Mental health refers to one’s emotional, psychological and social well- being. It affects how one thinks, feels and behaves and it also determines how one can handle stress, relate to others and make decisions and choices. Thus, good mental health enables you to deal with life’s challenges, realise your potential and abilities, learn and work well, contribute to your community as well as form and maintain healthy relationships. Mental health is an important part of one’s well-being, yet it is one of the most misunderstood and stigmatized aspects of health. It is therefore vital to explore what mental health issues are, why they matter and how societies can better address them.

According to WHO more than one billion people globally live with a mental health condition, making it one of the leading causes of disability worldwide. In Zimbabwe it is a common thing to find mentally challenged people roaming the streets. It is worrisome to note that many more people succumb to stress and depression due to social and economic reasons. Experts describe mental health as a public health emergency, with rising rates of depression, anxiety and stress- related disorders found across all age groups.

Common mental health issues comprise depression, that is persistent sadness, loss of interest, fatigue and lack of sleep that affect one’s daily life. Anxiety disorders emanating from excessive worry, panic attacks and other physical symptoms like rapid mood changes and violence depict mental health challenges. Some people struggle with mental health as a result of drug abuse and substance use. I have witnessed disheartening incidences of people struggling with mental health issues. At my workplace some student teachers have to postpone their studies in order to seek medication as a result of substance use. Even when they return to resume their studies, you can still see that they would be vulnerable and struggling. At one point we had a female student who was raped while on work integrated learning. Although the culprit was arrested and the girl received counseling and medical treatment, the traumatizing incident left an undetectable mark on her well-being.

There is also the sad case of a colleague’s son who committed suicide after completing his Advanced Level. Unknown to his parents, he had been struggling with drug and substance abuse. The heart wrecking incident of a fellow congregant who returned home from church to find his son who had been struggling with drug addiction), having set fire to the entire homestead, struck and murdered his pregnant wife with a matchet and then burnt the body. The mother had to flee for dear life together with her three grandchildren (children of the man who had killed his wife). Mental health issues are not merely an individual problem, they also affect families and the society at large.

They say prevention is better than cure. Healthy lifestyle approaches are necessary. It is therefore imperative to exercise self-care strategies such as mindfulness and meditation. This helps to reduce stress and increase self-awareness. Exercising boosts mood and it is essential for one to have adequate sleeping time. One also needs to have healthy eating habits and avoid loneliness by building and maintaining healthy relationships and community ties.

Early intervention is important. There is need to be one’s brother’s keeper. Recognizing symptoms of health challenges and seeking professional help early is important. Expanding affordable therapy, counseling and community-based support is very important. It is also important to reduce stigma through open conversations in order to normalize mental health struggles. I remember one of our students who had just returned from receiving therapy for drug addiction, coming to my office with a notebook saying, “Mam, I want to learn to write books like you do. Here is what I got from the library.” He read to me what appeared to be lacking coherence but I praised him so as to boost his confidence and then gave him the advice he needed. He left a contended young man and I felt that I had assisted him well without showing any stigmatization.

Mental health issues are therefore not just personal struggles, they are societal challenges that require collective action. By providing the awareness, accessibility and compassion, communities can foster resilience and ensure that mental health is treated with the same urgency and respect as physical health. Mental health is a prerequisite for everyone.

By Perpetua Gonese

Social Handles

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I became my mother’s caregiver when I was just four years old.

My mother was from Opuwo, in the Kunene region of Namibia. When I was four, she became very ill. In our area, people strongly believed in witchcraft. They thought her sickness was caused by something supernatural, something that hospitals and doctors could not fix. She was stuck in bed for weeks, and she grew weaker every day.

One day, one of my mother’s nephews came to our village for a funeral. He saw how sick she was and knew she needed more than just medicine from a doctor. He suggested to my grandfather that he take my mother to live with him so she could get traditional treatment. My grandfather agreed, and the nephew said he would come back for her later.

Even after starting the traditional treatments, my mother’s health did not get better. On her good days, when she felt a little stronger, she would wash her clothes or give me a bath—things no one else would do for me. But those good days were rare.

The Journey to Find Help

One day, my mother decided we had to leave. She was very weak, but she took me with her to hitchhike to another village. This was where her own mother was from, and it was closer to the main road to Outjo, which made it easier to find a ride. We had no money, so we relied on the kindness of people we did not know.

