Still Standing: A Story of Heartbreak, Hustle, and Hope

If you’re reading this, thank you. Thank you for giving a few minutes of your day to listen to my heart. I am a Nigerian woman, 28 years old, and in a few short months, I’ll be turning 29. I should be preparing to celebrate, reflecting on how far I’ve come, and looking forward to new beginnings. But right now, I find myself in a place I never imagined, starting over from almost nothing, holding on to a dream, and quietly asking the question that keeps echoing in my chest: Will I ever be truly happy again? Will I ever be able to crawl out of my shell? Will I ever find love again? Let me take you back a little. For ten years, I was in a committed relationship with the absolute love of my life. Our first meeting was when I was coordinating assembly as the newly elected social prefect. I was in SS2 while he was in SS3. We never spoke because it was almost their final year in secondary school. A year after his graduation, because he got admitted to a higher institution immediately, he was now heading to 200 level while I had just been admitted to 100 level. He got my contact, we got talking, and everything started so well because it was a mutual feeling.

Before I could breathe, I was in ten long, emotional, life-shaping years. I loved him with everything I had. We started as friends, grew into partners, and eventually built a vision for the future together. We had plans for marriage, children, and building a home together. I thought we were inseparable. Through challenges, we stayed together. Through growth and change, we kept believing in “us.” Then life happened. He got an opportunity to travel abroad, and as hard as it was, I supported him. I encouraged him to go. I believed in his journey and trusted that our love was strong enough to survive the distance. I waited. I prayed. I stayed faithful. But slowly, something started shifting. Calls became shorter. Messages started coming hours late, then not at all. I started sensing the silence before it came. And just months after he relocated, I was left. No long conversation. No proper goodbye. Just silence, a cold, hollow silence after ten years of my life. Have you ever felt like the ground beneath your feet just gave way? That’s what it felt like. I cried in secret. I smiled in public. I broke into pieces when no one was looking. I questioned my worth, my time, my womanhood.

Was I not enough? Did I waste my best years? Was love even real? Will I ever heal? Will I ever move on? Will I ever be able to forget? Oh my youth. But despite the pain, something inside me refused to die. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was faith. Maybe it was a survival instinct. I don’t even know what it is; I just knew I couldn’t stay stuck. I had to move. I had to try. So I left Ilorin, the place filled with memories, and relocated to Mararaba, Abuja. It wasn’t easy. I didn’t have much, just a few savings and a head full of prayers. I came to Abuja to start afresh. I started a small business with the little I had selling smoked catfish, wara Kayama, normal garri/garri lebu, and liquid soap; I pack for party souvenirs. It’s honest work, and it’s mine. My dream is to grow this business, become a trusted foodstuff supplier across Nigeria, and one day export to international markets. But life here hasn’t been easy. The relocation cost more than I expected. Feeding, rent, and business supplies are draining what little I have left. Business is down. I’m doing my best, but some days, I barely eat. I’ve applied for jobs as a customer service officer, admin, executive assistant, supermarket manager, or even entry-level roles, but nothing has come through yet. And in the midst of all this, I carry the weight of my healing heart; still aching, still hoping. Some nights I sit in my room and whisper to God: Will I ever find love again? Will someone ever see me not just for what I’ve been through, but for who I am becoming? As I approach 29, I’m not just counting years. I’m counting growth. I’m counting the silent victories, like the days I didn’t give up, the mornings I got out of bed despite the heaviness, the nights I went to sleep hungry but still grateful. I’m not asking for pity. I’m asking for anything that can help me stabilize and rise again. I’m not ashamed of my story. I’ve loved, I’ve lost, I’ve fought, and I’m still fighting. And I know that one day, when this season has passed, I’ll look back and say: That was the chapter where I didn’t give up even when I had every reason to.

Also read: Dating Out Of Pity: My Silent Struggle 

error: Content is protected !!