My child, you'll fall asleep; it's only a matter of time.
When I thought about myself, I saw a young girl whose business was her academics, neglecting the worries of life. There were many questions flying around. I did my best to answer some but left the rest. After all, it was what we were taught to do: our best, leaving the rest for others.
I dreamt in food and beautiful dresses, having my fantasies about boys. I rarely argued with my mother. My father was always right. Nigeria wasn’t economically unstable. The world was perfect.
Until one day in primary school, my friend showed the girls the growth in her breasts. I couldn’t act interested because then I would have to show them my undeveloped ones. The girls gathered and began a conversation about puberty. My mother had told me that puberty for women was like flowers; everyone would eventually bloom in their time. It was the truth, yet it made me feel inferior because if all flowers would eventually bloom, why should mine be last?
Inferiority complex held me by the hand, and onward we journeyed. Even though my flowers had begun to bloom in secondary school, I didn’t appreciate it. Because, what use were breasts that couldn’t be flaunted in the bathroom alongside other girls? I would rise up early before anyone to have my bath just to avoid their prying eyes. But, were they prying? Did they care? Maybe some cared? Did they see me as a small girl? I lowered my self-esteem with these questions—things that didn’t matter. I loathed that I was a girl until one day, while hiding from my fears in the corner of an empty building, I overheard the boys talking about their penises. Being a boy wasn’t the solution either.
Another day, the teacher asked us to write a letter to our friend. The following day, he read out a boy’s letter, and the whole class was awed. It was perfectly written, and because he used the words "Ja up" to conclude his letter, I included them in mine too. My child, it was only then that I understood that he had written "cheer up" and not "Ja up." I had made a fool of myself yet again. So, I believed that I didn’t quite understand the English language like everyone else.
My child, those flowers that bloomed late continued to bloom. One evening, I saw blood on my pant. Blood. "You’re now a woman; you should be more careful," said my mother to me. She didn’t say I would get pregnant with physical contact with a boy, but she did warn me to be careful, not of sex, but as a woman who could shed blood from her body. She said, "You’ve become more special, but don’t tell anyone."
I began to look at every girl in my class and wondered if they were like me. But I couldn’t ask them because if they were, then I was the late bloomer again. However, I had to ask someone about sanitary pads. I couldn’t wear them right, and the directions weren’t helping either. The gums hurt me, while the pad itself didn’t sit right on my pant, so I’d stay behind in class to make sure I was not stained. When I began to question my friends, they suspected I had started menstruating, TOO!
My child, today, I no longer use pads because I’m well above periods. I don’t need them anymore. My breasts are sagged from constant tugging and pulling, but they eventually grew. Whether they came later than my friends' or not, they grew in their own time. My flowers bloomed, and now, they’re withering.
One of those days, I got a comprehension question right in class. My teacher said I was the only student who did it well. I felt on top of the world! Believing that I was good in English language, I would turn over to that page in my notebook and encourage myself. In the whole class, I understood English more! That built my confidence, and I kept writing.
My child, I see you're struggling to fall asleep. I see your restless thoughts and your anxious heart, wondering when and how sleep will embrace you. You can't lay quietly on the bed. You're anxious, wondering what would be on your mind last when you eventually drift into the dreamland.
Look, it doesn't work that way. Sleep doesn't come because you're anxious. Sleep doesn't come with your tantrums and uneasiness. In fact, sleep doesn't come to those who chase it with worry or struggle. It arrives gently when you find peace within yourself.
Allow me to show you how adults sleep -- they simply lay down on the bed, thinking about the events of the day, or the money they'd make, the person they would be with the following night. They empty themselves from the stress and release themselves to the soothing hands of sleep. They don't open their eyes looking around for it. They simply wait in time, knowing that when it comes to sleeping, it would come to you like a trusted friend if you surrender yourself to it.
Adults understand that, just like falling asleep naturally, there are no shortcuts in life. Many things rely on time to unfold. Embrace your life’s rhythm, and you will find good in its flow.
In life, effort sometimes means finding peace in stillness, observing the beauty of the world, and clearing your mind to maintain your sanity. Effort also means allowing relationships to develop naturally, not rushing ahead, taking time to truly understand one another, even in moments of tension.
Effort sometimes means that although you can use the umbrella or wiper in the rain, you choose to stay back because the rain is heavy. You choose to park your car because you have a family waiting for you at home, and you must continue making money when the rain stops.
Effort sometimes means that you sit still, doing nothing but listening to the Holy Spirit as He speaks to you, unfolding mysteries. You allow the heavens and the earth to intertwine in your mind. Though you have a body, you sit still, communing with Spirits. You’re not mad, my child.
Effort sometimes means that you walk in silence without your loved one down a road because reflecting on your loss makes you realize that you’ve become someone you wouldn't be without them. You aren't doing nothing, because there you are, grieving.
My child, sometimes effort means letting time do the work while you wait. Your breasts will grow naturally, so will all about you. You may eventually come to dislike things that you desire so much now.
While effort sometimes means staying up late into the night, working hard, my child, sleeping through the night is also an effort, hard work that no one can take from you. But, do not indulge yourself with excess of it.
You'll discover that time is God's canvas on which He works. So, while time may not heal you, God works with and on time to make you perfect. While time is not the main character, you still need it to progress, and even though waiting may make you appear idle, sometimes, you need it to advance to the next stage.
When you wake up the following morning, you’ll realize that no one truly knows how and when they fall asleep; they may only know when and how they wake up. It won’t matter how long they waited for sleep because when morning comes, they’ll be well-rested if they put in work to it. Ultimately, you can trust that the end of your story will bring new meaning to the path of getting there. My child, don’t judge what will happen on the basis of what is happening because that’s not necessarily what unfolds.
You'll need to learn to live the hardship of your story without letting it write the script for the rest of your life. Observing the unpredictable way God works helps you look at your story with new hope. So, while it looks like you're wasting your time, lying calmly on your bed, you're working very hard, pretending, dreaming, and letting sleep take over you. My child, you'll fall asleep; it's only a matter of time. You'll fall asleep when you lay still, wait, and let yourself ride on the wheels of time.
