The Weight of “Anything”
It’s interesting how our dreams shift as our circumstances change.
Back in 2019, I set a goal to own at least an apartment by 2023. I began financially preparing for it, imagining it as proof of my hard work over the previous years. But by 2022, I realised I hadn’t lived enough to tie myself to a mortgage in one place so soon. Why not live across countries and continents for a few years before putting down roots? It was a wishful thought I didn’t take too seriously.
Little did I know the universe would lean into that dream. Very recently, I’ve had the privilege of moving country and continent again. And while this feels like a dream, I’ll admit: I dislike the pre-settlement phase. I put immense pressure on myself to get everything in order within a tight timeline. Yet I still haven’t learned that making a house a home takes more than furniture and toiletries, it takes time, patience, and more than I usually allow.
In the midst of this latest move, I found myself thinking about my village, and once again on the receiving end of a well-worn phrase: “I’m here if you need anything.”
I know it comes from a good place (and truthfully, it’s something I’ve said to others many times). But I can’t help wondering: is it simply an obligatory expression of support, or is it meant to be taken literally? How far can “anything” really stretch before it becomes too much for the one offering?
The truth many of us don’t name is that the promise of “anything” sounds wide open, but in practice, it rarely is. There’s usually an invisible line around what’s “reasonable” to ask: nothing too heavy, nothing too frequent, nothing that tips the balance. And so, instead of comfort, the offer can breed hesitation.
If you’re anything like me, you know the weight of perception: Am I asking for too much? Will this make me seem needy? These questions often silence the very needs we hoped to voice.
“Perhaps the real gift isn’t in offering anything, but in offering something specific, simple, and within our capacity.”
What’s missing, I believe, is specificity. The kind of support that sounds like:
“Can I bring dinner this week?”
“I’m free Saturday, want me to take the kids for an hour?”
“I’ll come by to help unpack boxes.”
These are concrete, clear, and doable. They tell the other person exactly what’s on the table, removing the second-guessing that so often blocks connection.
You might ask: But how do I know what someone needs without them telling me? A valid question. Yet isn’t it better to offer what you can - say, an hour a day - and let the person choose how that hour is spent, rather than dangle “anything” that might go beyond your capacity?
Because here’s the reality: if I ask for “anything” and hear, “I’m sorry, I can’t help with that,” chances are I won’t ask again - not now, not later. And so the well-meaning blanket offer becomes an empty one.
In seasons of change - whether moving countries, welcoming a child, or navigating a new chapter - it’s not the wide-open promise that matters most. It’s the small, clear gestures, offered within our capacity, that help us feel seen and supported.
Have you found yourself in this situation, torn between the help you need and how much you can ask for? Or have you been on the other end, offering a blank-cheque kind of support because you didn’t know what was needed, or trusted the other person to “be reasonable”? I’d love to hear your thoughts, feel free to share in the comments below.
A Miracle in the Ordinary
Have you ever considered that we might not all be meant to be exceptional? It’s a tough thought to entertain, especially if you’ve spent your life chasing excellence.
And what if we’re not meant to be multi-talented either? What if you have just one gift, something you're still unsure about or maybe only average at?
For many, being “average” feels like settling. For others, it’s a label they’re constantly trying to outrun.
Society reassures us that being average is just temporary, that our moment of brilliance is still ahead. But what if that’s not true? What if you’re simply average at most things - and that’s not a flaw, but a reality? Could you make peace with that?
What if, instead of endlessly striving for greatness, you allowed yourself to find joy in your enoughness?
Not out of complacency, but as an intentional release, from the pressure to do more, be more, prove more. What if fulfilment lives in the simple, everyday rhythms of life?
From my work in talent management, I’ve seen this play out in real time. The most resilient and successful organisations aren’t powered solely by “A-players” or standout stars. They thrive on a blend - people who show up consistently, bring creativity, and pursue progress with quiet resolve.
“B-stars,” as we sometimes call them, are the steady heartbeat of any great system.
This isn’t about giving up on growth or ambition. It’s about embracing who you are while still evolving.