We stayed in that village for a few days, waiting for a free ride. I remember one very hard day when my mother was so dizzy she could not stand. She asked me to cook porridge, a huge task for a four-year-old. As I struggled with the pot over the fire, an ostrich suddenly appeared and tried to eat our food. I was so scared that I ran into the house. When I looked back, the pot had tipped over, spilling our only meal. I cried from hunger and frustration.

Our luck changed when we were waiting near some stores. A woman who knew my mother came over and gave her N$10, which was a lot of money for us at the time. While they were talking, a car stopped.
The woman knew the driver and asked if he could give us a ride, explaining that we had no money. To
our surprise, he said yes.

Midnight in a Strange Town

The driver took us past Outjo all the way to Okakarara, the town nearest to where my mother’s nephew lived. We arrived at one in the morning with no place to sleep. The kind driver let us sleep in an old canopy outside his house. It was not much, but it kept us safe.

Early the next morning, we waited for the man to wake up. When he did, he asked my mother what we planned to do. She told him she was looking for her nephew who worked in the town. The man helped us find him, and soon my mother’s nephew came to take us to his home. At his house, we met another woman from my mother’s village. She was also there for traditional treatment for an illness. When she saw that my mother was much sicker than she was, this kind woman

washed our clothes and blankets and gave me a bath. I had not had one in days. She also cooked food for us. Our last meal had been breakfast the day before. Hunger was a constant part of our lives. Whenever I told my mother I was hungry, she would tell me, “Drink water” We accepted this without complaining.

The price of help

After three days, my mother’s nephew called the relative we were supposed to stay with, and that man came to get us. That was when our real struggle began. I now see it as a kind of modern slavery.

Even though my mother was sick, she was expected to do all the housework: laundry, cleaning, and cooking for her nephew and his family. The nephew did take her to a doctor and paid for her treatment, but in return, my mother had to work for him for free, with no end in sight.

The doctor found that my mother could not eat maize meal, the main food in our region. She could only have pasta, rice, meat, or milk. But the nephew said he would not regularly buy these more expensive foods. If there was no milk, she just did not eat. When there was milk, she would pour all of it into my porridge, leaving nothing for herself.

As my mother grew sicker from the hard work and lack of good food, I had to do even more. By the time I was six, I was washing her clothes and cooking for both of us.

School and Separation

When I turned seven, it was time for me to start school. My mother and I were sent to Okakarara to stay with her nephew’s son, who was the principal of the primary school I would attend.

Because my mother could not read or write, the only work she could find was as a domestic worker. She needed money for my school fees, so she took a job cleaning houses and looking after the children for one of my teachers. Her first full paycheck all went toward my education.

To earn more money and pay for the small outside room we lived in – which had only a toilet and no bathroom – my mother took on extra jobs. I helped by raking yards, and she washed clothes on weekends while working her main job during the week. We did all this just to have one meal a day and a roof over our heads. I slept on the floor of our little room and often got sick with the flu during the cold winters.

A Friend’s Kindness

I had a friend whose mother was also a teacher at my school. One day after school, she came home with me. When she saw how we lived, she told her mother. Her mother came to talk to me and asked if I would like to stay with their family on school days and come back to my mother on weekends. My mother agreed, hoping I would have a proper bed and regular meals. This only lasted for a month before the owner of our room became unhappy with the arrangement, and I had to go back to sleeping on the floor.

There were other small hurts, too. The principal, my mother’s nephew’s son, drove to school every morning with his wife and their two children. But he always left me behind. I had to take the bus to the very school where he was in charge. Even as a child, I wondered why he would not give me a ride, but I knew not to ask an adult such a question. This was our routine until the school year ended.

The Final Separation

During the December holidays, my mother’s nephew bought a farm and planned to move there in January. When the time came, they moved to the farm, and my mother went with them to continue her unpaid work. But there was no place for me there.

That is how I ended up being sent to boarding school, separated from the mother I had cared for since I was four years old.

To read Jasana’s emotional and inspiring story about her experiences at boarding school, click on the following link:

Growing Up In A Boarding School By Jasana Uandia

By: Jasana

Instagram: Jasana Ijemue Uandia

Facebook: Jasana Ijemue Uandia

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It all started when I was sexually abused when I was 11 years old

I am 28 years old and the firstborn in a family of 5. My life has always been a mystery. It started when I was 11 years old when my late uncle sexually abused me. My Mum brought her young brother with us. At the time, we lived in a two-roomed house. I was sleeping with my uncle in the living room. We never had a bed, but we used sofa cushions as a bed, so my little brother, uncle, and I slept together using the same blankets. Poor culture and ignorance, correct?

