The Challenge I Didn’t Think I’d Survive

“Girl, you’re going to cry but you will not die.”

This, my cousin Thelma’s favorite phrase, echoed in my head one rainy afternoon in London as I stared at my reflection, mascara smeared, heart shattered, pride bruised. The details of "what he did" aren’t important—it’s the aftermath that shook me to my bones. You know, that “I am Beyoncé with a twist of Serena Williams energy” confidence you build up over the years? Yeah, one poorly written breakup text and an Instagram story of him with someone new can vaporize it just like that. Poof.

What surprised me wasn’t just the heartbreak—it was how much of myself I’d forgotten in the process of loving someone else. Sound dramatic? Sure—but tell that to the girl who caught herself googling, “Can humans die of a broken heart?” (Spoiler: You can’t, but it sure feels like it.)

Let me take you through the storm that changed me—and the sunshine that finally came after.

When It Hits You: The “Why Me?” Phase

First, let’s talk about that dreadful stage of heartbreak—the early days. Nothing prepares you for the sheer force of grief that sneaks up while you’re innocently trying to butter toast. One minute, I was humming Burna Boy’s “On The Low,” and the next, I was sobbing into my tea.

The worst part? The questions. “Why didn’t it work?” “What could I have done differently?” “Does his new girl really wake up with skin that glows like that?” This is the phase where your sense of worth becomes as fragile as a plantain chip.

Here’s what I didn’t know then: What I was feeling wasn’t just about him. It was about me. About all the ways I’d let myself shrink in that relationship. And let me tell you—realizing this isn’t cute, like one of those empowerment montages in a Nollywood rom-com. It’s messy. Loud. Ugly cry sessions under the blanket messy. But it’s also necessary.

Survival Tip #1: Don’t make any major life choices in this phase.
No, you don’t need red bangs or a spontaneous flight to South Africa right now. You need time with yourself—and maybe your loudest girlfriend—before the healing can begin.

The “All His Fault” Campaign

Ah, the blame stage. It’s like setting up shop in the courtroom of your mind, where every action he ever took turns into an exhibit labeled “Proof of Terribleness.”

I’ll confess: This phase made me funny, though. I kept group chats alive with my over-the-top claims about how his love of pineapple pizza was a clear red flag I should’ve taken seriously. (Honestly, who does that?) My friends nodded like saints while letting me vent, bless them.

But here’s the deal—stay too long in this mind-space, and you risk more than bitterness. You risk forgetting the bigger truth: healing isn’t about him, it’s about you.

Survival Tip #2: Roast, but don’t burn.
Crack the jokes, but keep it balanced. Vent what you need to, but remember: this stage doesn’t hold the answers—it just clears emotional debris.

Rebuilding Isn’t Glamorous—But It’s Worth It

Somewhere between the “sob and scroll” nights and unwashed hair days, I started rediscovering old pieces of myself—pieces I hadn’t realized were missing.

In Abuja, Saturday mornings meant cooking with my mum. To her, cooking Egusi soup wasn’t just about food; it was spiritual—a way of grounding yourself. I hadn’t made Egusi in years, but one cold London day, I found myself scouring Brixton Market for ingredients. The rhythm of pounding yam brought me back to myself. It reminded me of who I was before anyone’s son came along with their “Good morning, dear” text messages.

Rediscovery, friends, is less about “hot girl summer” and more about learning how to like yourself again. I started journaling, letting the words spill like palm wine, bitter and sweet all at once. I reached out to old friends. I stopped stalking his Instagram (okay, not right away, but eventually).

Survival Tip #3: Make time for your soul's joy.
For me, it was cooking and writing. For you? Maybe it’s running, dancing, or painting badly to Afrobeats. Find what fills you up, and pour yourself into it.

The Glow-Up Isn’t Just External

If anyone tells you healing isn’t a glow-up, they’re lying. But I’m not talking about perfect skin and a snatched waist. I’m talking about the inner glow-up—the kind that happens when you show yourself the love you kept hoping someone else would.

At the height of my heartache, I made a list. Not of his faults (been there, done that), but of all the ways I wanted to show up for myself.

  • Be kinder in self-talk.
  • Speak up when I need something.
  • Stop settling for bare minimum anything.

These promises became my iya mi's—my inner aunties, reminding me to choose myself over and over. They stayed with me when I finally got back out there, flirting with a cute guy at a literature event in Shoreditch. (Yes, flirting over books is a thing. And yes, you should try it.)

Survival Tip #4: Write your iya mi's and hold yourself to them.
Let your list be the compass guiding your next chapter. Relationships may come and go, but self-worth? That’s forever.

Lessons from the Edge

Here’s the truth I wish I’d known at the start of heartbreak: It’s not about whether someone broke your heart—it’s about how you rebuild after it.

That challenge I didn’t think I’d survive became the push I didn’t know I needed. I stopped asking why it didn’t work out, and I started asking what that relationship taught me. It turns out—quite a lot. I learned what I need, what I value, and what my boundaries are. I learned how to love like a grown woman, with roots dug deep into her own soil.

Did I cry? Yes. Listen to Tiwa Savage’s “Somebody’s Son” on repeat for a month? Absolutely. (If Tiwa says somebody’s son will find me one day, who am I to argue?) But darling, I survived. And more than that—I thrived. So will you.

Remember:
The messy moments don’t define you. How you show up for yourself does. If you’re crying into your Egusi soup right now, take heart. One day, you’ll sit at the table, full of laughter and light, and think back on this time—not with sadness, but with gratitude for the woman (or man) it helped you become.

And when that day comes? You’ll say the words I never thought I’d say: “Thank goodness for what I couldn’t survive—because I did.”