Before I packed my life into suitcases and boarded a plane to Lagos, Nigeria, to meet and marry my husband, my grandmother said something that has stayed with me ever since. She looked at me—calm, steady, sure—and said:
“If it gets too hard… you can always come home.” And I’m so glad my grandmother told me this before getting married.
At the time, it felt like a casual reassurance. A grandmother’s way of comforting her granddaughter before a big move. But now? I understand the weight of what she gave me.
She gave me permission.
Permission to choose myself; Permission to leave if I needed to and the permission to never confuse endurance with love.
The Quiet Power of Knowing You’re Not Trapped
Getting married and moving to Lagos meant stepping into a new culture, a new marriage dynamic, new expectations, and new pressures—many of them unspoken. In some spaces, especially for women, the narrative is clear: stay, endure, manage, tolerate.
I had already heard the stories.
Women who felt stuck because of:
- Immigration status
- Financial dependence
- Cultural expectations
- Religious pressure
- Fear of shame
- Fear of “what people will say”
Women who were told to pray harder instead of being protected or that suffering was a badge of honor. Basically, women who learned too late that silence can become a prison.
But my grandmother’s words followed me like a quiet anchor.
If it gets too hard… you can always come home.
That sentence reminded me that love should never require me to disappear. That marriage should never demand my safety as a sacrifice. That God does not glorify abuse, humiliation, or silent endurance.
I Didn’t Have to Earn Rest Through Pain
One of the most dangerous lies women are taught—especially faith-filled women—is that pain is proof of commitment.
That if it hurts, it must be holy or if you endure long enough, things will change or the worst of them all… that leaving means failure, weakness, or lack of faith.
But peace is not something you earn through suffering. Nor is safety is a reward for obedience. And staying is not automatically more righteous than leaving.
Knowing I had a way out gave me peace even while staying.
Because I wasn’t there out of fear.
I wasn’t there because I had no options.
I was there because I chose to be.
And that changes everything.
Choice Is What Makes Love Sacred
There is a huge difference between staying because you want to and staying because you feel trapped.
Choice restores dignity, restores power and most importantly, choice restores your voice.
My grandmother didn’t tell me to run or expect failure. She simply made sure I remembered who I was before the world tried to convince me otherwise. She reminded me that I had a home beyond a location, beyond a marriage, beyond a title. And that reminder has protected me in ways I didn’t even realize at the time.
For the Woman Who Feels Stuck Right Now
If you are reading this and quietly wondering whether you’re allowed to want more peace… let me say this clearly:
You are not required to suffer to be loved. You are not called to stay silent to be godly and you are not weak for wanting safety, respect, and joy.
Whether you stay or leave, the most important thing is that you know you have a choice.
Because no woman thrives where she feels trapped.
And no life decision—marriage included—should cost you your God-given worth.
Call to Action
If this resonated with you, I invite you to share this post with a woman who needs permission to breathe again.
And if you’re on a journey of reclaiming your voice, your peace, and your whole-self love, explore more reflections like this on the blog—or join the conversation by leaving a comment below.
You don’t have to disappear to belong.
And you don’t have to suffer to stay.
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