Twenty-three years ago, July 2002, was supposed to be one of the happiest days of my life. At the University of Ilorin, over 5,000 graduates were gathering with their families, dressed in radiant robes, ready to take pictures, share laughter, and soak in the pride of accomplishment. Parents were smiling wide, hugging their children, taking pictures to frame forever, and introducing their graduates to friends like trophies proof of years of sacrifice finally paying off.
But not me. I stayed in bed, wishing the day not to come. My name wasn’t on the list. I hadn’t made the graduation roster. I could hear my mother’s voice in my head, disappointed but not surprised: “All you do is go about town singing. You need to take your education seriously.” That voice haunted me. I wasn’t lazy. I worked hard. My life followed a strict triangle hostel, lecture theatre, fellowship. Repeat. I wasn’t partying. I wasn’t distracted. Yet I didn’t make the cut.
The following year, I finally graduated, quietly, without fanfare, without pictures or parents cheering. Worse still, my transcript showed a third-class degree. “No one hires with that,” someone told me. “Forget about getting into grad school.” I believed them. And I froze. For over a decade, I lived under the shadow of that piece of paper. I sang in church. I served. I lived. But I also felt stuck. Ashamed. I buried my dreams deep under layers of self-doubt.
Then in 2015, a quiet miracle happened. While processing transcripts for an evaluation in the UK, a woman in the admissions office caught something, a mistake in the classification of my degree. “This isn’t right,” she said. Her curiosity turned into advocacy. That single act, by someone I didn’t even know, cracked the door open again. Light began to flood in. Hope, that old companion I had stopped believing in, began to rise.
Fast forward to 2025: I completed my Master’s degree in Teacher Leadership at the American College of Education, with distinction not just academically, but personally. Along the way, I became a song writer, a mentor, a coach, a curriculum designer, and a leader advocating for multilingual students. I’ve presented at conferences. I’ve co-led professional learning hubs. I’ve written. I’ve healed. I’ve led.
But perhaps the most compelling part of this story isn’t just mine, it’s my mother’s. At fifty years old, after raising all her children through college, my mom went back to school to earn her high school diploma. Then she earned a degree in education. But she didn’t stop there she started a school in her community for underprivileged children, creating opportunities she never had. Her resilience taught me that it's never too late. That failure is not the final chapter. That the setbacks we carry might just be the seeds of our greatest comeback. Like mother, like daughter.
I’ve faced closed doors, bad transcripts, and seasons of silence. But here I am writing, teaching, leading, and lifting others as I rise.
This is not just about me. It’s about you, dear reader. Maybe you’re a Gen Z woman, struggling to find your path in a noisy world. Maybe you’re from Generation Alpha, just starting out but already feeling behind. Or maybe you’re a woman in your 30s, 40s, or 50s who has quietly buried her dreams because life got in the way family, finances, fear. Maybe you were told you’re too old, too late, or too broken to begin again.
I’m here to tell you: your story is not over. You can start again. You can rise again. You can dream again. Your mistakes don’t define you. Delays aren’t denials. The world needs what only you can bring. Thankfully, I was inspired by the Lord to write a lot of songs during those seasons. Check my YouTube channel. Let my story be your permission to believe again.
I’m ready to share this journey on bigger stages TED Talks, podcasts, schools, churches, conferences wherever people need a reminder that your worst moment doesn't disqualify you from your best future.
If this story stirred something in you, let’s connect. Invite me to speak. Share this blog with a friend who’s on the edge of giving up. Reach out to me if you’re trying to find your path again, I’m rooting for you.
You’re not late. You’re right on time for your come back.
But not me. I stayed in bed, wishing the day not to come. My name wasn’t on the list. I hadn’t made the graduation roster. I could hear my mother’s voice in my head, disappointed but not surprised: “All you do is go about town singing. You need to take your education seriously.” That voice haunted me. I wasn’t lazy. I worked hard. My life followed a strict triangle hostel, lecture theatre, fellowship. Repeat. I wasn’t partying. I wasn’t distracted. Yet I didn’t make the cut.
The following year, I finally graduated, quietly, without fanfare, without pictures or parents cheering. Worse still, my transcript showed a third-class degree. “No one hires with that,” someone told me. “Forget about getting into grad school.” I believed them. And I froze. For over a decade, I lived under the shadow of that piece of paper. I sang in church. I served. I lived. But I also felt stuck. Ashamed. I buried my dreams deep under layers of self-doubt.
Then in 2015, a quiet miracle happened. While processing transcripts for an evaluation in the UK, a woman in the admissions office caught something, a mistake in the classification of my degree. “This isn’t right,” she said. Her curiosity turned into advocacy. That single act, by someone I didn’t even know, cracked the door open again. Light began to flood in. Hope, that old companion I had stopped believing in, began to rise.
Fast forward to 2025: I completed my Master’s degree in Teacher Leadership at the American College of Education, with distinction not just academically, but personally. Along the way, I became a song writer, a mentor, a coach, a curriculum designer, and a leader advocating for multilingual students. I’ve presented at conferences. I’ve co-led professional learning hubs. I’ve written. I’ve healed. I’ve led.
But perhaps the most compelling part of this story isn’t just mine, it’s my mother’s. At fifty years old, after raising all her children through college, my mom went back to school to earn her high school diploma. Then she earned a degree in education. But she didn’t stop there she started a school in her community for underprivileged children, creating opportunities she never had. Her resilience taught me that it's never too late. That failure is not the final chapter. That the setbacks we carry might just be the seeds of our greatest comeback. Like mother, like daughter.
I’ve faced closed doors, bad transcripts, and seasons of silence. But here I am writing, teaching, leading, and lifting others as I rise.
This is not just about me. It’s about you, dear reader. Maybe you’re a Gen Z woman, struggling to find your path in a noisy world. Maybe you’re from Generation Alpha, just starting out but already feeling behind. Or maybe you’re a woman in your 30s, 40s, or 50s who has quietly buried her dreams because life got in the way family, finances, fear. Maybe you were told you’re too old, too late, or too broken to begin again.
I’m here to tell you: your story is not over. You can start again. You can rise again. You can dream again. Your mistakes don’t define you. Delays aren’t denials. The world needs what only you can bring. Thankfully, I was inspired by the Lord to write a lot of songs during those seasons. Check my YouTube channel. Let my story be your permission to believe again.
I’m ready to share this journey on bigger stages TED Talks, podcasts, schools, churches, conferences wherever people need a reminder that your worst moment doesn't disqualify you from your best future.
If this story stirred something in you, let’s connect. Invite me to speak. Share this blog with a friend who’s on the edge of giving up. Reach out to me if you’re trying to find your path again, I’m rooting for you.
You’re not late. You’re right on time for your come back.
📧 womenwhofollowjesus@gmail.com
💻 https://modynasty.blogspot.com/
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