It’s understanding that you may never spark a global movement or revolutionize an industry - and still, your life matters deeply.
Recently, during a devotional, I was reminded that it’s not how many talents we have that counts, it’s how we use the one we’ve been given.
If you believe in God like I do, here’s a perspective to hold onto: we are already a miracle to Him.
A miracle, to the Creator of the universe. Can you believe that?
“Not all gifts look extraordinary, but they are still divine.”
There’s beauty in a life filled with quiet joys:
A stable job that covers the bills.
A home just the right size for your family.
The sacred rhythm of motherhood.
A morning walk.
A deep conversation.
Peace.
In our hyperconnected world, this simplicity often feels invisible, overshadowed by curated ambition and constant motion.
I’m also reminded of Me Before You, where Louisa (played by Emilia Clarke) finds delight in life’s smallest moments - a quirky outfit, a spontaneous laugh, a walk through town.
It’s a beautiful reminder: joy isn’t always loud. Sometimes, it’s tucked into the stillness between doing and becoming.
And yet, the internet makes choosing this path difficult. Comparison is constant. Just when you feel at peace, a scroll through social media whispers:
"You should be doing more."
Mindfulness Prompt: Gratitude
But today, I invite you to pause.
What would it feel like to stop striving… and simply be?
Dear Daddys
“Anyone can be a father, but it takes someone special to be a dad.”
I’ve read and heard people say, “When choosing a husband, make sure he’s someone you’d want to be the father of your kids.”
I’d add this: you need to have experienced what having a great dad feels like to even know what to look for. And even then, you can't really know what kind of father someone will be, until they become one.
I’m a daddy’s girl in every sense of the word. My mum says it’s only by God’s grace that I didn’t grow up spoilt. I’d say it’s also by God’s grace that I never felt entitled to that love or care. Maybe seeing my older siblings get disciplined shaped me. Or maybe watching my dad work so hard to provide for us removed any sense of pride I could have had. I honestly can’t tell you for sure.
But one thing was true: there was love at home.
And it wasn’t just my dad who showed me what it means for a man to show up.
My brothers crawled so I could walk.
Whether it was learning from their mistakes or watching them show up for me time and again, I always knew what it meant to be supported.
I remember once, as a teenager, feeling extremely weak, my oldest brother carried me on his back to the nearest clinic. I remember falling asleep on the couch and waking up in bed, countless times. My immediate older brother was the first to talk to me about boys, he had open conversations with me, even when all I did was listen. He gave me an open cheque for my 19th birthday and even guided me on how best to invest my savings.
With the men I grew up with, it was never about having a lot, it was always about showing up. And boy, did they show up a lot.
So when it came to choosing a partner, I didn’t immediately think about what kind of father he’d be, that wasn’t top of mind.
But it was in the little things.
Like driving hours in traffic just to drop me off on a date, even though his own place was minutes away from the venue.
It was the way he researched the things I love so he could get them just right, without needing to ask.
It was in the way he spoke affirming words into me, always reminding me that I’m exactly where I need to be.
It was the way family gave him purpose.
Or how he’d make light of my poor decisions so I’d know it’s okay to mess up, as long as I learn.
I remember feeling scared to get married. But I trusted his actions more than my fears.
When parenthood came, the early days we spent together showed me how deeply he would show up.
And when I felt like I was drowning in the weight of motherhood, all I needed to do was speak, and just like that, I found my way back to shore.
Parenthood isn’t perfect. We don’t always get it right. Heck, it’s rarely easy.
But having someone who shows up when it matters? That makes all the difference.
I’m grateful for the men in my life,
For the one I’m raising,
And for the generations of men to come, those who will continue to show up when needed.
You are seen.
You are loved.
You are appreciated.
As we honour the men who’ve shown up for us - fathers, brothers, partners, mentors - here’s a gentle prompt to continue the gratitude.
Whether it’s a father figure, a friend who stepped in, or someone who supported you in silence, this week, let’s say thank you with intention.
Motherhood, In All Its Forms
“There’s no perfect way to mother. Only your way.”
