We also talked about how hard it’s been, at times, to stay close to women who are really male-centered. Not because dating or relationships are unimportant, but because participating in those friendships often means performing their version of connection.

For example, I used to be friends with someone whose “how are you?” turned into a 30-minute, detailed rundown of men. Who said what, who texted, who didn’t, how many matches she had. At first, I figured she just really wanted a relationship, which is fair. Wanting a partnership or to be desired wasn’t the issue. What I couldn’t get jiggy with was how consuming it felt, and how her happiness seemed contingent on male attention.

When it was my turn to answer “how’s life,” I’d talk about work, friendships, family, whatever was GENUINELY top of mind. Well, chilè, apparently, that made me ‘secretive’. As if not mentioning my romantic life were a slight or some deliberate omission. This confused me for a while, because I wasn’t hiding anything. I just wasn’t centering men in my life update.

Later, it clicked as to why that felt like such a slight to her. For a male-centered person, if you don’t report on men, it can feel like you’re withholding yourself. Because for many of them, men aren’t just part of life. In some cases, they are life.

To be fair, I don’t think this comes from nowhere. Wanting to be chosen, desired, and secure in a relationship are real human desires. I think the tension, and what I keep mulling over and trying to understand myself, is what happens when those desires start to override everything else.

Lately, I’ve been seeing more articles about women in hetero relationships, and it feels kinda like a temperature check. They aren’t explicitly about male-centeredness, but I think they hint at a shift toward exploring identity in relationships and the costs of centering men.

This also makes me think more about how male-centeredness is represented. On social media, the pick-me is often treated as a joke, like the lightweight “my man, my man, my man” caricature.

But male-centeredness feels deeper and more complicated than the “my man” jokes. It seems less about wanting a relationship and more about what someone is willing to tolerate, excuse, or participate in to get or keep one.

And to be clear, this isn’t about people who love their partner or are happy in their relationship. There’s nothing wrong with that. That’s not what I’m talking about here.

I’m thinking more about when the pursuit of a relationship, or the relationship itself, starts to take over someone’s life. When it comes at the expense of their sense of self, their values, or the parts of their life that make them who they are.

When everything else in life starts to shrink, and even conversation begins to revolve around just one thing.

And that centering doesn’t always show up in the most obvious or extreme ways. Sometimes it’s subtle or builds up over time. Other times, it can show up in ways that feel a lot more serious.

For example, one place male-centeredness shows up is in the quiet ways people can betray themselves. When I think about “betraying self,” I think about situations where someone describes their partner as homophobic while insisting they themselves are not like that, yet they remain in the relationship. This isn’t the meme-y, social-media version of seeking male approval we laugh about in Instagram skits. It’s something more serious. It’s sacrificing their own values just to hold on to a relationship. And that’s a lot less funny.

Because there’s something deeply troubling about rejecting homophobia, misogyny, racism, or transphobia in theory, and still building a life around someone who actively holds those views.

I see male-centeredness show up in other ways, such as in the choices people make that pull them away from their own truth to keep a relationship. That can look like shrinking themselves so someone else can feel bigger, letting a partner decide where they’re allowed to go, which friendships feel “acceptable,” or what opportunities they pass on, so their partner feels secure.

Sometimes it also shows up as women shaping themselves into the version of a partner they think will be chosen. Which makes me wonder what it means to “be chosen” if you’re not fully yourself. Will the satisfaction of being chosen be enough to carry someone through a relationship that requires them to bend, camouflage, go silent, and at worst, get lost inside of it?

Call me a monitoring spirit or whatever (I prefer student and observer of life, thank you very much), but when I notice these dynamics in real life, on social media, in music, and in literature, it doesn’t make me judgmental. It helps me get clear on how I want to show up in relationships, what I want to center, and what I won’t trade for partnership.

I dunno, maybe that’s why the “my man, my man, my man” jokes don’t hit the same for me anymore. I’ve started to wonder how blurred the lines are between the joke and the reality...and how easy it is to get lost somewhere between the two. Maybe I’m tripping, but what once felt like harmless fun now feels like a fine line, an aperitif to male-centeredness.

And this all makes me wonder how many others are making those same quiet clarifications after thinking, experiencing, and witnessing firsthand the downsides of centering men. Maybe more of us than we realize.

