Eight reasons why 8-year-old me would be disappointed in my life

a listicle on girlish desires & goals

Eight-year-old me laughing because she thinks my life is a joke

When I was young and envisioned how my life would turn out, I assumed that the transition from girlhood to womanhood would be a fabulous journey that would catapult me into a lifetime of endless bliss. Whenever I saw or heard about a woman whose life didn’t align with what I wanted for myself, I firmly proclaimed that it would be different for me—my version of ‘can’t be me.’

Recently, my mind randomly recalls some of the dreams and desires I had as a girl and I scoff at how laughable they are. Especially compared to the life I live now. And I wonder what little me would think of this life I’m living. Then I realised if she were to have a peek, she’d be gravely disappointed. Here are some reasons why:

1. I’m not 5’8 and skinny

   There was a time when the marker of people returning from boarding school was how much weight they had lost and how much taller they had become. Probably from all the suffering and starvation they faced in school, but all in all, they lost the baby fat that primary school and living with parents nurtured, and that was cool.
   
   So just before I went to secondary school, I had a very specific vision of what I’d look like when boarding school had refined me in a way that would reveal my true body. I believed the three months I would spend in school before Christmas break were enough to transform me into a tall and skinny goddess. It’s so funny that 14 years later, I’m still not as tall as I had pictured I would be.

   8-year-old me would look at my current 5’3 self and wonder where the rest was.

2. I’m not a makeup expert and I can’t dance in heels like Beyoncé

   I also believed when I reached a certain age, maybe the magical ages of 16 or 18 (which were very uneventful for me, by the way) I would automatically become a pro at putting on makeup and 90 per cent of my shoes would be heels.
   
   8-year-old me would be utterly confused by the absence of a sacred space in my room dedicated to makeup and of a cute little makeup bag I’m supposed to carry everywhere. She’d also look at my shoes and ask me with alarm in her tiny voice, “Where are all the high heels?!’
   
   I’d tell her I only wear comfortable shoes, just like tobi lou, and recently gave out my last pair of heels when I realised I never wore them. And I’d explain that the dearth of makeup stems from both my lack of interest in it and laziness. But I have lip gloss at least!
   
   Then she’d cry and wonder how she grew up to become a young woman who had let herself go.

3. My hair is natural

   My mother never relaxed my hair when I was little. So I used to stress over the fact that I couldn’t put my hair in a low ponytail without it poking out in different places and refusing to stay down. I never liked how disobedient natural hair was.

   
   When I finally relaxed my hair at 10, I revelled in the newfound length that the chemicals in the relaxer revealed. My hair was straight, especially with my excessive use of hair straighteners, and that was all that mattered. Inevitably, my hair became uneven; longer at the front than at the back. Then I got tired of having to use relaxers up to three times a year and of hairdressers complaining that my hair was ‘due’ even after I relaxed it. So I crawled back to the natural hair community like a prodigal daughter.
   
   Even after I tell 8-year-old me I can successfully put my hair in a low ponytail now and that shrinkage isn’t the devil, she might be sad that I tasted the ‘sweet life’ of relaxed hair and let it go.

4. My twenties don’t revolve around trying to acquire the greatest honour of a woman: marriage and kids

   When I tell 8-year-old me I currently don’t see marriage and kids in my future, she’d be flabbergasted! Because according to her timeline, I should be getting married at 25 and having my first kid at 27.
   
   She’d try to convince me I still had time to catch up and it’s not too late. She’d pour out all society filled her tiny mind with and tell me, just like a guy told me once, I’d be aged if I waited too long and no one would want me. She’d sadly shake her head at my refusal to heed her warnings and wonder again, how she turned out this way.

5. I’m not a doctor

   I went through a Benjamin Carson phase when I was little. I read Think Big, Gifted Hands, and also watched the movie. I convinced myself that I wanted to become a doctor even though I couldn’t stand the sight of blood. I even went on to say I wanted to become a neurosurgeon.
   
   8-year-old me would be so saddened at how far away I am from that dream. She would cluck her tongue and squirm at the fact that I didn’t even write Biology in WAEC.

6. I still live in Nigeria

   8-year-old me would be confused that her plans to go to the UK for university and maybe end up living there didn’t come to fruition. She’d scoff at me when I complain about all the many things wrong with Nigeria but still call it home. She would look at me like I’m talking gibberish when I say I’d love to travel and live in other places, but I don’t want to permanently relocate, even as 80% of my friends don’t live here anymore and I only get to see them during Detty December or the occasional summer trip.

7. I still cry/ feel the urge to cry

   Fergie lied to 8-year-old me when she said Big Girls Don’t Cry. Little me would’ve thought by now, I’d have discovered a way to control the overpowering urge to let my feelings manifest through streams that leak from my eyes. She would’ve thought it was simply a childish habit I’d have outgrown by now. She wouldn’t understand that crying has no age limits.

8. I don’t have it all figured out

   The fact that everything in my life didn’t fall into place when I became an adult would be baffling to 8-year-old me. That I don’t have a clear career path or a 5-year plan might make her collapse. What was all that reading Think Big for? All that studying in primary school?
   
   When I tell her I still get sad, feel insecure or scared and that I have no idea what I’m doing with my life a lot of the times, she’d begin to wonder if this adulthood thing is a scam, or if I’m just the one fumbling it.

Although, I’m positive that if I and 8-year-old me sat down and had a genuine and receptive conversation, she’d understand.

I’d explain to her how all the markers and things you should’ve accomplished at a certain age do nothing but supply you with unnecessary pressure that makes life harder. I’d tell her how the standards society sets, especially for women, are unrealistic and aren’t in our best interest.

I’d explain what the patriarchy is to her. Tell her about the freedom you can get from decentering men and the yearning to be desired by them. How at the end of the day, no matter what women do, they’ll be questioned, shamed, and advised to do the opposite. So the best way to live is in a way that’s fulfilling to you even if it doesn’t make sense to others.

I’d tell her that figuring things out isn’t a bad thing but a lifelong journey to truly recognise what is for you. I’d explain that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be and who I’m supposed to be at this point.

That making mistakes isn’t the end of the world but a catalyst to growing and creating a life much lovelier than she could ever imagine that fits me perfectly.

Lastly, I’d tell her that there isn’t one way to be a woman. That there isn’t a wrong way to express womanhood.

I’d tell her she should trust me because frankly, she has no other choice. And I think she’d be gratified and smile a proud (not a mocking) smile.

Thank you for reading! Let me know your thoughts:

⚘ Do you think little you would be proud or disappointed in your life?
⚘ If you could have a conversation with your younger self, what would you tell them?

Have a lovely rest of your month ✨