Does God care about your broken heart?

On Ragdolls and Elastic Hearts

“He heals the broken hearted and binds up their wounds.” – Psalm 147: 3

But just before the wounds heal you run back to the same things that caused them. Maybe it’s the lure of the familiar, or maybe it’s to show them you bruise easily. So they can see how much they hurt you? Or so they can try to fix you?

But you were already fixed.


Every tear, He wiped away. Every time they tried to tear your heart to shreds, He came through. Do you remember those nights that you cried so much you wondered if you would run out of tears? Do you remember when you thought that maybe, just maybe, if you stayed long enough in bed the world would go on and leave you behind so you could rest in peace? Do you remember when you would cry out asking who you really were and why your life was like a soap opera written by a sadist child? Do you remember when you thought that maybe Cain’s mark was on you too, so no one could love you or stay with you? Do you remember your whole body shook with the pain and all you wanted was for someone to hold you still?


He heard you.

He heard you, on those nights you thought that you were better off dead than alive. He held you when you shook with pain and tears and calmed your fears. He patted your hair and cupped your face in His hands, then He wiped your tears. On the night when loneliness was eating you from the inside, He was there. His arms were wide open embracing you. And you fit right into the nook, His nook.


But you forgot.

You wanted something “tangible” you said. You forgot His love was the most tangible thing you ever knew. Everything else was so ephemeral. But you chose that over love that never left. So you took your heart back from Him and gave it to the one who broke it before. Your heart is such a gift but on whose altar are you offering it?

He did it again.

Not Him, the other one you gave your heart to. You thought that your heart could stretch without limit, elastic heart. Your precious little gift you so willingly threw at his feet. You didn’t know how to handle it, neither did he. So he let it drop. Smithereens and fragments so little that they hurt to pick up. You are his rag doll now. And you’re too ashamed to come back to your fixer.


But He was always here.


The Love was always here. On the sidelines where you left Him when you went off. He’s here now, arms wide open. Waiting for you. He’s whispering:


“Let Light In, Let Me In”

Excerpts from my book, out Easter 2017


Love in the Time of Internet

I wanted to title this “The commodification of love” but I don’t know if that quite captures it. So I played with Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s Love in the Time of Cholera.

Sometimes it does feel like love has been commodified though. Every once in a while I meet (or hear about) some guy trying to “sell” himself as husband material, but a story for another post.

I’ve lived alone for 4 years now and mostly had only my phone and TV for company for half the time so if anyone would eventually try to shoot her shot on the Internet, it should be me. Before #ShootYourShot though, I had met quite a few people on the great Internet, both male and female, and I’m now best friends with some of them. So I think it’s safe to say that I have a fair understanding of these streets.

Anyways, since the plan this year has been to leave my comfort zone (which can be interpreted literally to mean my bed or couch), I signed up for Tinder (Drum Roll). Before Tinder though, DMs were still lit, occasionally (I kid, once in a blue moon). Anyway, Tinder was/is a whole new experience for me because it felt like I had to consciously choose who to like. The experience of swiping made me feel like I was looking for a dress to buy on a rack with way too many clothes. And what if I like the dress but it doesn’t fit (translate to what if I “like” his profile but he doesn’t like me back so we can’t match). Besides trying to physically duck when I see someone I know in real life, I think I’m having a good time, except the one time one guy’s first question was “U short yh?”. I unmatched in 0.5 seconds 🙂  I still think Tinder is the best thing in a while.


I’ve matched with a few good men and unmatched some. And I’ve probably only liked one person who didn’t like me back (pats self on the back). Safe to say I think 1 or more persons will make it out of Tinder. Tinder is really like when someone introduces you to another person and they text you on Whatsapp or BBM before you ever speak. Only difference here it is just as much your call to make as it is your virtual friend’s. Expect the same mix – the good, the bad, the obnoxious, since all you have is a profile picture to decide.

Major Key Alert: It is so important to never get to the point where all your validation comes from how many matches you have.


Got to go, phone’s buzzing 🙂

My "bad person" face.