I don’t think anyone is completely immune to this, myself included, but I’m curious if anyone else has been having similar musings lately.

Anyway, ‘til next time.

​

When I was ripping and running through life, I would get shit done. I wanted a new job, so I would tirelessly search, apply, and interview (aka professional tapdancing). I wanted to change my hairstyle, so I’m booking the first available chair with the earliest available appointment time.

Sure, I found a new job, but starting was hell, especially since I was already burned out from the audition phases. Yes, I got my hair done at that moment, but I ended up having to redo it days later because I didn’t just wait for my usual stylist.

I never planned to slow down. I didn’t know what slowing down would mean for me. Last year, I was forced to (iykyk), and my usual impatient, driven methods no longer worked. I learned the hard way that I needed to meet my inner slowpoke.

I thought I’d hate slowing down, but I appreciated this period. Many things in life got better when I slowed down. So, I wanted to share some areas of my life where embracing and welcoming my inner slowpoke has done me some good:

What I’ve been doing slowly:

Slower Walking: Basic, but impactful. In NYC, everything is rushed (or at least pretends to be). Move fast, walk fast, get out of the way. Of course, I still stroll with some sense, but when I walk for leisure instead of treating it solely as a mode of transportation, I actually notice things. I spot interesting shops and restaurants and bookmark them in my mind for later. It makes the city feel less like a chaotic obstacle course and more like a playground.

Slow decorating: This has been a game-changer. I’ll never forget impulsively buying a couch only to realize 30 min later that it would NOT fit in my apartment (Covid TikTok got me so MF good). Now I take my time. I select objects, art, textiles, and furniture that I feel drawn to, instead of buying things out of convenience or scarcity. My space feels more intentional and like ME because of it.

Slow Shopping: One of my best friends really inspired me here. I admire the way she approaches clothing. She takes her time with purchases and really thinks about what she needs or actually wants. She also repurposes and restyles pieces in a way that made me realize how quickly I used to buy things.

Since adopting her slower shopping practices, I’ve come to genuinely love my wardrobe. Plus, I no longer have late-night, rushed internet purchases right before a trip. Instead, I can tell myself, “We have clothes at home.”

What I need to slow down on:

New hobbies: Being a patient learner almost feels like the opposite of my Capricorn nature. But I’m learning that I need to be okay with new hobbies taking time, and with simply being bad at them at first.

For example, I tried pole classes, and my first couple of weeks were AWFUL. I looked awkward, my form was sloppy, and the bruises I accumulated were unsightly. After week 2, I seriously regretted buying a 20-class membership and considered ditching the rest of my classes. But I decided to keep “failing” and accept that learning new things takes time, even if I looked ridiculous at first.

Creation: I have a lot of ideas and interests, and my instinct is always to try them all immediately. Some projects I jumped into and later realized that, had I taken a little more time, I might not have done them at all. There were creative projects that didn’t actually bring joy, and in hindsight, they didn’t feel good because I never took time to ask myself key questions, like:

• Why do I actually want to do this?

• What would doing this realistically look like?

• If I’m collaborating with someone, can I meet their needs? Do our visions match?

Taking time to ask those questions would have saved me a lot of time and labor.

I used to think that everything I wanted to do needed to be done with full force. But that’s just not possible. I’ve realized that having too many ideas can actually slow me down because I get overwhelmed. Instead of doing a few things well, I end up doing none at all. No shade to my own Substack, but I even had to slow down here (more like I took a hiatus, if I’m being real). There are other projects closer to my heart that need my attention.

So lately, instead of acting on every impulse, I’ve been trying to let ideas sit for a while before committing to them. Not every idea or interest needs to become a project, and I’m learning to be more than okay with that.

Anyway, I’m sure there’s more, but that’s all that’s coming to mind for now. And as always if you’re willing to share, I’d love to know:

• What are the ways you’ve slowed down? What was the impact of it?

• What do you want to do more slowly?

‘Til next time (which could be slower)!

After excitedly confirming, I started thinking about how we hadn't had one-on-one time in a while, and how that’s not really unique to that particular friendship.

