Shhh…tell no one

Let me begin by telling you that I’m a good girl.

Before you start asking the question of who defines a good or bad person like you’ve never lived in a society or never heard the word ‘morals’, I’ll elaborate on my ‘goodness’.

As defined by my society, I am good because being the student that I am, I have not dropped out of school because I had a baby (as if they would know whether or not I’ve had abortions) or because I got kicked out of school because of misconducts (ignoring the fact that I may simply be a dexterous born cheat). Also because, the clothes that they see me wear into and out of the house (and not the ones in my opaque bag) where I live with my very African parents look decent. There are obviously a lot more but would not delve into them because that isn’t what this post is about.

Coming back to the main story, for an hour or so on one night, I stopped being a good girl. I had read about saying ‘no’ to it several times in primary school that I felt I was going to be a pro at it. It later dawned on me that virginity was really sometimes not necessarily dignity but a lack of opportunity (that in no way suggests that I had sex, by the way). It happened so fast that I thought I will not have the time to regret. Just like I can’t tell you now although in a lot of cultures or even in mine to an extent, it wouldn’t be something to hate yourself about, I simply couldn’t tell anyone.

I needed so badly to forgive myself before asking the One I had wronged by what I had done to forgive me, but I couldn’t.

A problem shared is half solved.

Being the first time I had consciously taken this to heart, I told one person what I had done. What do you get by adding one to three? That’s how many times my problem increased by. I had shared the problem but the math had failed woefully. If you’re shaking your head so hard and disagreeing with me so vehemently about this being true, please note that the heading of this post suggests that this applies to just me (although the club is open to new members!).

The burden had grown to its heaviest when I received a call from a wonderful person whose conversation exposed the sentence: “If there’s anything you’ve done wrong, just forgive yourself and move on.” I hung up with tears streaming down my face and with Hillsong’s All For Love being my favourite for the month. His sentence was the solution that carried the answer I needed to hear.

In the heat of the night, I did what I should have done from the beginning, I TOLD the problem to someone while on my knees without a single word. That problem wasn’t half-solved, it was totally eliminated.

Why am I not sharing what really happened then if that was the case? Because I don’t know when my parents might read my blog and also because I know that the issue no matter how long, forgotten or eliminated might be dragged back to my table.

My philosophy? A problem told is already solved.


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