The initial title for this should have been “The Year I Turned 28.” But where’s the fun in that? Do you see how boring it would have been?
11:25 PM, March 29th
The night before my birthday started just the way I wanted. I took a cool bath with my new Dr Teal’s body wash, it smelled divine. Then I slipped into my silky pajamas, dimmed the lights, and blasted Dunsin Oyekan’s worship songs, starting with Open Up.
By the time the clock struck midnight, ushering me into 30th March, I smiled and then I started crying.
Not because I was sad. But because, for the first time in a long time, my heart felt so so full.
I care deeply about my birthdays, but this one? This one was different. I just wanted to bask in heavy worship, no calls, no 12am rushing to post on social media, just me, my Spotify playlist, my 10,000 angles and the Holy Spirit.
The Weight of Time
I’ve never admitted my age out loud because, for the longest time, I believed I was three years behind. Three years late in life.
You see, I had an early start in my school life, left primary school at 10, finished secondary school at 16 but I didn’t get into university until I was 19. Almighty JAMB happened. Then I had to skip a year after my first year. And since then, I carried this silent anger, this unspoken grief, like the education system had stolen something from me.
That same anger fueled me to pass the third JAMB I wrote, to get into university on merit, to switch to a course I knew nothing about and still excel. But beneath the drive, beneath the success, there was pain.
Grief for the lost time.
Grief for the years spent hiding.
Grief for every time I had to shrink myself, feeling like I was falling behind while everyone else moved forward.
And for what? For a shame that wasn’t even mine to carry?
But now? We’ve reached the big girl age. The age where we can move, change things, rewrite our stories not just for ourselves but for those coming after us.
A Shift I Never Saw Coming
This year started with a shift I never expected. I resigned from a job I loved, and suddenly, I was jobless. I’d been working actively since 2019, and now, I had nothing. It was hard.
Then February came, and I landed a completely different role. Then March came, and, like a career dream come true, I got paid for consultations. I remember writing somewhere that God sent me an early birthday gift.
So today, on March 30th 2025, I let go.
I release the what ifs.
What if I had gotten into university at 16?
What if I had graduated at 21?
What if I had finished my master’s by 23?
None of that matters anymore. I breathe life into my new age. I accept it fully.
And honestly? If you looked at me, you’d never guess I’m just two years away from 30.
When a Dress is More Than Just a Dress
Let’s give a little commotion for the back of the dress.
If you know me well, then you know that any dramatic dress I wear has a backstory. And they all come from one source: Mummy Physio.
Aka fashionista mama.
Aka shakara mama.
Over 10 years ago, she bought THE DRESS. Back then, I didn’t even have enough flesh on my body to carry it. She would hold it at the back, make me look in the mirror, and say, “Dejumoke, one day, you’ll wear this dress on a red carpet like Kim Kardashian”
(Oh, and she loved the Kardashians. Their style, their homes, all the clean girl aesthetics)
So she kept the dress, bought some to sell, but some unique pieces, she would save them for me and my younger sister Adebola.
Debola never cared much for girly fashion growing up, but me? I was the muse. Mom and I would spend hours in the room after she got back from her shopping trips giggling, trying on new dresses, and hiding them away from Debola.
If I have an eye for fashion, it’s because of her. She knows luxury, she knows quality, she knows timeless pieces. And she taught me well.
So here I am, 21 (plus 7), stepping fully into my new age. Wearing a dress with a decade-long story. And finally, letting go of everything that no longer serves me.
Cheers to Twenty Eight!
The Birthday Girl
JD💞