My friends and I have all been busy working, pursuing passions, and simply "adulting," making it easy for time to slip away. This makes it harder to connect consistently, and before you know it, months have passed since your last real conversation, and you're both just liking each other's Instagram posts instead of actually connecting.

Why? Because connection doesn't just happen randomly. It requires intention. It requires making it known that I want to talk to, spend time with, and see YOU because I care about our friendship and want to maintain it.

Although intention is often associated with dating, I believe it's just as crucial in friendships.

Even if you already have a close, deep friendship, why not nurture it further if you can? It's still important to show friends you care, value them, and desire for them to be part of your life.

Lately, I've found myself wanting, practicing, and valuing intention in the context of friendship more and more. So, I'm going to put my money where my mouth is and start intentionally "dating" friends more. Yep, it's another self-imposed challenge. I'll learn to cut it out one of these days.

I'll see how this new goal works out. For my NYC folks, I am up against a wicked combo of "it is getting colder" and being an at-home-aholic, so I may be chatting shit. For my friends who don't live nearby, I'll have to be more deliberate since you can't just pull up on me and vice versa. But that's okay because I love y’all and I want to show them that—whether physically or virtually. And if you don't hear from me, well, then I don't know what to tell you (I kid, I kid).

Since "dating" and being intentional in the context of friendship isn't a novel concept, I'd love to know how others intentionally "date" friends. Drop a comment with your friendship date ideas (I need inspiration beyond my go-to food-centered hangouts)!

Anyway, I can't wait to hang out with my girl tomorrow! Until next time!

The truth is, I hadn't seen my parents kiss. I still haven't. My parents have been married for over 30 years, and I've never seen them even hug each other. I've never seen any typical signs of affection: no hand grazing the shoulder, no peck on the cheek, NADA.

Looking back, it was odd to ask other kids about their parents kissing, but I was trying to make sense of my reality. I was trying to piece together my parents' relationship. I was trying to understand what the lack of affection meant. As a kid, kissing meant you liked someone, right? I knew that because we'd seen it on TV and in movies. Whenever someone wanted someone else, and maybe they were unsure if their feelings would be reciprocated, a kiss was like confirmation—a physical affirmation. Kisses sealed the deal!

Instead of moving on like a typical kid and not processing what this meant until much later in life, I got to thinking. Warning: you are about to witness what a child spiraling looks like in the following paragraph (anxiety has been whooping my ass since I was a youngin'). My thoughts went something like this:

Parents are supposed to like each other, so they should kiss. Does this mean my parents don’t like each other? And if they do like each other, why haven't I seen them kiss? Why don't my parents give me hugs or pecks like other parents do when dropping their kids off at school? Does this mean that they don't like me either?

Now, I won't pretend my mom NEVER hugged me. She hugged me almost every Sunday at Mass. Was that hug most likely given because it would look absolutely bonkers to shake your parents' hands as you do with strangers before holy communion? Definitely! But I was so excited to receive that crumb of performative affection. When we missed church, I would feel disappointed, not because I missed out on the good word (sorry, God xoxo) but because I wouldn't get physical confirmation that let me at least FEEL like she liked me, even if just for a moment.  

As time passed, I assimilated to my household's lack of affection, no longer having anticipation or desire. I stopped wondering what the lack of affection meant. The absence became normal. It wasn't until I went to college that the topic of affection resurfaced, but with an added layer of intimacy, which was something I had never experienced but conceptually understood through TV, movies, and books. I knew and accepted that I was raised without genuine affection, but I didn't realize how intensely it also led me to protect myself from emotional connection and exposure.

For many of us, college forced us to be vulnerable interpersonally, socially, and academically. Where else do you go and see your chemistry exam posted outside the lab wall so everyone can see that you don't understand the difference between enantiomers and diastereomers (non-STEM kiddos, don’t even worry about it). There's vulnerability and community in walking back to the dorms with your under-the-curve midterm scores in hand. 

Aside from the academic hazing, college was a time when many of us shared where we came from, who we are, who we want to be, and, more importantly, why. We usually learned this information through those random late-night dorm chats. These are the ones where things got DEEP, and people bared their souls in attempts to find community, comfort, reassurance, or release. 

