of myself. This is self improvement.

Self improvement is the process of actively working to develop your knowledge, skills, character, habits or overall wellbeing in order to become a better version of yourself.

But when does it end ? After years and year of self improvement, when I look back would I be able to recognize myself? Would I be able to decipher between what I truly need to work on or will I swept away by the current trends.

This has led me to think that the reality of self love is actually self preservation. If I truly loved myself then the answer is to protect that little girl within, because in the pursuit of self improvement I might end up in that rabbit hole I was trying to get away from, trying to constantly better myself and then end up looking for unspoken approval in others. Because at the end of the day we want people to notice that we truly have become better. We end up losing ourselves in the search to become better.

Loving myself means that I recognize that I am perfectly imperfect. Embracing my uniqueness and being happy with myself. In a world where trends come and go, where things that we’re considered cringe could become an internet sensation in a twinkle of an eye, it is important to stay grounded and be true to myself.

But how can I say I love myself if I am not willing to quite those habits that are detrimental to the little girl inside. In preserving myself I must also recognize that there are certain things I need to do.

I view my true self as a flower within that needs to be nurtured daily. Flowers don’t blossom without work, I need to make sure that I’m constantly taking steps to ensure the flower grows and blossoms. That is what I call self improvement.

But where do we draw the line?