I once believed healing meant strength disguised as silence,
a tearless face in public,
a pillow soaked in private.
Faith, I thought, was plastering over cracks with a smile
and calling it surrender.
But the truth?
Healing came the day I stopped pretending.
It came when I allowed the tears to fall where others could see.
When I whispered, “I’m not okay” and didn’t apologize for it.
Because wholeness often starts where honesty begins.
I learned this the hard way.
It started with a story I rarely tell,
my first engagement.
He was the one I thought God had written into my forever.
We spoke like best friends and dreamers,
letters exchanged like sacred vows,
plans built like cathedrals in our minds.
Until one day, he said God had shown him something:
“I must marry someone who eats from the same plate,
drinks from the same cup,
and feeds from the same spiritual well as I do.”
I didn’t fully understand,
but love makes you try.
So I tried,
long drives from Lekki Phase 1 to Ogun State,
nursing tired feet after 12-hour shifts,
chasing approval,
chasing a dream.
And then came that Sunday.
Two services, weary bones, a hungry soul.
My mother found me outside the church,
her face a canvas of shock.
“Nkiru, what are you doing here?” she asked.
And before I could fully explain,
before “my man, my man, my man” could roll off my tongue again,
a sharp sound split the air: “Tooowa!”
Her hand landed on my cheek,
not out of anger, but conviction.
“Nkiru,” she said calmly,
“Go home now.”
It stung, but it saved me.
Because love, real love,
does not ask you to shrink yourself into worthiness.
It does not exhaust your soul in the name of proving devotion.
Weeks later, the engagement dissolved.
He married someone else shortly after.
The dreams? Shattered glass.
The prayers? Heavy with questions.
The nights? Long and sleepless.
But here’s the thing about heartbreak,
Sometimes it is the scalpel in the hands of a gentle surgeon.
What felt like an ending
was a beginning I didn’t see coming.
I learned that healing is not always holy-looking.
Sometimes it’s swollen eyes and silent drives.
Sometimes it’s wrestling with God in the dark.
Sometimes it’s admitting, “Maybe I heard wrong, but He still loves me right.”
And God came, not in thunder, but in whispers.
In small mercies that steadied my steps.
In reminders that my worth was never up for negotiation.
In a quiet voice saying, “Daughter, you are still whole.”
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted
and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” – Psalm 34:18
So if you’re here,
standing among ruins,
confused by a season that feels more like unraveling than redemption,
breathe.
God is not intimidated by your broken pieces.
He doesn’t wait for you to hold it all together before He holds you close.
Maybe the path that looks messy,
the healing that feels “unholy,”
is the very doorway to the wholeness you prayed for.
Take courage.
Take your time.
Take His hand.
And if your heart can, share your story.
Because your healing might just be the lantern another weary traveler needs…Today!
Always in your corner.
Love,
Nkiruka