Life No Balance Stories

Life No Balance Stories Real-life stories, hard lessons on money, healing, and growth. I speak for those often ignored—especially widows—because I’ve lived it. Mission: Restore worth.

This page is about learning, avoiding repeat mistakes, and growing wiser together. Follow, lets grow together. Share money sense + healing wisdom. Stand with the oppressed—especially widows. What we do now: True stories + weekly lessons so we don’t repeat avoidable mistakes. How to join: Share your story • Ask a question • Follow for weekly lessons
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11/03/2026

I know some people may have experienced something similar.
That is one reason I speak about these things.

Not only for what I lived through,
but for what some people may still be living.

Sometimes people ignore your pain because they think you have no power.

And sometimes the deepest hurt is not from being beaten.
It is from being made to feel invisible.

Those kinds of wounds stay quiet for a long time.

If any part of this feels familiar,
understand something gently:

What happened to you was real.
And surviving it means more than you may realize.

08/03/2026

That night taught me a few lessons.
Sometimes, the people who were supposed to protect you are the very ones who hurt you the most.

Sometimes it seems that some people take delight in seeing others suffer — maybe to prove that they are in charge.

I learned that in polygamous families, it is often the children who suffer the most.
A family can easily turn into a war zone just because of jealousy.

That night showed me that some people will go to any length to assert their power, especially when they know those they are oppressing have no one to stand up for them.

I learned that one can endure hunger more easily when it is unavoidable, but when one is starved on purpose, it hurts the most.

That experience shaped my life for years.
The worst part was not the hunger itself, but that even relatives who saw what happened turned their backs on us.

Mother tried to complain, but doors were shut right in front of her.

That night made me realize that we were not just on our own — we were not wanted.

06/03/2026

I was very small.
Maybe four or five.

I went to Gee’s quarters, I stood in front of their kitchen.
They were cooking their own yam porridge,

When they were done cooking, they ate the food in my presence.
I was there looking at them while they ate and kept crying.

No one spoke to me. No one looked at me. It was like I was not there.

Later, one of my sisters came to pull me away,
I refused, and later she left me.

I cried until they went to sleep.

When I returned home,
my mother had one small loaf of bread.

She shared it between me and my brother.
It was very small.
I lay on the mat, and I cried until I slept off.

That night, the man we looked up to, as a father figure chose to starve us.

And we could do nothing.

04/03/2026

He grabbed the pot from the fire.
He walked outside.

In front of everyone,
he poured the yam and chicken on the sand.
On top of the dirt.

He then broke the pot with an axe.
Threw it out of the fence.

Then he took the stove
and poured the ashes on the food
so we could not pick anything back in case we might want to.

That food was all we had in the house that night.

Mother asked him, Gee what happened,
But he said nothing, not even a word to mother.

When he was done, he just turned and left as if nothing happened.
He went back to his own quarters.

But I won’t let go, not without a fight.
I fought the only way I could as a child, I fought with my tears.

01/03/2026

The Night We Were Starved

It was during the new yam festival in my town.

After mother had spent all day hawking her moi moi,
That day, mother managed to buy a cockerel.

As she was cooking the yam porridge,
We were gathered around the fire.

Mother was carrying me in her arms.
She was telling us a story while the food cooked.

The pot was on a small sawdust stove.
The air around was filled with the smell of the yam porridge.

We were happy that we would soon eat.
That was the only food we had left in the house that night.

Then Gee (the first son of the first wife) walked into my mother’s kitchen.

No greeting.
No words.
He went straight to the pot of yam on the fire.

27/02/2026

This story is not about blame.

It shows something simple and painful:

When power is not checked,
the weak carries the cost.

Micheal’s story reminds me that injustice does not always shout.
Sometimes it happens slowly,
while people look away.

If the above story made you pause,
that pause matters.

Look around you and notice what you see.

Notice who is being pushed aside.
Notice who is left without a voice.

Awareness is a beginning.
One needs to be aware of something that is not working,
before one can think of a way to change it.
That is if it's something that could be changed.

25/02/2026

Some people may know this feeling.

Not because they lost an uncle named Micheal,
but because they have seen something similar.

Someone stands up for what is theirs.
Something bad happens- and life goes on.

Children with parents could turn orphans overnight.
Parents with children could become childless in a twinkle of an eye,
still yet, life will always go on.

If you have ever watched something unfair happen
and felt too small to stop it,
it might not be your fault, you might just be powerless.

Many of us grew up and learned how to stay quiet,
not because we are afraid, but because we do not want problems.

Yet problems never cease to come.

22/02/2026

When I think about Micheal, what stays with me is not just his death.

He had a land that was his. He was a man that minds his business.
He said, “this is mine.”

Sometimes even our blessing can bring problems to us, and not because we wanted.

After he died, life did not stop.
I wonder, why do good people die more early most of the time.
Why do problem seem to follow those who just want to live in peace.

his wife was supposed to take care of their children, but she too was taken.

As a child watching this, I learned something without anyone teaching me:
Life could be cruel most of the time.

Even trying to live peaceful does not always guarantee peace.

20/02/2026

Six months after Micheal died, his wife became ill.

Her mind was not stable.
She was taken from one hospitals to the other.

Doctors said they found nothing.
She was taken to a psychiatric hospital.
Still, nothing.

Each time she got better and returned home,
but once at home she would get worse again.

She said she heard strange sounds whenever she entered her house,
and after that, she would lose control again.

This went on and off for almost two years,
Then she died.

She left behind two small children.
They were sent away to live with different relatives.

After that, Micheal’s land was taken.
There was no one left to speak.

18/02/2026

On the day of Micheal’s burial, the whole family was present.

Gee (the first son of the first woman) and some elders sat in front.
I was a child, sitting behind with my siblings.

After the priest finished praying and sprinkled holy water, the casket was closed.
Immediately, Gee stood up.
He took a step, then he fell.

His body started shaking.
Foam came out of his mouth.
His eyes were open.

Men rushed to hold him down.
His mother screamed and said they want to kill his son, then she ran away.

Some women ran too, shouting abomination, and asking if two people would be buried the same day.

As a child, I didn’t understand everything.
But I remember the fear.
The confusion.
The noise.

Later, we were told it was epilepsy.
But that day stayed in my mind.

15/02/2026

Micheal was my uncle.

He had a small piece of land, close to a timber shed near our compound.
Some timber dealers wanted more space, so they asked to rent his land.
Micheal agreed.

But the first son of the family, Gee, and his mother (Ezenwanyi) said no.
They told Micheal he had no right to collect rent.

Micheal said the land was his.
That was the argument.

Micheal was a tanker driver.
He drove fuel from Port Harcourt to our hometown.

One day, on his way to work, he stopped by the roadside to use the bush.
A car lost control at high speed and ran into the bush.
Micheal died there.

The news came back to the village.
That was how we lost him.

13/02/2026

When I Think Back To My Early School Days As A Child I Realise

Many people don’t make “bad choices” because they are bad people.
They make them because no one showed them another way.

Some children learn to hide.
Some learn to pretend.
Some learn to bend rules — just to survive.

If you grew up confused, afraid, or ashamed, it doesn’t mean you are broken.
It means you were trying to adapt.

But now that you are older, you can learn new ways.
You can pause.
You can ask better questions.
You can choose differently.

If this feels familiar, take a moment today to reflect on where some of your habits came from — not to judge yourself, but to understand yourself.
Understanding is the first step forward.

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