My grass to grace story

LESSONS,LOVE AND LOSS OF SELF

Episode 2: Lessons, Love, and Loss of Self

When my mother arranged for a mathematics teacher to come after school hours, it was both helpful and, unknowingly, life-altering. At the time, we had already been moved to a government secondary school because finances could no longer support private education. The classrooms were overcrowded—too many students, too much noise, too many distractions. Sitting at the back most days, concentration was almost impossible. Subjects like Mathematics, English, and the Arts became constant struggles.

My mother noticed. As always, she tried to help in the only way she could—by hiring a lesson teacher to support us after school.

He was a young man, intelligent and ambitious, still trying to secure admission into the university. At first, he was simply our mathematics teacher—patient, knowledgeable, and helpful. Gradually, I noticed he paid me special attention. He asked me questions beyond lessons, stayed back to talk, and showed an interest that felt different. I was young, vulnerable, and hungry for affection. I mistook his attention for love.

I was only 13 years old when that relationship began.

What started as closeness quietly turned into emotional dependence. The relationship lasted until I was 17. By then, he had gained admission into the university and was in his second year. It was at that age—17—that he took my virginity. That moment marked the beginning of everything falling apart.

He was no longer the person I thought I knew.

I later discovered he had joined a secret cult in school. Even when I found out, I stayed. I couldn’t imagine life without him. I had reduced myself to being at his beck and call, losing my sense of self little by little. There were nights he told me he needed girls for cult parties. My sisters and I would lie to my mother, telling her we were going to Church for night prayers. Once we reached the main road, we changed our clothes and were picked up by his cult members who were also his room mates at the time.

That life became normal to me,I looked forward to those parties where we would drink,danced and just get high and naughty.

Abuse followed—physical, emotional, and psychological. I was beaten over the slightest issues, locked up, isolated, and controlled. I had no friends. My world revolved entirely around him. Fear and attachment trapped me in a cycle I didn’t know how to escape,I couldn’t tell anyone not even my sister that I felt close too because I was scared to loose him and he always apologizes with gifts and hangouts so I just endured.

At 19, I became pregnant for the first time. He forced me to abort it.

When it happened a second time, he did the same.

That was when the reality finally hit me: there was no future with him.

Yet even with that realization, breaking free was not easy. I tried. I failed. I went back again and again.

Eventually, I gained admission into the same university as him. Instead of freedom, my life became more chaotic. I couldn’t focus on my studies. I barely attended classes. My mind and time were no longer mine. In the end, I dropped out.

I didn’t tell my mother.

Instead, I lied—telling her I was still in school while I struggled silently. I started doing small businesses to survive, all while trying to protect her from the truth. She already had too much on her shoulders. We asked her to focus on raising our youngest sibling, the only boy in the family, while we—the girls—found our own ways to survive and support ourselves.

Our firstborn sister had already graduated from the College of Education. The sister after her was still in school. I couldn’t bring myself to be the one who shattered the image of progress the family was holding onto.

At 21, something unexpected happened.

I attended a party with some old secondary school friends I had reconnected with. Among the crowd was a group of boys. One of them kept looking at me. Eventually, we spoke. Then we talked some more. For the first time in years, the conversation felt light. Human. Safe.

That night marked the beginning of a turning point.

It was the moment my life quietly began to take a new direction—though I didn’t yet know how much courage it would take to walk it.