I Did Everything Right… But My Marriage Still Fell Apart (Part 2)

What came after wasn't easy.

People talk about "choosing yourself" as if it's simple. Like waking up one day, deciding to leave, and everything falling into place. They don't tell you about the guilt. The voices in your head that sound like your mother, your pastor, your aunties: "You didn't try hard enough. Marriage is work. You're giving up too easily. What will people say?"

They don't tell you about the loneliness. How quiet your house becomes when you're no longer performing for someone who doesn't see you anyway.

But you know what else they don't tell you? How good it feels to breathe again. To wake up without that knot in your stomach. To make breakfast for yourself and actually enjoy it. To remember who you were before you became someone's unpaid therapist, chef, and maid.

Here's what I've learned since then:

1. "Doing everything right" according to someone else's standards is still doing it wrong.

That checklist I mentioned? It was never designed for my happiness. It was designed to make me manageable. Convenient. Non-threatening. A wife who never complains, never has needs, never takes up space is not a partner - she's a doormat with good jollof rice skills.

2. Submission doesn't mean erasure.

I'm still a woman of faith. I still believe in honouring partnership. But I've learned that submission in marriage is supposed to be mutual - not a one-way street where only the woman shrinks. If your partner sees your submission as permission to ignore, disrespect, or take you for granted, that's not biblical marriage. That's oppression with a Bible verse slapped on top.

3. You can't love someone into seeing your worth.

I thought if I just tried harder, if I just did more, if I just became better, he would finally appreciate me. But people who don't value you won't suddenly wake up and change just because you perform perfectly. You are not a project to be fixed or a prize to be earned. You are a whole person who deserves to be seen, heard, and cherished - as you are.

4. Walking away isn't failure.

I used to think leaving meant I'd failed at marriage. Now I know: staying in a situation that diminishes you isn't a sign of strength. It's self-betrayal. Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is admit that something isn't working and choose yourself anyway - despite the voices, despite the judgment, despite the fear.

5. You are allowed to have standards.

Nigerian culture often tells women to "manage." Manage your husband. Manage the situation. Manage your expectations. But sis, you're not a facilities manager. You're a human being with needs, desires, and boundaries. And those things are not negotiable just because you said "I do."

6. Your peace matters more than other people's opinions.

The same people who will judge you for leaving are not the ones lying awake at night in your unhappy marriage. They're not the ones swallowing their words, their dreams, their dignity. They're not paying your bills or raising your children or healing your broken heart. So their opinions? They don't get a vote.

I don't know where you are in your own story. Maybe you're still in the thick of it, folding those boxers, swallowing those words, performing that perfection. Maybe you're at your breaking point, wooden spoon in hand, finally seeing what's been invisible all along.

Wherever you are, I want you to know this: You are not the problem. You were never the problem. The problem is a system that taught you to shrink, to perform, to disappear - and then blamed you when the magic didn't work.

Doing everything "right" was never going to save a marriage where only one person was doing the work. Love is not a solo performance. Partnership is not a checklist. And you, my dear, deserve someone who sees you - really sees you - and chooses to show up for you the way you've been showing up all along.

Person no go kill herself. Life is too short to spend it invisible in your own marriage.

You deserve better. You are better. And one day, when you're ready, you'll choose yourself too.

And that, my sister, will be the rightest thing you ever did.