Initially, I wasn't a contributor during these discussions. My parents taught us that emotional vulnerability was a weakness and something that you should guard because others may use it against you or to harm you (I don't understand why Nigerian parents feel like ops are always lurking). As more and more of the talks happened, I started to learn that I wasn't alone. Many of those who shared the same experiences also came from African backgrounds. Most had rarely, if ever, seen their parents hug or kiss each other. Most of us were uncomfortable or approached affection and intimacy with unfamiliarity and suspicion.

I have MANY thoughts about why affection and intimacy aren't prioritized or modeled well in many African households (and the effects). Still, I won't get started because I will go on for forty days and forty nights (Instead, I'll save it for another post).

For a while now, I've happily accepted, embraced, and shared affection and intimacy (even if awkwardly) in many of my platonic, non-platonic, and familial relationships. This "undoing" wasn’t easy. There were many trials and errors, stumbling, and even times where I thought, "hm, maybe there's no point to changing." When I think about how safe, happy, and assured I feel in relationships where expressing and receiving affection and intimacy are natural, unquestioned, and consistent, I know the struggle to find my way was worth it, both for the people in my life now and in my future. 

I do wonder who else had similar or different experiences and how they think it impacted them. So, if you feel comfortable sharing, I'd love to know if you had a similar or different experience than my late-night dorm room clique. 

If you also went through a period of "undoing" or are currently in one, what did you do/what are you doing? Was it/would it be worth it?

Till next time!

Howdy! Hi! Hello!

I was talking to someone a little while back about how posting on Instagram has become something we "think about" and how we don't "just post" anymore.

I began reminiscing about the days when folks "just posted" without analyzing every pixel of a selfie, crafting the perfect cheeky caption, and conforming to social media expectations and pressures. It was an era when we shared content without much scrutiny. Sharing whatever we wanted, however, and whenever 

I continued down memory lane, recounting how fun Snapchat was circa 2012 until I was abruptly booted off my trip by a scoffed, "We just aren't there anymore." I felt a tinge of sadness hearing that. The conversation moved on, and days passed, but those words kept resurfacing.

I mulled over those words for the next few days, eventually realizing that my momentary sadness came from being part of the "we." What's odd is that I don't remember actively becoming part of the "we". As social media evolved, my posting behaviors also evolved rather seamlessly. I no longer make carefree posts; instead, I overthink and leave posts to rot in the draft graveyard. I've always loved reading lengthy Instagram captions, but I somehow feel embarrassed to write them. I'll admit that I've even archived a long captioned post partly because of "post-vulnerability clarity" but mainly because the thought of someone curling their upper lip and thinking, "I ain't reading all that," was too humbling. 

In reality, it wasn't only sadness I felt in response to "we just aren't there anymore"; it was a shame. There I was, grumbling about how social media changed as if my shit don't stink.

After confronting my hypocrisy, I came up with an idea. What if I leaned into my desire to break away from the "we"? What if I "just posted" until it became my new normal? What if I stopped caring if my content didn't always fit our highly curated visual content era? What if I stuck to my preference for text over visuals? What if I started writing about whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted? 

So, in true Capricorn fashion, I consulted with myself, answered my own questions, devised a plan to break free from this self-imposed suppression, and— viola, my Substack was born. Also, if I'm being honest, storing short essays and haphazard thoughts in my notes app wasn't cutting it anymore (plus, the eye strain was getting ridiculous).

I don't have an actual game plan for this Substack. But that's the heart of it. I want this Substack to evoke the spirit of social media circa 2012, before it became overcomplicated and curated. Unfettered. Arbitrary. Imperfect. Spontaneous. Blemished. Just like life. 

Some days, I may write about heartbreak, the gift of community, and the complexities of adulthood. On other days, I may rant about how today's R&B ain't "R&B-ing" (we're in a real lovers deficit, y'all!). Some writings won't always follow the rules and structures of language; there could be quotations where they don't need to be or excessive use of em dashes— I'm also getting back into writing, so be nice!

Anyway, that's the backstory of Honestly Compulsive. It's a space for me to "just post." People may read it, or they might not. Folks might like it or not give a toss about it. Maybe through this unrepressed posting journey, I'll learn that shame is no match for my ego. I really don't know the outcome, nor do I have expectations, but I am committed to at least trying this out. I owe it to myself. 

Till next time!

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