Why am I still single?

 Short Answer: I’m a bad person.

Long Answer: I’m a really really bad person.

I’ve come a long way from thinking I’m a really nice person and people should look inwards to my beautiful soul to understanding and knowing and accepting myself that I’m a bad, petty person. And I actually like myself as a bad person.
Only bad single women nearing 30 get offended when someone who they’ve just met decides that 10:50pm is the best time to call. Shouldn’t you be at least grateful that someone is asking for your number and trying to get to know you? And speaking of calling, only bad women get angry when men demote themselves from people who can call to people who only whatsapp. Did we meet online? Who sent you to whatsapp? Do we know each other that much?


Only bad single women get angry when someone they’re texting with types in “retardese”. Because I don’t know what “xup wif u” means. And I don’t like that sometimes I can’t tell if you mean “been” or “being”, or “am” and “I’m”. And I want my man to PUNCTUATE, even if we’re texting. And DO NOT “K” ME. Go and K your sister and your exes. And do not tell me “Happy Buffday”. As my friend says, it’s not the act itself, but what it represents. Only bad single women don’t like men who can’t speak well. Only bad single women want man with clean, cut nails, or with an amazing sense of humor, or men who can just relate. Only bad women find it absurd that a man introduces himself with his professional title, “my name is Engineer Bla Bla” or “Barrister…”.

Only a bad woman has opinions. Opinions are for men, and feminists, who are also really bad single women. Good women accept that the man makes the sole decision on love, so it’s usually enough if the guy likes them and looks acceptable. And only a bad woman thinks that it’s okay to be choosy about who you want to annoy you for the rest of your life.

So yeah, I’m a bad woman. And I’m single because of all these petty things.


Much ado about $25 and conversation

Some background: I live alone. Every once in a while I have a friend over, but I’m not great sport sometimes. I enjoy contemplating life and beauty in silence. I will be in a room full of people having great conversation and be lost in another world on my Kindle. However, if I ever need someone to talk to, I have 200 active BBM contacts (minus the people who I added for clothes and human hair). I have three loving siblings and a teeny tiny circle of friends who are always available.


Last week, I almost bought a boyfriend off the Internet on Invisible Boyfriend. A little background on Invisible Boyfriend- It’s a paid service, subscription is $24.99 and it gives you real-world and social proof that you’re in a relationship – even if you’re not – so you can get back to living life on your own terms .  Only reason I didn’t sign up is because I don’t live in the United States or Canada (I plan to start a petition to bring their services to Nigeria or maybe even build the Nigerian version). Invisible Boyfriend sends me 100 text messages, 10 voicemails and 1 handwritten note (I particularly love the handwritten note part).

Why Invisible Boyfriend?


To start with, I think I live a private enough life to have removed the need for social proof of a relationship. You only see what I want you to see, and as far as relationships go, I can say you don’t see anything at all. So why do I need a paid boyfriend? Because for starters, there’s a certain ease that comes with talking to people far removed from our world. It’s why a taxi driver can tell me that his wife suddenly absconded to Abeokuta, why women will rather email Linda Ikeji than a marriage counsellor and why we’d rather tweet than speak. People far removed from our world listen, because that’s the only thing they can do. They don’t know us well enough to judge. And even if they try to judge, they couldn’t hurt us as badly as people we know.

Again, half the time, people really do not care. You have people ask you what’s wrong and then when you finally say what’s wrong, they take off like Barry in Flash. Or maybe we can’t trust our own judgment. So we keep picking the wrong people to talk to and they keep letting us down (These h**s ain’t loyal, trust me). You can’t spend your whole life dealing with betrayal so you just totally stop trusting.

You know what they say about life being a perpetual flux and that you can’t step into the same river twice? I think it’s bullshit. You can make the same mistakes over and over again. And so you confide in your friends or lovers and they leave as people are wont to, and you confide in new friends and lovers who also leave too and the cycle is endless.

You know what? Just tell it to Jesus.

Or the boyfriend (or girlfriend) you bought.