but i still show up to the world.

not perfect.

not whole.

just breathing, barely

but breathing still.

nights wrap around me

like arms that don't know how to hold,

and the silence?

loud.

like it’s screaming through my chest.

some days i feel like a ghost

in a body too loud to be dead,

too numb to be alive

just floating,

fading,

waiting.

but hear me,

if no one else will:

you don’t need to bleed to be seen.

your pain is valid

even when it’s quiet.

even when it’s loud.

even when it doesn't make sense to anyone but you.

you are not broken.

you are tired.

and tired doesn’t mean gone.

tired means: rest.

not end.

so rest, love.

not forever ;

just for now.

and when you’re ready,

let's breathe again,

together.

This is my truth.

This isn’t your regular “love story.”

It’s the story of a girl who experienced her first heartbreak even before she ever started dating.

The man who gave her life ;her own father ; was the one slowly tearing her world apart. Maybe he didn’t realize it. Or maybe he did. But either way, he never stopped.

On the outside, we looked like the perfect family of five: a mother, a father, and three beautiful kids. People admired us, said they wished they had a family like ours. If only they knew what was happening behind closed doors.

I was too young, too scared, and too naive to speak up.

My mother couldn’t reach out to her family because he was always checking her phone. He’d say, “Your mother’s family are your enemies.”

There were days he’d come home from “work” and start throwing tantrums for no reason. He’d beat our mother in front of us, and we’d just cry, frozen, helpless. Most times, she’d end up in the hospital.

Sometimes, he’d turn his anger on us ; the children. He’d beat us black and blue just for watching cartoons or talking too loudly. There was even a day he threatened to burn my face with a pressing iron.

Why didn’t we leave?

Because he held onto everything ; my mom’s ATM card, all her money.

He was jobless, pretending to go to “work” every day, yet he had time for fetish stuff. Sometimes, he’d come home with strange things and force us to lick or drink whatever he brought. We couldn’t say no.

He was evil.

He’d take my mom’s money and spend it on girlfriends, taking them to hotels while we were suffering at home.

I remember vividly ; the day before his birthday in 2022, my mom bought him a cake. She was still blinded by “love.”

He beat her while she was holding that cake.

I cried so much that day.

The marks he gave me are still on my body. Scars that remind me of all the pain. This went on for 15 whole years.

One sunny afternoon, we came home and saw a pregnant woman sitting in our living room. I recognized her ; one of his girlfriends. My heart dropped.

We greeted her ; we had no choice. My mom later told us that she was pregnant for our dad. His second wife.

I broke down… but not in front of anyone. I held it in for my mom and my siblings.

The woman stayed in our house, smiling like everything was fine. I hated her. We all did.

She would stir up fights between my parents, and most times, my dad would beat my mom again. I’d often find my mom crying alone, and I’d start crying too.

When the “second wife” was due to give birth, she had complications and needed a C-section. Guess who stayed with her in the hospital? My mom.

Yes ,my mother, the same woman this man abused, still cared for the one who helped destroy her home.

There’s still so much I haven’t said, but one weekend changed everything.

My mom’s sister came to Nigeria from the UK. We visited her at our grandparents' place. We laughed, ate, and spent time with cousins. When we got home that night around 7 p.m., his energy was off. He gave us the silent treatment.

Out of nowhere, he shouted at my brother and me to wash his car. While washing it, I was scared , worried for my mom and siblings inside.

Luckily, he didn’t beat anyone that night. We ate food we brought from our grandparents ;semo and vegetable soup. But then he accused us of stealing soup from the pot. We told him it wasn’t from the house. He stayed silent.

The next day, we all went to church. My mom was teaching children’s church while my dad went to the adult service.

During family thanksgiving, my cousin came to call us. After it ended, my mom went to greet my dad. He told her, “Get the f*ck out of my sight,” right there in public.

After church, we waited by the car. He finally came and started driving… then started screaming:

"You’re all bastards! Unfortunate beings!"

He slapped my mom while driving.

I was holding her phone, so I started recording everything he was saying.

Once we got home, he stormed into our room with a cane and beat me and my brother. My little sister just stood there, terrified.

After he finished with us, he went after my mom. Beat her too. Beat my little sister.

And the “second wife”? She just stayed in the sitting room.

After he left the house, my mom turned to me and said:

“Okiki, we are leaving this place today.”

We packed a few clothes and bags and went straight to the police station. Thankfully, the fresh injuries we had were still visible ,that became our evidence.

The police called him, and he was shocked. He rushed down, but we left before he arrived. Later, he went to our grandparents’ house, banging the gate like a madman. But we weren’t there.

Because of all this, we missed school for weeks. I couldn’t even register for WAEC immediately.

It messed me up in ways I can’t even explain. I had to go through therapy to even feel human again.

But still ,I thank God we made it out alive.

🖤 This is a true story. And it matters.

If you're reading this,thank you. Thank you for witnessing my story. If you've ever felt trapped,voiceless or broken, just know that healing is possible.

Let's grow together.

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