Becoming yourself is not a gentle process. It is not soft, and it is not silent. It is a deliberate awakening that shifts your voice, your boundaries, your values, and your direction. And when that shift happens, some people will no longer recognize you not because you are lost, but because you are finally found. This is the quiet cost of authenticity and it is one many are not prepared to pay.
For a long time, you learned how to survive by blending in. You learned how to soften your truth so others would feel comfortable. You learned how to shrink your dreams so they would not intimidate anyone. You learned how to say yes when your soul was screaming no. That version of you was accepted, praised, and welcomed. But that version was not whole. It was careful, edited and incomplete.
Becoming yourself means choosing alignment over approval. It means deciding that your peace matters more than being liked, that your truth is more valuable than fitting in. And when you make that decision, the dynamics around you begin to change. Some people will grow distant. Some will misunderstand you. Some will accuse you of changing, as if growth were a crime. What they often mean is that you are no longer bending in ways that benefit them. This loss can feel heavy. It can make you question yourself. It can tempt you to retreat into old habits just to keep familiar faces close. But understand this deeply: not everyone is meant to walk with you into your becoming. Some people were only assigned to the version of you that needed them at that time. Their departure is not rejection it is alignment correcting itself.
Becoming yourself exposes truth. It reveals who loved your compliance and who honors your essence. It separates connection from convenience, presence from attachment. This clarity can hurt, but it is also freeing. You stop performing. You stop negotiating your worth. You stop explaining your growth to those who benefit from your stagnation.
There is a loneliness that comes with authenticity, especially in the beginning. When you stop pretending, the room often gets quieter. But in that quiet, you hear yourself clearly for the first time. You reconnect with your intuition. You rediscover your voice. You begin to feel whole instead of divided. And that wholeness is worth every goodbye. Becoming yourself does not mean becoming hard or unkind. It means becoming honest. It means letting your yes be true and your no be respected. It means honoring your limits, your calling, and your convictions. Some people will not survive that honesty because they were never connected to the real you only the version that made them comfortable.
This process is not about loss alone. It is about space. Space for healthier connections. Space for deeper alignment. Space for people who see you clearly and still choose you. When you become yourself, you stop chasing relationships that drain you and start attracting connections that nourish you.
Let this truth settle gently but firmly in your heart: losing people does not mean you are wrong. Sometimes it means you are finally right. Sometimes it means you are choosing growth over familiarity, purpose over people pleasing, truth over tolerance.
Becoming yourself will cost you some people. But it will give you yourself in return. And that exchange though painful is sacred. Because a life lived in authenticity, even with fewer companions, is richer, lighter and far more alive than a life lived performing for acceptance.
Choose yourself. Not selfishly, but honestly. Not loudly, but firmly. The people meant for the real you will find you and when they do, you will no longer have to disappear to belong.
Becoming yourself is not a smooth journey paved with applause. It is a road marked by resistance, misunderstanding, and quiet separations. It asks you to step out of who people are used to and into who you truly are. And when you do, not everyone will follow. Some will stay behind, not because you became bad, but because you became bold. Not because you lost your way, but because you found it.
Abu’s life tells this truth clearly.
Abu grew up in a small village in northern Nigeria, where survival was taught earlier than dreams. As a little boy, he hawked suya in the evenings after school, carrying a small tray almost heavier than his body. The smoke stung his eyes, his feet ached, and the nights were long. To many, it was just street food. To Abu, it was responsibility. It was how his family survived. It was how he learned discipline before he learned ambition.
As he grew older, people around him began to form expectations of who he should become. Some wanted him to remain a helper forever. Others saw suya selling as something you do temporarily, not something you build a future on. When Abu talked about expanding, about owning his own spot someday, people laughed. Friends mocked him gently, telling him to dream bigger than smoke and sticks. Some advised him to abandon it altogether and look for something better.
But Abu listened to a different voice the one inside him that understood the dignity of honest work and the power of consistency.
When he moved to Lagos, the city tested him deeply. He started again from nothing. New environment. New competition. He sold suya at roadside corners, enduring rejection, rain and long nights. Some people he thought would support him drifted away. They did not understand why he was still selling suya when he could “try something else.” Others were uncomfortable with his growing confidence. Abu was no longer apologetic about his work. He took pride in it.
Becoming himself cost him familiarity.
He saved little by little. He learned customer service by watching people. He improved hygiene. He upgraded taste. He paid attention to lighting, presentation, and consistency. While others closed early, Abu stayed late. While others complained, he refined. He stopped trying to explain himself to those who had already decided who he should be.
Eventually, Abu opened his own well-furnished suya spot. Clean. Inviting. Different. It became a gathering point in Lagos music playing softly, smoke rising with flavor, laughter filling the air. People traveled across neighborhoods just to eat his suya. What started as survival had become identity. What once attracted mockery now attracted crowds.
Some of the people who laughed at him never returned. Not because they were not welcome, but because his growth reminded them of the courage they did not choose. Becoming yourself does that. It confronts people. It forces them to look inward. Not everyone is ready for that reflection.
At the end of it all, Abu did not just build a business. He built dignity. He employed others. He mentored young boys who reminded him of himself. He taught them that honest work is not shameful, and that becoming yourself may cost you approval, but it will reward you with peace.
The lesson in Abu’s life is simple but demanding.
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