Why I Write (and Keep Writing)
The Origin Story: From Bedtime Tales to Big Ideas
Let me paint you a picture: a much younger me, sitting cross-legged on the cool tiled floor of my parents’ Abuja home, surrounded by my siblings and cousins. By “surrounded,” I mean trapped—once I started a story, no one could leave until I finished. I told tales of warrior queens, secret societies, and star-crossed lovers that needed a happily-ever-after but weren’t sure how to get there. And the endings? Often stolen from whatever Nollywood movie I’d watched the night before.
Back then, storytelling was my superpower—it was how I created worlds when the real one felt too small or predictable. Fast forward to adulthood, that little girl finding magic in her own words has grown into a woman who writes for a living. But here’s the secret: it’s not just about making characters kiss or orchestrating dramatic breakups. Writing has become my rebel act against forgetting, against losing the beauty of connection in a world moving at breakneck speed.
So, why do I write? Because it’s how I answer life’s big and small questions. Like, "What makes love worth the effort?" And, “Can you really forgive someone for eating the last jollof in the pot?”
Writing as a Date With Myself
If writing were a person, it would be that first date you’re inexplicably nervous about. Not because they’re intimidating—but because you know the connection is about to get real. Writing forces me to sit with myself, examine my thoughts, and—brace for it—be vulnerable.
Remember that scene from Fleabag where the priest says, “It’s not that bad, it’s just you and your thoughts”? Yeah, it’s that, except on paper. Unlike a frantic WhatsApp rant to your best friend or a perfectly curated social media post, writing doesn’t let you hide. It’s just you, your messy feelings, and hopefully, a cup of tea and a playlist to match the mood.
Writing has become a tool of self-discovery. Just as a couple deepens their intimacy by seeing each other at their best and worst, I’ve learned to embrace my humanity—the flaws, the humor, the resilience—through my words.
Stories Are How We Heal
I’ll let you in on something. Back when I worked with NGOs across Africa, sitting in circles with women from Dakar to Kumasi, I noticed a pattern. Each woman had a story. A raw, unfiltered one. Stories of heartbreak, survival, family, and laughter that, once told, formed the threads of healing.
One woman in Senegal told me about raising five children on her own after her husband passed. She said it wasn’t the food aid or NGO workshops that gave her hope; it was sharing her story with other women who looked her in the eye and said, “I understand.”
In a world obsessed with fast solutions, storytelling slows us down, reminding us we’re not as alone as we think. I write because it’s my way of passing on a flashlight. Someone out there might be stumbling through the darkness of a breakup, self-doubt, or fear, and my stories might just remind them there’s light ahead.
Humor: The Secret Sauce
Okay, but not all writing has to be serious, right? I mean, let’s be honest, life is hilariously ridiculous most of the time. Nigerian parties alone are an anthropological goldmine: the aunties lining up to comment on your single status, the cousin who somehow snags three take-home plates of food before the party is halfway done, the DJ slipping from afrobeats to Celine Dion at 2 a.m.
Writing lets me process this beautiful chaos. I’ll admit it—I love finding the humor in big emotions. Like when I wrote about a couple arguing over whether okra soup was better than egusi, only to realize the fight wasn’t about soup at all; it was about control. Relationships, like life, are layered. Writing allows me to peel back the layers while having a laugh at the absurdity along the way.
The Fight Against Perfectionism
Here’s an unexpected love letter: Writing taught me to embrace imperfection. The same way no date is perfect (even Idris Elba probably chews too loud sometimes), no draft is flawless either.
I used to agonize over my first sentences, rewriting them endlessly until they sounded like Maya Angelou had blessed them herself. But I’ve learned that great writing happens in the messy middle—the paragraphs I drafted at 1 a.m. with half-closed eyes, the stories I initially thought were too boring to share. Writing, much like love, is a practice in patience and faith.
To those who think they can’t write because they’re “not good enough,” let me just say: Aren’t we all a little shabby, a little unsure, and sometimes terrible at expressing ourselves? Write anyway! The most relatable pieces come from those imperfect places.
What Keeps Me Coming Back
No matter how many times I’ve written about love and connection, the topic never gets old. Why? Because relationships evolve, people evolve, and let’s be real—dating will always fuel drama worth recapping (ever had someone ghost you but still casually like your Instagram selfies? The audacity).
But beyond the click-worthy stories, what keeps me in love with writing is this profound truth: it’s the ultimate conversation starter. Whether I’m reflecting on balance in a long-term relationship or unpacking the unspoken power of side-eye during a date, writing sparks dialogue. It bridges the gaps between us—gaps made wider by technology, cultural divides, or just plain human awkwardness.
I write because even in the silences between sentences, something speaks.
Your Story Matters
If there’s one thing I’ve learned from both writing and life, it’s this: All stories matter. From the breezy flings to the slow-burning loves; from heartbreak that cracks you open to the peaceful steadiness of someone who stays—not a single experience is too small, too awkward, or too messy to tell.
So, yes, I write, and will keep writing. For the girl in Abuja who told bedtime stories to her cousins, for the women in those NGO circles, and for you—the reader scrolling through this piece in search of something that hits home.
Your story is waiting to be told, and trust me, the world is better when you share it. Whether it’s through words, art, or simply opening your heart to someone new, don’t hold it in.
Because, as I’ve learned, when you let your story out, it has the power to heal, delight, and—most importantly—connect. And isn’t that why we’re here in the first place?
