Take yourself out sometimes.
Go to Eko hotel and sit at the pool area. Order a glass of whatever you fancy on the menu.
Relax. Look at people. Look at life. Don’t be self conscious. Smile. Take a selfie.
Go to Federal Palace. Sit at the lobby. Take a magazine along. Look at pretty women posing for Prada and Givenchy. Flip through pages of pretty makeup. Read pretty dumb stories about love and how it saved many wandering hearts. Chuckle.
Wait for buffet hour. Eat a meal made by a real chef. You are not a chef. Eat something other than the food made by you or wedding jollof rice.
Stay in a boutique hotel for a weekend. Alone.
Forget everything for just 48 hours. Be “dead” for a few hours. Switch your phones off. Sleep without worrying if everyone has eaten.
The world will be fine.
Use moisturizer. Use serum. Don’t age as if it is some kind of honour that comes with matrimony. You can be attractive at any age.
Feel your vagina.
It is yours. Touch it.
It’s your body.
It is no man’s responsibility to make you cum except yours.
Love every labia of your pleasure treasure.
Stop being bitter over other women’s happiness and success.
Eish! You look ugly and it shows.
Look at you. You pale beside them.
Your envy is eating you up.
Your skin folds in hate, wrinkles in envy, pales with regret.
You made yourself inferior. Your bones are rotten in return for your wicked thoughts that you try to smother under religion.
You are sad.
We are not your problem.
Your husband is not the problem.
If you really want to be happy, you will be happy.
Not this fake deep happiness you display when you wear yet another aso ebi for yet another wedding where all you’ll be doing is gossiping and acting all judgemental, forgetting your lips are chapped and your lack of self-care is a crying shame.
Don’t be that sad species with a log in the eye.
Have a life away from your family.
You are a human BEING.
You weren’t born to be a wife or mother.
These are roles you picked up because everyone else picked them up and judged you based on how far or slow you picked them up.
These a good roles, of course…
But the question is:
Who are you when you can’t hide behind dishes, cooking, screaming at kids or answering “Mrs”?
Who really are you?
Do you have an identity?
Get a firmer ass. Get skinnier arms. Get flatter tummy.
Your body is a canvas.
Paint a beautiful picture.
Wear a fucking sexy dress and pair of heels that take your breath away!
Find your alter ego.
Your alternative personality deserves expression.
Fall in love with music. Find your taste. Go all the way back to the 70s.
Whether you were born then or not.
Find your music. Love it.
It will save you more times than medicine.
If female friendships sap your energy.
Get rid of every single one of them.
You’ll feel lighter, trust me.
Go to a first world country. Travel sometimes.
See how life is defined by people who love living. Have a sense of good governance for once in your life. Breathe air without soot.
What am I really saying?
LIVE a life that transcends society’s expectations.
PS: This is for middle-class women only.
Rich Nigerian married women will be fine. If they are sad, they will go to Paris and cry at the Eiffel Tower.
I don’t have anything to say to poor Nigerian women.
Written By Joy Bewaji.