My uncle could take advantage of me in the night by playing with my private parts and rubbing his penis on me. I couldn’t say anything. I kept quiet because he threatened that he would beat me when Mum left the house. I was so angry and lost concentration on myself and at school. One day, I refused to sleep in the sitting room and insisted that I sleep with Mum. My Mum asked me why, but I couldn’t say. She refused as she thought I was childishly seeking attention. The next day after school, I went to my grandma’s place and didn’t return home.

While I was staying at my grandma’s place, my cousin and I were sent to get something from granny’s brother, who is far from her place. As we walked, we came across this man who said he knew me through a relative, although I didn’t know him. He greeted me and asked me about a relative, which made me trust that he knew me. He offered to escort my cousin and me, and we accepted. He suggested that my cousin go alone, and I would join her later as he needed help with something. Because I was young and naive, I agreed. I kept asking him where we were going. He kept saying Tifika manje manje (we will get there soon). Soon, we arrived at this unfinished house. He told me he wanted to pee and that I should wait for him by the door, which I did. He showed me a pack of biscuits and told me to take some. As I reached out to take one, he grabbed my hand and showed me a screwdriver, threatening to kill me if I screamed. The man had everything planned. I was raped mercilessly. I couldn’t scream. He took me back to where I had left my cousin with a biscuit in my hand. I was only 11. I was terrified because I had never gone through anything like that, and it shut me down. I never said a word to anyone until now.

Fast forward to when I was 15years old, my neighbour raped me. He was older than me; I think he was 25 by then, and he called me to go and play chess with him. We sat outside, and then he suggested we go inside as it was sunny. He was alone in the house. We went inside, and he locked the door, pulled me to the bedroom and took advantage of me. Afterwards, he released me as if nothing had happened and threatened to beat me if I opened my mouth.

In 2014, I got into a relationship with a guy. Because of the bad experiences I had had with sex, I could not have sex with him. He cheated on me with another girl and got her pregnant. It was okay for me as I despised sex. He told me that he didn’t want to continue with an ugly girl like me and that I embarrassed him in front of his friends. I let him go. This became a trend for some time, that guys, to a total number of 6, left me because of not having sex with them. I told myself not to date again and to concentrate on school.

In 2016, I finished school and decided to take up a job opening at one of the companies in the industrial area (Halla Industries). I met an older woman who became my friend. We went to work together and left the premises together. Her boyfriend was a soldier. One day, he came to pick her up from work to visit his farm in Kafue. My friend asked me to join them. It was a Saturday, and we arrived in Kafue around 3 pm. We started our journey home at about 6 pm and reached Lusaka at around 8 pm.

The man suggested that he drop his girlfriend first and me later. The girl insisted that he drop me first, but he refused. I was terrified because I knew something terrible was going to happen. He stopped to buy beer and cigarettes. When he returned, he asked me to sit in front of the car. I did. While driving, he started touching me. He drove to an abandoned place, stopped his car, dropped his car seats, removed my pants, and for two hours raped me carelessly. I couldn’t scream. He had a gun and told me that he was going to shoot me if I screamed. I just wanted to die as he did whatever he would have wanted to do with a woman. Finally, he decided to take me home, and when we reached my place, he raped me again before releasing me. He gave me k20 for a morning-after pill and warned me not to tell his girlfriend. Pointing a gun at me, he said if I did, he would shoot me and my entire family.

After this, I completely lost all sense of myself and any feelings of self-love. I hated myself and slept with any guy I called my boyfriend. In 2018, I was 22 and I met a guy who wanted to marry me. We had unprotected sex on several occasions, but to our surprise, I couldn’t fall pregnant. He said he was only going to marry me if I had a child with him. Unfortunately, I couldn’t fall pregnant. I figured my womb was disfigured because of an early exposure to sex. I went to the hospital, explained everything, did tests, and discovered that my intuition was correct. My womb was damaged. They suggested its removal, but I refused. Upon knowing that, the man fled.

In 2022, I met this angel of a man on an online dating site. He was gentle, God-fearing, loyal, caring, honest and all those things that describe a good man. I told him everything that had happened to me in the past and my condition of childbearing. Guess what? He didn’t care about that. He took me as I was, advised, prayed for me, and told me he would do anything to make me happy. He took me to a private hospital for checkups, and he was only a student at CBU. It was like sunrise for me.

