5 types of people I don’t want to be perceived as.

+lessons I learnt this past academic year.

Hi hi, my love.

I disappeared again, I know. Deola said I don’t love you guys anymore. That’s not true at all.😭🥹

I’m so so sorry, but don’t blame me, blame my laptop that suddenly stopped connecting to the internet. I wrote three good letters over the weekend, but sending them? Wahala. 😭And then I fell sick. Terribly. You don’t even want to know. I’m just grateful to God for carrying me on His back through this week, because I really had no strength.

Well, we can move on to the good part now!

Guess who’s finally done with 300 level? Yeah, you guessed right. Meeee! 🥹

And before I say anything else, let me just say: thank you, Jesus.🥹❤️

Because this academic year? It wrung me out. There were weeks I was running on nothing but fumes, deadlines, and whispered prayers. Days I cried in between lectures. Nights I stared at my ceiling wondering how I’d make it through the next morning. It was the kind of year that had teeth. Sharp ones.

Mentally, emotionally, spiritually, I was stretched beyond what I thought I could handle. I won’t lie, I stretched myself thin more times than I should’ve. I was constantly trying to stay afloat, and it felt like everything was demanding more than I had to give.

But even in the exhaustion, I felt held. Not by my strength (because I had none), but by God. Like, truly held. There were moments I had absolutely nothing left ,and somehow, still, I was carried.

By the grace of God — no, by the back of God, because that’s where I’ve been riding these past few months — I made it. Not always gracefully. Not always at 100%. But I made it. And right now, that’s more than enough.

If I could summarise what this year taught me in one sentence, it’d be this: All other ground is sinking sand.

Every plan I made, every backup strategy I had, every illusion of control ,all of it failed me at some point. But God? Never did. And I’m slowly learning that trusting Him isn’t my last resort — it’s the only ground that’s ever been solid.

Another lesson I’m learning?

You don’t have to go underground to grow.

For the longest time, I thought survival meant disappearing. Shrinking. Keeping my struggles private until I could emerge with everything fixed and polished. But this year taught me that growth can happen in the open, in the middle of chaos, in full view. That there’s strength in being seen while still becoming. I’m still learning to let people witness my becoming. To show up unsure and in-process. To lean into grace instead of control. It’s scary, but it’s beautiful too.

Which brings me to the actual subject of today’s letter…

There are at least five types of people I live in constant fear of being mistaken for.

Growing up as a pastor’s child comes with a quiet kind of pressure. You’re not just living — you’re being watched, measured, interpreted. You smile too much? You’re unserious. You speak your mind? You’re rude. You get upset? “Omo yen baje.” The weight of perception becomes a shadow that walks into every room before you do. And while I wouldn’t trade my upbringing for anything, it did something to me. It taught me early on to manage how people see me, even when that meant losing sight of who I really was.

Maybe all of this sounds dramatic, but if you’ve ever walked through life aware of how deeply people misread others, you know the fear is real. It’s not about reputation. It’s about identity. It’s about the war between who you are and how people think you are.

So yes, I overthink the way I phrase sentences. I play peacemaker when I’m boiling inside. I distance myself from certain aesthetics, even if I like them. Not because I don’t know who I am — but because I know how quickly people decide who you’re not.

So, in no particular order, here are five out of the types of people I live in fear of being mistaken for:

1. The Proud One.

I’m shy. Quiet. (Some people might beg to differ, but I am.) A little socially anxious. But shyness can be misread as arrogance when you don’t explain yourself. And I’ve been called proud more times than I care to admit. What hurts most is knowing I was probably just scared. Probably just trying to stay small in a room that already felt too loud.

2. The Weak One.

I’m small in size. Gentle in tone. I don’t always assert myself. And people take that for weakness. They think I can be spoken over, decided for, pushed aside. So I’ve learned to do too much on my own. I don’t ask for help, not because I’m strong, but because I don’t want to look helpless. So, it takes so much courage for me to ask for help. No matter how comfortable I get with you, you’d still notice my hesitance to ask.

3. The Not-Smart One.

I crave academic validation — but not just for grades. I want to be sharp. I want to be insightful. I want to be knowledgeable about everything you can think of. God, life, science, health, politics, name it. There’s this little voice in my head that whispers, “Be excellent, or they’ll think you’re average.” So I study too hard. Overthink everything. And when I get something wrong, it hits deeper than it should.

4. The Unkind One.

People-pleasing had me saying sorry when I wasn’t wrong. Letting things go just to avoid being labelled “wicked” or “extra.” But the truth? Humans are rarely satisfied. I could bend myself into softness and someone would still call it stone. So lately I’m learning that being kind doesn’t mean being quiet, and being assertive doesn’t make me mean.

5. The Bad Christian.

This one’s personal. And it’s not even about how others perceive me, it’s about God. I worry about failing Him. I worry about falling short. And sometimes that worry turns into performance — reading to post it, praying to prove it, showing up holy instead of honest. But God isn’t moved by performance. He wants me, not my highlight reel. I’m slowly learning that faith is less about looking perfect and more about trusting deeply.

Galatians 1:10 (ESV)

“For am I now seeking the approval of man, or of God? … If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ.”

(Honourable mention: I absolutely do not want to be perceived as a male-centered woman 😭. There’s way, way more to me than romantic longing. Please.)

I know I shouldn’t care this much. I know perception isn’t reality. But I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t get heavy — this constant editing of self, just to be read correctly.

Still, I dream of freedom. Of laughing without wondering how I sound. Of saying no without writing an essay. Of being — fully and freely — without the need to control the narrative.

One day, maybe.

Maybe I’ll get there. But until then, I’ll keep unlearning. I’ll keep choosing authenticity over acceptance, even when it trembles in my throat. I’ll remind myself that I am not too much. Not too quiet. Not too soft. Not too complicated. That even when I am misunderstood, I am still worthy of love that sees me clearly.

That God already knows who I am — and He calls it good. Not because I’ve performed well, but because I’m His. He made me this way on purpose —sensitive, gentle and whole. So, this is me, learning to be okay with not being everyone’s cup of tea. Learning to live, not to be interpreted, but to be free.

And if you’re anything like me, if you’ve ever feared being misread, mistaken, misnamed…I hope you know this:

You’re not alone. And you don’t have to shrink to be safe. We are becoming, you and I. Becoming more ourselves, more rooted, more free.

Thank you for always being here, even with my inconsistency, my love! Things are definitely going to better from now on, and you’ll hear from me more often.🥹❤️

Have a beautiful week ahead, my love! Byeee.