All that she is

I don't know about you, but I always feel a little lighter when April rolls around. Maybe it's the longer evenings. Maybe it's the way the air starts to smell different—less like holding on and more like letting go. Or maybe it's just that we've made it. Three months into the year, and somehow, here we are. Still showing up. Still trying. Still becoming. March had its moments. Some beautiful, some heavy. I carried some things into this month that I probably should have set down weeks ago. But that's the thing about a new month, isn't it? You don't need a grand resolution or a dramatic reinvention. You just need a quiet moment to say: okay, from here, I'll try something different. This April, I'm not looking for perfection. I'm looking for presence. I want to wake up and actually taste my morning tea instead of scrolling through it. I want to step outside and notice the way the light has changed, the way the garden is slowly remembering itself...

By Lawal Nafisat,  Allthatsheis --- Trigger Warning: This post discusses suicide, depression, and self-harm. If you are struggling with thoughts of harming yourself, please skip to the end of this post where you will find numbers of people who are waiting to help you. You are not alone. --- There is a particular kind of silence that exists in Nigerian homes. It is the silence that fills the space between a mother and daughter who once shared everything but now share only a roof. It is the silence that says, "I cannot tell her what I am going through because she will not understand." It is the silence that invites a third party into the home. Not a person. Not a relative. Not a gossipy neighbor. A bottle. Small. Brown. With a skull and crossbones on the label. They call it Sniper. --- The Bond That Was Supposed to Be Sacred  In our culture, we celebrate the mother-daughter relationship with elaborate ceremonies, with owambe parties where mothers spray money on their daughters,...