I was so thankful to God that finally, he had wiped my tears away, not knowing what was ahead of me.

In November last year, he became ill and was taken to hospital; I went there to nurse him. They operated successfully, and he stayed in the ICU for three days and then succumbed to appendicitis. It has been 5months since he died. I feel useless. I don’t know what to think or do. I cry every night and day, asking God why it should always be me. Still, people from church and my late man’s relatives came on board, providing counseling, Prayers and words of encouragement. It has helped, but I have not recovered. Losing a loved one is so painful.
This is my story

By: Joyce

Joyce Kapapi on Facebook, Instagram and TikTok

Instagram

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My life changed forever when I discovered that I am HIV positive. The news came during my pregnancy with my youngest child. At first, I was filled with confusion and denial, and I felt betrayed by my partner. It turned out that the virus was transmitted by my baby’s father, whom I was dating at the time. I already have two kids who are now young teenagers, and I never thought something like this could happen to me or my loved ones.

My biggest concern was that my baby would be born with the virus. However, I didn’t know much about HIV, as I come from a rural area where the stigma is louder than literacy. So, I had to seek help from the nurses at the clinic. Unfortunately, those nurses didn’t treat me with respect either. They looked at me and said that I was reckless for getting pregnant knowing that I am HIV positive. Their words were hurtful and made me feel like I was worthless, unwelcome and unseen.

I haven’t told anyone else except my mom and sister about my condition because of the humiliation I experienced from the allocated health  professionals and the fear of being judged. Their attitudes made me realize that nobody else cares, especially those who’ve never been in my situation. In this world, I have realised that being poor means that your life isn’t valuable. People make assumptions and judge you based on their beliefs, and nothing you say or do can change their minds.

The only mistake I made was trusting my partner without taking the necessary precautions, and unfortunately, my life has been changed forever. However, my baby was born HIV-negative, and I can’t explain how that happened. It was a miracle and we give thanks to God for the divine protection over my daughter. God has been with me all along. Even when things get hard, and it feels like there’s no way out, God gives me strength and guides me towards the right path.

Living with HIV is a challenge that I have to face every day. I started taking ARVs, and my viral load has been suppressed since then. However, it’s not easy to live with the stigma that comes with the virus. People often judge me and treat me differently once they find out about my condition. It’s hard to explain to them that being HIV positive does not define who I am as a person.

My advice to everyone is not to trust others too much, especially when it comes to sexual relationships. Protect yourself. Encourage your partner to get tested for HIV with you before engaging in sexual intercourse. Always use protection, especially condoms, to reduce the chance of getting infected with sexually transmitted diseases. It’s crucial to get educated about HIV and AIDS, as it helps to prevent the spread of the virus.

Living with HIV is not easy, but it’s possible to live a healthy and fulfilling life despite the challenges. I hope my story can inspire and encourage others who may be going through similar situations. Remember, you are not alone, and there is always hope.

By: Anonymous

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I vividly recall the awe-inspiring wonder of my early years, when becoming an adult felt like the ultimate goal. I used to watch my parents, aunts, and uncles, convinced they had everything figured out, and I admired them with a mixture of reverence and envy. Life, however, had other ideas.

As I grew older, the harsh realities of maturity began to sink in. Not everything in the world was kind or gentle. Love could be fleeting, and people could be cruel. I slowly realized that adulthood wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

I’ve had my share of grief and betrayal. The memories linger like open wounds that refuse to heal. There were moments when I felt like I was drowning in hopelessness, unsure how to stay afloat. Times when the pain seemed unbearable, when giving up felt like the only escape.

Yet even in the midst of suffering, I’ve learned to recognize the beauty of happiness. It is fragile and fleeting, but when it comes, it makes every hardship worthwhile. I’ve experienced pure joy, laughter, and love so profound that the struggles fade in comparison.

Now, as I approach my twentieth birthday, I’m filled with conflicting emotions. I’m thrilled to reach this milestone, yet I know there are still challenges ahead. I’m excited to celebrate this new chapter, but I’m also aware of the difficulties waiting for me.

Adulthood is difficult. It’s a constant juggling act of responsibilities, emotions, and expectations. Some days, I barely hold on, crushed under the weight of the world. Other days, I feel unstoppable, as if nothing can stand in my way.

Still, despite the highs and lows, I wouldn’t trade my life for anything. I’ve learned to find strength in vulnerability, to hold on to hope in despair, and to treasure the beautiful moments.

