Built My Business… But Forgot My Life”
I’m 32 years old.
If you ask anyone about me, they’ll tell you I’m successful.
I run a henna business. Not just the normal kind—I’ve grown it. I have machines now. I make henna stickers, designs, custom work. During festive periods like Sallah, I can make over a million naira. On a normal month, I make over 300k without stress.
Money has never been my problem.
But now… I’m starting to realize something else is.
In my twenties, I was focused. Very focused.
While other girls were talking about relationships, marriage, and love, I was thinking about money, growth, and independence. I didn’t want to depend on any man. I wanted to build something for myself.
And I did.
I worked hard. I sacrificed time, sleep, and comfort. I turned my small henna hustle into a real business. I became known. People respected me. I was proud of myself.
But there’s something I didn’t pay attention to back then.
Men.
I won’t lie—I had options.
Men approached me. Good men, average men, struggling men. But I didn’t take them seriously. In my mind, I had standards. I wanted a rich man. Someone already made. Someone who matched the level I was trying to reach.
I would look at some men and just ignore them. I didn’t give them a chance. I didn’t listen. I didn’t even try to understand them.
In my head, I was thinking, “I’m building something big. I deserve someone big.”
So I kept pushing.
Years passed.
I made more money.
My business grew.
But slowly… something else started happening.
My friends started getting married.
My siblings got married too. One by one, they left the house. They built their own homes, had children, started their own families.
And me?
I was still working.
Still building.
Still alone.
At first, I didn’t feel it.
I told myself, “I’m doing well. I’m successful. I don’t need anyone.”
But the truth is… loneliness doesn’t come suddenly.
It comes quietly.
It started with small things.
Going home to an empty room after a long day.
Seeing families together during Sallah while I was busy attending to customers.
Watching my siblings with their children… laughing, living, sharing moments I couldn’t relate to.
And slowly… it started to hurt.
Now I’m 32.
No husband.
No boyfriend.
No child.
The painful part is not just being alone.
It’s realizing that I might have played a role in it.
Men don’t approach me the way they used to.
And the few that do… it’s not the same.
Some are intimidated by what I do.
Some assume I don’t need them.
Some think I’m too independent, too strong, too focused on money.
And maybe… they’re not wrong.
The standards I once had… I’ve lowered them now.
I’m more open. I’m more willing to listen. I’m more willing to try.
But now… it feels like the chances are fewer.
The attention is not the same.
The options are not the same.
Sometimes I sit alone and think about my twenties.
The men I ignored.
The conversations I shut down.
The chances I didn’t take.
And I ask myself…
What if I had just given someone a chance?
Don’t get me wrong.
I’m proud of myself.
I’m proud of what I built.
I’m proud that I didn’t depend on anyone.
But now I understand something I didn’t understand back then:
Money is not everything.
You can have money…
And still feel empty.
You can be successful…
And still feel alone.
You can build a business…
And still wish you had built a family too.
I’m not saying women shouldn’t focus on themselves.
I’m not saying you shouldn’t build your life.
But I’m saying… don’t ignore everything else while doing it.
Don’t push people away completely.
Don’t assume you have unlimited time.
Because time moves. Quietly.
Now, I’m still hopeful.
I still believe something good can happen.
But I won’t lie…
There are nights I feel it deeply.
The silence.
The absence.
The reality that I built everything… except a life to share it with.
If I could go back, I wouldn’t stop working.
I wouldn’t stop building.
But I would balance it.
I would listen more.
I would give chances.
I would understand that life is not just about money…
It’s about who you share it with.
Because now…
I have the money.
I have the success.
But I’m still searching for something I ignored for years.
And sometimes…
I wonder if I’m too late.