A special midweek post in honour of Mother's Day
It was the American and Canadian celebration of Mother’s Day this past weekend. Living across continents, I didn’t realise until my best girl from Canada messaged me. But I’m choosing to acknowledge it now, because motherhood deserves more than a date, it deserves pause, recognition, and reflection.
My Story of Mothering
I’m the last of four children, so the only version of motherhood I could truly understand, until recently, was through the lens of being mothered. And what a journey it’s been, now that I’m experiencing it myself.
The first four months of my pregnancy were tough. But my postpartum memories? They're laced with gratitude. Since becoming a mother, I’ve come to appreciate my own mum so much more.
I remember praying fervently that her visa would be approved so she could be by my side, and thankfully, it was. She became my extra support, my strength, my soldier. I can still hear her insisting on keeping the volume up on the fetal monitor after I received the epidural (bless the inventor!). She said she needed to hear my baby’s heartbeat, it gave her peace. When my OB finally said it was time to push, before things took an interesting turn, he told her, in Yoruba, “Grandma, move to the back of the room and continue your prayers there.” I remember laughing in that moment. I was exhausted but comforted by her presence. After my son was born, she kept walking out to ask the OB questions. I’m sure he didn’t want to see her coming again, but I was relieved that she cared enough to ask.
Remembering Other Mothers
I also remember my sister stepping up when our mum couldn’t. On my 13th birthday, with my mum away in Brazil and none of the men in the house batting an eye, my sister made the best fried rice I’ve ever had. At the time, my spoiled self still wrote in my diary that it was the worst birthday because my dad didn’t take me out like he promised. It’s funny now, thinking back on how entitled I felt - that’s such a kid thing, isn’t it?
But those memories, of being cared for in different ways by the women around me, mean everything.
To Every Version of Motherhood
So this is to you.
To the woman who had to grow up fast to care for her younger siblings.
To the “favourite aunty” who never misses a birthday or baby shower.
To the mentor guiding younger women through life with grace.
To the one waiting, quietly, while weathering her own storm.
To the members of the sandwich generation, parenting their children while also caring for their aging parents.
To the nannies and caregivers who love and care for others’ children like their own, while often leaving their own in the care of others.
I hope this past weekend gave you a moment to celebrate yourself, or earlier in the year if you go by the British calendar. And even if no one else acknowledged you, I see you.
There’s no single way to mother.
We’re all just doing our best to make it to the next day, sometimes joyfully, sometimes barely.
Don’t let the know-it-alls of this age convince you that you’re not doing enough or that you’re doing it “wrong.”
You are purposeful.
You are valuable.
You are doing just fine.
Who mothered you in an unexpected way? Or maybe you’ve mothered others without even realising it. I’d love to hear your story, share in the comments below.
Before you go, here’s a moment of rest. A snippet from my RELAXATION card, one of the mindfulness tools I’ve been creating with Be Lifestyl.
Take a moment. Breathe. You deserve that too.
Progress, According to You
Life comes with an unspoken script.
You grow up focusing on school and picking up a skill. You pursue further education that catapults you into your first job, marking the beginning of adulthood. And if you're from a culture like mine, where African traditions shape expectations, then marriage should follow, then kids, and then, well… life as it should be.
Or so I thought.
Despite how “open-minded” our world claims to be, many of us are still silently measured by how well we fit this mold. Deviate from it, and you're seen as lost, rebellious, or somehow less accomplished.
I never actively chose to follow this script, but my path conveniently aligned with it, until it didn’t.
Getting through my PhD was the most intellectually gruelling journey I’ve faced. Halfway through, I promised myself I’d take a break if I made it to the end. I didn’t overthink the implications of being jobless; I just knew I’d earned rest. Yet, when I defended my thesis early into motherhood , that planned professional pause - once a gift to myself - suddenly felt like a stain.
Dr. Mommy wasn’t enough.
To some, it was as if my potential evaporated because I chose stillness and care. And the worst part? I started to believe them.