Adulthood isn’t a destination. It’s a journey, and it’s okay to take it one step at a time. Looking ahead, I know there will be more twists and turns, triumphs and setbacks. But I’m ready. Ready to face whatever life brings, to learn from my mistakes, and to grow into the best version of myself. So adulthood, bring it on. I’m prepared for you.

By: Grace Banda

The post The Bittersweet Taste of Adulthood~ By Grace Banda appeared first on Sheevolves.world.

I spent my entire school career in a boarding school, where I was expected to look after myself from the tender age of 8, in Grade 2, until I graduated in Grade 12. I remember when I started boarding school during the second term of Grade 2 in the middle of winter, my shoes were stolen from my locker. When I told my mom, who was a domestic worker, that my shoes were stolen, she told me that she didn’t have the money to buy me another pair of shoes, so I had to attend school barefoot for the whole term. Then there was a time when my feet were cracked from walking barefoot and eventually bled, but I didn’t feel anything; only the other kids could see blood flowing from my feet, and they were the ones who showed me.

I never knew a mother’s love/attention since I started boarding school. l had to spend my holidays with a guardian, and I could feel a sense of not belonging there. If there is work to be done at home, no one else could do it besides me, starting from cooking, cleaning, laundry, and milking goats. I did not spend my holidays resting; I worked hard so that I could get a bar of soap and lotion for boarding school.

I had to do laundry for other girls in order for me to use their soap water to wash my own clothes, and iron their clothes so that I could iron mine because I did not have the privilege of getting full toiletries termly. I got old clothes from family members, especially from girls of family members where my mother was working. I never knew wearing store-bought underwear; only from the leftover fabric that my guardian was not using, she sewed some underwear or two.

Imagine a teenager who gets her period every month. Not having any sanitary towels to use, I had to use the mattress I was sleeping on. Every month, I would cut 3 or 4 pieces from the mattress, cover them with part of a t-shirt I cut up, and use that as a sanitary towel. It didn’t help much, but it was better than nothing. When the bleeding was too heavy, I had to skip school for the day.

Coming home for the holidays, you will face a constant reminder that it’s not your home. Since I was the only one doing all the domestic work, after I mopped the floor and the other kids came from playing and they wanted to use the bathroom, and I told them that the floor was wet, I was constantly told that I should let them enter their house, I should remember that it is not our house… this reminder lives with me until today.

Whenever you want to do something or you have an idea and you are looking for validation or support from your guardian, there was always a negative comment and eventually a big NO! That caused me to start feeling that I am not good enough, or anything l do is not good enough, or I cannot be better than someone else.

I am fighting daily to be better and to know that I am good enough, but this childhood trauma is stuck with me, that it causes me to procrastinate or delay very important things I have to do in order to make my life better and that of my daughter. I know I am stronger than my past. And every day, I choose to fight for a better life-not just for me, but for my daughter. I may still carry the scars, but they remind me how far I have come. I am learning, step by step, to believe in myself. No one can take away my power. No one can erase the fact that I survived.

And now, I am trying to build something new… a life where my daughter will never know the pain I knew. She will grow up loved, supported, and sure of her worth. The little girl who walked barefoot, who sewed her own underwear, who made do with nothing, she is still inside me. But she is not broken. She is a warrior. And warriors keep rising. My story isn’t over yet. The best chapters are still ahead.

Written By: Jasana Uandia

Instagram: Jasana Ijemue Uandia

Facebook: Jasana Ijemue Uandia

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My name is Joy. I am a Nigerian woman, the second of five children. My family lived in the city and came from a lower-class. While my parents and siblings stayed in the city, I was raised by my grandmother in the village.

Growing up in the village, life was extremely harsh I had to help with farming and do small- scale trading to support myself. I believe my mom took me to live with my grandma, not to punish me or because she couldn’t take care of me but because she didn’t want my grandmother to live alone She wanted me to be her companion.

I completed both elementary and high school in the village. After graduation, I moved back to the city to live with my family. The transition was difficult. I struggled to communicate and connect with my peers, to adjust to urban life, and to fit into my family’s way of living after being away for so long. To continue my education, I worked hard at various low-paying jobs. My father was not supportive or involved, which made things harder. At times, I could have lost my way as a teenager and young adult, but by God's grace and through my mother’s encouragement, I stayed on the right path. I stayed focused on my dreams, refusing to give up or be distracted. Although it’s been years since I graduated and I haven’t yet landed my dream job, I discovered a skill that changed everything: hair and wig styling. I now earn a living through the hair and wig business. I’ve been paying my bills and even supporting my family by selling hair and installing wigs.

