My therapist dropped a gem: you can't spend your life avoiding heartbreak or bad things from happening. You have to condition yourself to have appropriate emotional responses but learn to keep moving forward.
“Imagine she was your daughter.”
No. Stop needing to imagine every woman as your daughter, sister, wife, or mother before you treat her like a human being. She shouldn’t have to be related to you to deserve dignity or respect. Just develop basic human empathy.
As we rally behind the Black Stars tonight, let’s do so passionately but moderately.
For those with anxiety and severe panic disorders, be taking light breaks.
Especially when the game becomes emotionally intense, enter the kitchen and drink water or call a friend and laugh over the phone. Be on the look out for those who may appear vulnerable.
Cheer responsibly, manage your emotions.
Remember win or lose, it is JUST football. JUST a game.
Go Ghana 🇬🇭
6. Letting small anger last too long
Old arguments were given too much importance. Some hurts stayed alive longer than they deserved. Cold days that should have ended in warmth became extra months of distance.
Ego always feels important in the middle of life. Near the end it starts looking small and foolish.
Very few things are worth losing peace over. Peace is what people miss when they run out of time.
This is really beautifully put. There’s something very kind about not letting someone lose themselves for you even when you know they would. Not taking advantage of how far someone is willing to go for you when they have that kind of devotion towards you.
I didn’t call my husband crying.
I called him angry.
It was 11:47 PM. I was sitting on the kitchen floor, laptop open, staring at an email that said my contract wasn’t being renewed. Just like that. Two years of overtime, weekends, skipped holidays — gone in one paragraph.
When he answered, I didn’t even say hello. “I lost my job.”
Silence. Not the awkward kind. The steady kind.
He said, “Okay. I’m coming home.”
He was on a night shift. I told him not to. I said I didn’t want him to risk it. I said I was fine.
He said, “You’re not.”
Twenty minutes later, I heard the door.
He didn’t try to fix it. Didn’t start giving solutions. Didn’t say, “You’ll find something better.” Didn’t minimize it.
He just sat on the floor with me.
He ordered food because he knew I hadn’t eaten. He closed my laptop because he knew I’d keep rereading the email. He made a list the next morning not of jobs for me but of bills he could cover alone “for as long as it takes.”
The next week, I found out he had quietly moved money from his personal savings into our joint account.
Not because I asked.
Because he anticipated.
Months later, when I apologized for being “a burden,” he looked genuinely confused.
“We’re married,” he said. “There is no yours and mine when things fall apart. There’s just us.”
That’s when I understood something about marriage.
It’s not about who plans the best anniversary or posts the sweetest captions.
It’s about who sits on the kitchen floor with you when your world collapses.
It’s about who absorbs your panic without adding their own.
It’s about who turns “your problem” into “our plan.”
Marriage isn’t loud.
It’s steady.
And when it’s real, you don’t have to beg someone to show up.
They already grabbed their keys.