Growing up in Abuja, I was unstoppable—well, almost. I could debate like Chimamanda at full throttle, solve maths problems faster than a WhatsApp group admin resetting its rules, and I made peer pressure look like something other people dealt with on Nollywood screens. But there was one thing, one sneaky predator that followed me through every major move. My kryptonite? Confrontation.

I wasn’t one of those loud-at-family-weddings people. No way. If someone skipped me in line at Shoprite, I’d swallow my anger like it was puff-puff grease. If a waiter brought me chicken when I’d ordered fish, I’d call it a "blessing in disguise.” This carried on well into adulthood, where the stakes got higher in friendships, work relationships, and—of course—love. Until, thankfully, I had my breakthrough. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

The Silent Acquiescer: Why I Let Confrontation Scare Me

I blame two things for my fear of confrontation—my people-pleasing tendencies and growing up surrounded by walls of politeness. In Nigeria, there's a sharp knife-edge of respect in how disagreements land. One wrong-angled tone could be misconstrued as pride. But honestly? Half of this fear was internal. I didn’t want to disappoint people. I didn't want to hear their criticisms, or worse, risk rejection in those moments when I needed to stand up for myself. I told myself it wasn’t a big deal. “It's fine, Harriet,” I’d whisper. “No point sweating tiny misunderstandings.”

Except... they weren’t always tiny.

This fear bled into my relationships. While working in Lagos after university, I dated a guy who loved to brag—how his Miami trip gave him insights into “real hustle” or how his “cousin at the UN” could pull strings for us (still waiting on those strings, by the way). I stayed silent through half-shaded comments about “my serious face” or how I was “too passionate about development work to ever have a soft life.” Deep inside, I wanted to flip the table and educate him on the Nkali principle Adichie talked about—how power and story shape each other. But instead, I smiled like I was auditioning for Misunderstood Girlfriend of the Year. I wanted to preserve the “peace” he often referred to when my silence served his convenience.

The Breaking Point: When Silence Outweighed the Fear

Like all proverbial breaking points, mine came unexpectedly and in the most mundane way. I was grabbing lunch in London during my master’s program—one of those micro chain places with overpriced poke bowls that force you into tiny seating arrangements with total strangers. As I squished myself into a corner, a loud man had the bright idea to use my backpack as secondary seating support. Dude didn’t ask; he didn’t even flinch. He just looked back at me, made brief eye contact, and continued his conversation.

My usual self would have tried shrinking into the corner to preserve harmony, but this time? A switch flipped. I straightened my back, let out a quick “Excuse me!” paired with the right amount of British over-politeness, and added, “My bag’s not your furniture.” I braced myself for his snarky response. But instead—imagine drums rolling in Afrobeat form—he moved it without a word.

No fire rained from the heavens. The ground didn’t break open. People didn’t turn and laugh. Potential Drama Level? Negative three.

That tiny victory unlocked something in me. I wasn’t asking for too much; all I did was point out reality. And if pointing reality out offended someone, then… that was okay, too.

Love, Boundaries, and the Fear of Being “Too Much”

After that day, I practiced voicing my concerns everywhere, especially in personal relationships. Confronting others became, well, less terrifying. Yes, my voice still wavers sometimes—it sounds shaky, like Tiwa Savage on the verge of a power ballad—but it gets the job done.

A few years later, I found myself in another tricky relationship. Let’s call this one my Great Communication Test. We were good together in many ways—he adored my enthusiasm for community work and even jokingly called me “Madam Impact.” But the deeper we went, the more I realized he had a tendency to deflect rather than confront our issues. If I asked for clarity on plans or pointed out patterns that didn’t sit right with me, he’d sigh loudly and say, “Why must everything be so serious?”

The old me would’ve been crushed, folding like paper. But not this time. I calmly told him, “If addressing important things is too serious for you, we’re not sitting on the same side of this table.” I meant it. And even though we ended things shortly after, I left with my self-respect intact, a walking testament to Beyoncé's “Me, Myself, and I.”

How I Conquered My Fear (and How You Can, Too)

Getting over my fear of confrontation wasn’t a one-time event; it was—and still is—a process. But for anyone else struggling, here’s how you can start:

  • Remind Yourself About the Stakes: Stay quiet because you fear offending someone, and you risk offending yourself. It’s like fighting to keep a sinking raft afloat—who’s going to save you if you’re not even paddling? Prioritize your peace.

  • Start Small: Practice addressing minor inconveniences first. The bus driver skipped your stop? Politely ask why. Getting charged extra for a latte extra you didn’t want? Mention it. Confidence builds in those smaller moments.

  • Script It Out: If you’re worried about fumbling your words, come armed with a mental script. Stick to the magic trifecta: fact, feeling, and fix. (“I noticed X, it makes me feel Y, I’d appreciate if we could Z instead.” Translation: Look at you, ready to win Oscars in composure!)

  • Embrace ‘No’: Not just when you're saying it, but when you hear it, too. Sometimes, people won’t budge, no matter how gently you present your case. Just remind yourself: “No” isn’t the end of the world; it’s good information.

  • Celebrate Your Wins: Did you speak up when you’d typically stay silent? Clap for yourself—even if the outcome wasn’t perfect. Courage comes in doses, not all at once.

Conclusion: The Freedom of Owning Your Voice

The girl I used to be would hardly recognize the woman I am now. I speak up more confidently in relationships, advocate fiercely in professional spaces, and even call out minor vendor slip-ups on Jumia orders like I just earned an assertiveness badge. Is it always easy? No. Do I still feel nervous sometimes? Of course. But you know what? That’s okay. Progress was never meant to be perfect.

I’ve learned that confrontation isn’t synonymous with aggression—it’s a form of self-love. Every time I voice my truth, I’m reminding myself that my feelings, my boundaries, and my peace are worth protecting.

So, here’s to conquering fear, one poke-bowl seating snafu at a time. If I can do it, so can you.