In 2018, I applied for an Empowerment Fund using my business idea. My pitch was selected, and I received a small grant to start my business. Like many others, I faced serious challenges during the COVID-19 pandemic, but I stayed determined. I’m not yet where I want to be, but I’m getting closer every day.

My hope is that every girl from a humble or difficult background never stops dreaming. Stay resilient. There will always be distractions and obstacles, but when you know your worth and stay true to your path, greater things are possible.

Written by: JOY EIKOJONWA

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If I knew today was the end of the world,
I wouldn’t have woken up.
I wouldn’t have forgotten to make my bed,
I wouldn’t have rushed out without kneeling to pray.
Instead, I scrolled on my phone till past eight,
I envied those I did not personally know.

If I knew the world was ending today,
I would have eaten more and taken a bath to wash away the buggy eyes on my face.
A result of staying up too late yesterday,
Trying to replace the hours for the job I hate.

If I knew the world was ending today,
I would have called to tell my parents,
“I’m sorry I never said thank you,”
Especially to my father,
Before he passed away.

I would have fulfilled the promise I made to myself ten years ago-
To travel the world and look fear straight in the face.
Because I’ve been so afraid
To live an authentic life,
To do the things I wanted to do.
But now that the day is coming to an end,
And the earth hasn’t shaken,
I haven’t felt any earthquakes,
And there’s a possibility of another day.
If I knew the world wasn’t ending today,
I will wake up early and remember to pray.

Maybe even start that hobby,
I’ve always said I would.
I will make my bed and take a warm shower.
I will eat so much food until I say,
” I thin I’ve had enough for today”
I will call my parents and thank them for all they did-
Maybe if I had done that before hearing the news of my father’s passing,
I would finally be at peace.

If I knew the world wasn’t ending today,
I will quit my job and use the money I’ve saved
To write beautiful poetry,
Then travel the world and visit all the places I’ve always wished to see.

Because I’m tired of saying I would have,
And I want to live a life of ” I will”

By LuSee

The post I Will~ By Lucy appeared first on Sheevolves.world.

Alice was the first woman
who told me I am beautiful.

We sat across from each other,
and she looked at me and asked,
“Do you know you are beautiful?”
Before I could answer Alice, she
she smiled and said,
“You are beautiful.
Don’t let anyone else make you feel otherwise.
Especially boys.
If they make you doubt it or question yourself,
remember,
You are beautiful, and I told you so.
If they want to use this as a compliment to undress you,
Remember,
my lips said it first.
You don’t need their affirmation.”

Alice then leaned in and asked,
“Now, has any boy told you so yet?”
I laughed.
Alice gave me a knowing look.
She said,
“Now, here is where you draw the line”.
And she started an education.

I don’t know if Alice still remembers her words,
but I do.
I am beautiful,
because my grandmother said so.

From: JustSam 

Facebook: Just Sam

LinkedIn: Yvonnie Kunkeyani

Instagram: Yvonnie_93

The post Alice’s Words~ By Yvonnie S. Kunkeyani appeared first on Sheevolves.world.

Hello! My name is Babirye Bridget. I’m 20 years old and from Uganda. I come from a family of three boys and one girl, raised by a single mother. She worked so hard—taking on multiple jobs just to feed us, send us to school, and keep a roof over our heads.

Growing up, especially in primary school, I was fearless. I would stand in front of my class, completely confident, speaking without hesitation. It didn’t matter if the students were older or younger—I said what I needed to say and walked away, unbothered by anyone’s opinion.

But in secondary school, everything changed. I was bullied badly because of my weight, and my confidence disappeared. I felt small and broken. That’s when my journey with God truly began—especially in 2023. He listened when no one else did. He never judged me, only welcomed me with open arms.

Today, I still love speaking in front of people, even though my accent isn’t “perfect” and my teeth need braces. But I don’t care! I am beautiful—with my natural melanin skin and my proud African hair.

Lesson: Life may knock you down, but with faith and self-love, you can rise again—unshaken and unapologetically  YOU.

By: Miss B

Instagram: Babiryebtidget522

@missb

The post Unapologetically Me ~By Miss Bridget appeared first on Sheevolves.world.