Fearless Again: The Story of Where It Began

Where Fear Began, Where Fear Ends.....

You’re here to convince me I can’t do it, whether I try or not. You’re here to tell me it’s impossible for me to be fruitful if I’m full of so many flaws. You whisper so many things, and while they sound believable, ultimately, they’re lies.

You entered my life many years ago, and for a long time, you had me in a chokehold. I believed I was powerless, that I was a victim despite my strong urge to fight. A cycle that left me paralyzed, trapped in my own indecision and stifled creativity. I struggled to decide whether to trust my gut or believe what the world was telling me. A mental despair that birthed ambitious dreams and hopes, only for fear to kill every single one, leaving me stuck in a pattern of starting and never finishing, in almost every aspect of my life.

As a Naija Babe, it upset me even more. I’m Nigerian. I’m supposed to be fearless. It’s in my blood. Nigerians can overcome anything. We’re relentless in our pursuit of success. So why does fear feel like it has such a grip on me?

I was incredibly hard on myself, placing the weight of that expectation on my shoulders. I judged myself harshly, not just because of fear itself, but because I saw everyone else out there figuring it out somehow, pushing through, making it work—while I felt stuck, held back by something I couldn’t quite shake. But in reality, we all experience it. I just allowed fear to convince me I was alone.

Fear has manifested my worst fear, feeling like a failure…. but that makes me wonder… what will hope and love for my dreams create instead? For so long, I let fear define me. But then I remembered something…….. God never designed me to live like this.

I have more to tell fear, especially how it can kiss my ass, but first, I need to understand what it truly means to be fearless. The biggest lie? I let fear make me feel powerless. I did that. And now? I’m taking my power back. One decision. One story at a time. And to answer my questions, I have to go back to the beginning. So with that…….

---

I had the opportunity to visit Nigeria for the first time—a trip I had always dreamed of. All the moments spent listening to Asa, scrolling through Not Just Ok every morning, and watching Yoruba movies just so I could feel like I was already there—suddenly, they all felt worth it. I was finally going to see the place I had longed for.

But there was one problem: I had a fear of planes.

The idea of putting my life in the hands of another human being was daunting. But deep down, I knew I wanted to go. I remember telling myself not to worry about the 14-hour flight, that I would talk myself up and mentally prepare.

Then one evening, I overheard my mom talking to my dad. She mentioned that Pastor had instructed her to pray over me before the trip. That single sentence sent my anxiety spiraling. It fed my fear to the point that I immediately backed out.

Everyone wanted to know why, but all I could say was that I simply didn’t want to go. I feared telling someone the real reason—because what if they convinced me otherwise?

For years, I let fear dictate my choices. When I went to college upstate, I would choose an 8-hour bus ride over a one-hour flight. It was what I could afford at the time, but whenever I saw a $50 airline ticket, I forced myself to take it—little by little, building my tolerance.

At some point, I realized fear was robbing me of the experiences I deeply wanted. Each time I chose the bus over the plane, I was giving fear more power. And then, one day, I asked myself, what would it look like to choose faith instead?

Eventually, I worked my way up—first an 8-hour flight to Jamaica, and finally, this past November, I took my first trip to Nigeria.

It took me 12 years to say yes. And while I do wish I had gone sooner, I know that no amount of frustration or regret can change the past. It’s best to move forward, learn from our choices, and say yes the next time. That, and I simply don’t want to turn into salt. Lot’s wife could never be me, okurrr

Ironically, now we’re seeing planes dropping from the sky again, but this time, I remember God. Fear and anxiety don’t have the final say. Only He does.

________

I remember the first time I was fearless. I was in the first grade when my dad picked me up after work, dressed in his Nigerian native attire. As a young Naija Babe, I was in awe. I felt so proud to see him rocking native wear as everyday clothing in the early 2000s, especially in the U.S.

But my smile quickly faded when I heard the other kids laughing.

Without hesitation, I snapped at them. "There’s absolutely nothing funny." Or something like that. My teacher stepped in immediately and gave them detention.

While I should’ve solely enjoyed the moment of having some sort of revenge, I was more caught up in my feelings. I was upset that they found my culture laughable. Surprised by the scream I let out. Horrified that I felt so much rage I had to scream in the first place. And lastly, yes, satisfied that they had to deal with the repercussions.

Most impressively, I didn’t think before I acted and I wasn’t scared to stand up for my family, culture and self. The spirit in me just knew she had to.

And it’s giving that was Psalm 27:1

I still reflect on that moment, in awe of that little girl’s bravery.

Either way, two things I know for sure 🧐🤨:

1. I’m ready to reignite that light and make her proud by becoming fearless again.

2. I will always be proud to be a Naija Babe. This blood is green okurrr

Until next time,