I cried today, and even now the feeling hasn’t quite left me. It wasn’t something I expected, but in a way it felt necessary—like a reminder that it’s alright to be human and to feel things fully.
I spoke with a friend I’ve had for over 15 years. Over time, our communication has slowly faded, and although I understood the reasons—life, responsibilities, changing routines—I finally found the courage to speak about it again. This was the second time I brought it up, but this time felt different. Heavier.
I tried to approach it gently. I told her I understood that life gets busy, that people meet others, priorities shift, and that’s all part of growing. But I also shared something simple—that even a small reply when she can would mean a lot, just to know she’s okay.
What stayed with me most was her birthday. My partner and I were genuinely excited to call her, to celebrate her, but the call went unanswered. I waited, hoping she would call back. When she didn’t, I sent a message. Still no reply. Days passed, and I tried calling again. Nothing. I started to worry.
When we finally spoke this month, she explained she had been travelling at the time, which is why she couldn’t answer. I understood that. But I also told her that I had sent messages that were delivered, and I had hoped for even a short reply—something to let me know she was alright. Especially since this pattern has been happening for over a year now.
She acknowledged that her communication hasn’t been the best, and I believe she meant it. But as I was speaking, something shifted inside me. A wave of emotion I hadn’t anticipated. It felt deeper than the words I was saying.
I have always heard people discuss mom guilt, but I never truly understood the full picture until I heard women cry, saying they wished they had been much happier in those early days after giving birth. They spoke of the constant feeling of not doing enough, of not being a “good mom." I mean, imagine a newborn who can’t even speak, and the mother already feeling guilty—then imagine a society full of people whose words cut like razors. What humanity and its impossible standards have forced mothers to endure.
While reading this book, I asked myself, how many times have I felt guilty for something I shouldn't have? How many times have I said no, knowing it was best for me, yet still carried guilt? How many times have I decided to look the other way because I couldn’t fix a situation? When I choose to put myself first in situations that demand it with adults, the feeling of guilt still creeps in—but I refuse to pay it attention.
Now, imagine the moms with babies who can’t even speak. That guilt is amplified, constant, and relentless.
Why Do Some Women Hide Their Success?
Why do some people—especially women—buy a property, a car, or even take care of things at home, only to tell everyone, “It’s my husband’s”?
Why is this considered normal? I want to write from three angles: traditional expectations, modern life, and the spiritual perspective.
Traditionally, society has expected women to be “less than” men. Even if a woman wants to succeed, she’s often told to slow down so her husband doesn’t feel insecure. Growing up in Nigeria, I’ve seen countless women sacrifice their dreams, give up parts of their lives, and even when they make money, insist it belongs to their husbands—to make him feel like the head of the family.
A clear example: at a church women’s conference, a speaker advised women that if their husband has a fertility issue, they should take the blame and “cover him,” even telling people they are the one with the problem. What a ridiculous thing to say—like women exist to carry all the burdens. Seriously. Do you know what women who struggle to have children go through at the hands of family members, in-laws, and judgmental relatives? And when the problem is actually with the man, she is expected to lie and claim it’s hers. Who even gets to speak for her private life? It’s insane. That video went viral, and many were shocked at advice from a church leader. But here’s the pattern: this kind of advice mostly comes from some women of the older generation. Why? Because many adopt what’s called “pick me” behavior—they shrink themselves, endure suffering, and allow themselves to be trapped in a submissive, controlling dynamic.
Some women pay the family rent, buy properties, or make major purchases, yet society expects them to put it all under their husband’s name—so he can “feel like a man.”
I’ve heard men boast about controlling every penny their wives earn, deciding how the money is spent, and flaunting their authority over it. Women who shrink themselves to make a partner feel seen are essentially catering to someone with ego problems. If it’s your choice, fine. But if society, family, or religion pressures you into it, that is abuse disguised as “respect” or “submission.”
As a Christian, I’ve seen submission exploited in churches—women are asked to accept unacceptable behavior and shrink themselves so men can “feel seen.” That is dangerous and dehumanizing. If someone can only feel seen by forcing you to lower yourself, that person does not respect you—they see you as less than human; they see you as a maggot.
When I saw this photo by Said Mhamad for Becoming Something the World Hasn’t Learned to Name for Iris van Herpen, I was blown away. The image is otherworldly, the photography showcases a brilliant mind, and the model exudes pure beauty. Some photographs stay with you, making you pause and simply admire them. This is one of those. This photographer has been shooting for years and continues to create work that truly stands out. It’s absolutely extraordinary.
This is the Loïe Gown Would you wear this dress?
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| Photo by Joshua Abner |
The first thing you notice is the light.
It softens everything. The sky loosens its bright grip on the day and begins to glow in amber and rose. The tide moves in steady rhythm. The air feels cooler, gentler against your skin. With each step into the sand, your body slows. Your breathing deepens. Your shoulders drop without being told.
Why does it feel this way?
Because sunset at the beach is not just beautiful—it is biologically regulating.
Your nervous system responds to the shift in light. The sound of waves introduces patterned, predictable noise that calms the brain. The uneven sand engages muscles you rarely use. The scent of saltwater alters brain chemistry. The horizon line widens your field of vision, signaling safety to the body.
Walking on the beach at sunset is not simply a pleasant habit. It is a full-spectrum health practice—physical, psychological, emotional, and even social.
Let us explore every dimension of why this simple act is so powerful.
1. The Neurological Effect: Why It Calms You Instantly
When you walk along the shoreline at sunset, several systems activate at once:
Circadian Rhythm Regulation
The warm, dimming light at sunset signals your brain to begin producing melatonin. This helps regulate sleep patterns. Exposure to natural evening light improves sleep quality, especially for those who spend their day under artificial lighting.
Better sleep improves:
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Hormonal balance
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Memory consolidation
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Immune function
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Mood stability
Auditory Reset Through Ocean Waves
The sound of waves creates rhythmic, low-frequency noise. Research in environmental psychology shows that predictable natural sounds reduce amygdala activity—the part of the brain responsible for fear and stress.
This is why you feel relief almost immediately.
Visual Expansion and Stress Reduction
Looking at a wide horizon relaxes the visual system. Indoors, our eyes focus narrowly on screens and walls. At the beach, your gaze broadens. This reduces cognitive load and lowers cortisol levels.
Your body interprets open space as safety.