Recently, still on break, I shared some joyful news with people I considered close. I had expected warmth, maybe even celebration, but instead, I was met with passive concern and subtle disapproval. It stung. One person openly questioned my decision-making. Another said little, but their energy said enough.
That moment forced me to ask:
Was I sharing for connection, or for approval?
And when approval doesn’t come, what does that say about the relationship?
Mark Manson writes in The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fck*:
“You can’t be an important and life-changing presence for some people without also being a joke and an embarrassment to others”
That quote hit me deeply. Because even when we walk with good intentions, someone will misunderstand. Someone will project. And if we’re not careful, we’ll start carrying their doubts as if they’re our truth.
But here’s what I know now:
My life’s journey - my progress - is mine.
I’d rather walk an “unconventional” path than shrink into a version of life shaped by someone else’s fears.
Lately, I’ve started choosing peace over performance. I no longer feel the urge to share everything right away, especially not for validation. Funny how we understand the delay in sharing sad news, yet feel entitled to immediate access to someone’s joy.
No one has the right, or the audacity, to define your rhythm, your story, or your success.
So if my recent decisions feel disruptive to some, good. Because I’m not here to follow a broken order, I’m here to break it.
And if you’re also ready to choose you, to define progress on your terms, and to live a life that honours your peace,
then come along - because it’s about to get beautifully catastrophic.
Have you ever held back your joy because of how it might be received?
Share your thoughts in the comments, I’d love to hear your experience.
A New Chapter
It all begins with an idea.
Yaaay, it’s my birthday!
I’ve not always been one to anticipate birthdays, but turning 33 feels different, it’s brought with it a fresh perspective on living in the present and embracing life fully.
So, why this blog? And why now?
I’ve ruminated on this idea for years, driven by my deep love for writing. Growing up, I wrote in so many notebooks - stories, reflections, random thoughts - that would’ve made for really good blog posts. But I was scared. Scared to share pieces of myself with the world. Scared of being judged for my decisions. Scared of being seen.
In 2021, during a slower phase of my PhD, I gave this idea another shot. But life, as it does, got in the way - again.
Then came the last year: an unplanned career sabbatical after completing my PhD, the birth of my son, and a move to the second country I’ve called home since leaving Nigeria. It was a whirlwind, but somewhere in the stillness, I found moments of reflection, creativity, and now, execution.
I wouldn’t have imagined that the quiet would birth something I’m both terrified and excited to share.
“There’s no perfect time to begin, just the courage to begin from where you are.”
The birth of Be Lifestyl
The idea of Be Lifestyl first came to me on a sunny day in my tiny studio apartment in Birmingham, England. It was a symbol of my growth through the PhD journey, the solitude and self-discovery of living alone, and the highs and lows of figuring out adulthood. “Be” felt like the perfect word, it captured the essence of blooming, evolving, and simply being.
Strangely, the heart of BE still rings true today. But the past year has shown me that in every stage of life, we need things that help us stay grounded: tools, practices, spaces.
This blog is me choosing to start from where I am, not where I “should” be. It’s me accepting that there’s no perfect time.
Because life will always throw us something. A curveball. A delay. A detour. And in chasing the next thing, we often forget how far we’ve come, and how beautiful becoming really is.
This is an invitation
I’m building Be Lifestyl not just as a brand, but as a philosophy and platform; a place for grounded, honest, and intentional living.
Let’s be real, life is wild. Economic shifts, digital overload, and the pressure to outdo previous generations is exhausting. And yet, we keep going.
If you’re feeling the weight of it all, I hope this space becomes a soft landing. A reminder that you’re not walking alone.
This isn’t about glorifying mediocrity, it’s about celebrating the entire journey: the wins, the detours, the stillness, and the becoming.
Can you imagine a world where everything happened exactly as planned? How boring would that be?
What’s ahead
Over time, I’ll share resources, starting with snippets from my mindfulness cards that have helped me stay centered in the midst of change.
So, if you’re in a season of change, stillness, growth, or rediscovery; welcome.
Let’s walk this path together, one mindful step at a time.
Tools that help me stay grounded - coming soon to Be Lifestyl.
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