{"id":1692,"date":"2026-05-23T15:48:25","date_gmt":"2026-05-23T15:48:25","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lifestylegist.com.ng\/?p=1692"},"modified":"2026-05-23T16:29:51","modified_gmt":"2026-05-23T16:29:51","slug":"the-girl-who-was-fine","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lifestylegist.com.ng\/?p=1692","title":{"rendered":"The Girl Who Was Fine"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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The \u201cI\u2019m Fine\u201d Pandemic Is Real! <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Most Nigerian women who made it through university know this girl. She attended every class. She smiled through everything. She told everyone she was fine. She was not fine. Omotola wrote what most of us never said out loud. We are glad she did<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 The Editors, LifestyleGist<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What nobody tells you about falling apart in university while pretending you are okay.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There is a particular kind of strength that Nigerian women are taught before they even understand what strength means. Carry it quietly. Smile through it. Do not let people see you breaking. By the time we enter university, we have already mastered the performance. We know how to sit in a lecture hall with swollen eyes and answer questions confidently. We know how to laugh loudly at the cafeteria table while something inside us is collapsing. We know how to say “I am fine” with such conviction that even we almost believe it. I know because I was that girl.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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The Year Everything Fell Apart <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I entered university at eighteen with big dreams and an even bigger smile. Nobody could have guessed that beneath that smile was a young woman who was slowly losing herself. Within my first year, I had experienced betrayal from people I trusted completely. I had lost friendships I thought were permanent. My academic results were suffering. My mental health was deteriorating in ways I did not even have language for at the time. And yet every morning I got dressed, walked to class, and performed okay for the world. That is the thing nobody tells you about mental health struggles in Nigerian universities. They rarely look dramatic. They do not always look like someone crying in the corner or refusing to get out of bed. Sometimes they look like the most put-together girl in the room quietly carrying a weight that is crushing her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Silence We Are Taught To Keep<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

In Nigeria, we do not really have a framework for young women saying I am not okay. There are no counselling centres easily accessible on most campuses. There are no safe spaces to say I am struggling without someone immediately telling you to pray harder, to be strong, to remember what your parents sacrificed for you to be here. And so we do what we were taught. We keep quiet. We perform. We survive. But surviving is not the same as living. And performing strength while privately falling apart has a cost that shows up later, in your body, in your relationships, in your sense of who you are. I watched my confidence quietly disappear that year. I watched myself shrink in rooms where I used to take up space. I stopped raising my hand in class. I stopped sharing my writing. I stopped believing that my voice had any value. All while telling everyone I was fine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What It Actually Costs<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The mental health crisis among young Nigerian women in university is not loud. That is why it is so dangerous.It is the girl whose grades are slipping but who cannot tell her parents because they will not understand. It is the girl who cannot sleep but pretends she is just a night owl. It is the girl who has not eaten properly in three days but shows up to class with a full face of makeup because appearing okay feels safer than being honest.It is the girl who has convinced herself that what she is feeling is not serious enough to deserve attention. That other people have it worse. That she should just push through. And so she pushes. And pushes. Until one day something gives way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Turning Point Nobody Talks About <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

My turning point was not dramatic either.It was a quiet afternoon sitting alone and finally admitting to myself that I was not okay. Not to anyone else. Just to myself. In that honesty, something shifted.I stopped performing. I started healing. Slowly, imperfectly, without a clear roadmap. But genuinely.I started writing about what I was going through. Not for anyone else. Just to process it. And somewhere in putting those words down I began to understand myself again. That is what nobody tells you about surviving the hard seasons. The healing does not come from pretending they are not happening. It comes from finally allowing yourself to acknowledge that they are.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

To The Girl Who Is Fine<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

If you are reading this and you are that girl, the one who is carrying something heavy while smiling for the world, I want you to know something.You do not have to be okay all the time. Your struggle is not a character flaw. Your pain is not a distraction from your destiny. It is part of your story and it deserves to be acknowledged not hidden.Reaching out is not weakness. Saying I am not okay is not failure. It is actually one of the bravest things a young Nigerian woman can do in a culture that has taught her that her value is tied to how well she holds it together. You are allowed to fall apart sometimes. You are allowed to need support. You are allowed to stop performing and start healing. And if no one around you is creating that space right now, I want this article to be it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You are not alone. You never were.<\/p>\n\n\n