And with each candle I blow out, I claim it fully—flawed, resilient, and wholly mine.

I was determined to be respected: I would rather be respected than liked. I was not going to be the yes woman for anyone, and I accomplished it.

We’d argue and laugh loudly like mad people. He was sure, he was insightful, and he was kind. I needed him and he’d be there in five minutes if he could. I had an issue with a course and he took the materials, read it overnight, explained it to me, and I got it.

Right now I feel powerful, they are all wary of me and they hate me for standing my ground but with time they will get to respect me for me. If that doesn't happen, it's a risk I will gladly take.

Why can't I do my hair in stunning Kojusoko on a date? Why can't I do Ipako ẹlẹdẹ for a wedding occasion? Why do I have to be shamed about regaining my hair identity when I wear it out in its glory? Somehow we have gotten to a point in our culture where our natural hair is seen as dirty and informal.

I wasn't found and I couldn't acknowledge my win. Now as an adult, I know the word that qualifies how I felt at that moment is unseen. The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines it as an adjective that means not seen or perceived.