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17/08/2026

Women hiding children from their biological father is not raising children

The practice of women hiding children from their biological fathers, often arising in the context of separation or conflict, raises significant concerns beyond mere custodial disputes. This phenomenon extends into morally complex territory where children become unintended instruments within broader interpersonal conflicts. It is essential to critically examine how such actions reflect not only on parental responsibilities but also on the ethical and psychological well-being of the children involved.

Hiding children from their fathers under the guise of protection or reprisal transforms the parent-child relationship into a battleground where children are weaponized — used as leverage to exert control or inflict harm on the other parent. This dynamic undermines the fundamental principle that children have a right to maintain relationships with both parents, barring legitimate safety concerns. By denying paternal access without just cause, mothers may unintentionally compromise the child’s understanding of familial bonds and distort perceptions of parental roles.

Moreover, the deliberate estrangement of children from their fathers can have profound implications on the moral development of the children themselves. Children learn values, empathy, and social norms through consistent and diverse parental interactions. When one parent is consciously excluded, children may struggle with divided loyalties and internal conflict, which can manifest in behavioral issues and emotional distress. This emotional turmoil may precipitate a sense of instability or confusion regarding authority and trust, potentially fostering patterns of immorality or antisocial behavior.

It is crucial to differentiate between genuine protective measures—such as restraining access in cases of abuse—and actions motivated by retaliation or punitive intent. The latter reflects a troubling trend wherein children are treated as collateral damage rather than cherished individuals deserving of a balanced upbringing. Such manipulation of family dynamics does not serve the best interests of children nor uphold the responsibilities inherent in parenting.

Legal frameworks and social services must prioritize the child's welfare by encouraging cooperative co-parenting arrangements whenever safely possible. Educational efforts should also be directed toward promoting awareness about the adverse effects of using children as tools in parental conflicts. Upholding transparency, communication, and respect between separated parents can mitigate the impulse to weaponize children, thereby fostering healthier family environments conducive to holistic child development.

In conclusion, while the complexities surrounding custody and parental rights are undeniable, it is imperative to recognize that hiding children from their biological fathers for purposes other than protection weaponizes the child and jeopardizes moral and emotional stability. A commitment to ethical parenting requires placing the child’s well-being above personal grievances, ensuring that children grow up with love, security, and balanced parental influence.

16/08/2026

The dream of every woman is to control her husband

The aspiration of many women to exert control over their husbands, envisioning a marriage where their words dictate the course of the relationship, is a complex and often misinterpreted ideal. It is important to clarify that the desire for influence within a partnership does not inherently imply manipulation or dominance but rather a yearning for mutual respect, understanding, and effective communication. However, when this desire transforms into an obsessive need for control, it can lead to detrimental outcomes, both for the individual woman and the marriage itself.

In traditional and contemporary contexts alike, a healthy marriage thrives on balance, partnership, and shared decision-making. The notion that one partner’s directives should always govern the relationship neglects the essential dynamics of equality and compromise. When a woman insists that everything she says must be implemented without consideration of her husband's perspective, the resulting power imbalance can foster resentment, dissatisfaction, and emotional estrangement.

Furthermore, those women who internalize this ideal too rigidly—and take it personally and seriously to an extreme degree—often face unintended consequences. Instead of achieving the harmonious relationship they envisioned, many find themselves in situations of significant relational discord. The aftermath frequently includes separation, single motherhood, or even returning to their parental homes as a retreat from the failed marital environment.

It is crucial to recognize that the desire for control in marriage, when unbalanced by empathy and flexibility, is counterproductive. True influence arises not from imposing one's will but from building trust, respect, and open dialogue. Women who aspire for a meaningful role in their marriages should focus on partnership dynamics, fostering cooperation rather than command.

In summary, while it may be a common dream for women to shape their marriage in alignment with their wishes, pursuing this goal through control rather than collaboration often leads to adverse outcomes. Sustainable marital relationships are those founded on mutual respect and shared authority, not unilateral dominance. Embracing these principles can help avoid the pitfalls experienced by those who have taken control to an unhealthy extreme.

16/08/2026

Being single may feel lonely, but being married to a narcissist can make you feel alone even when someone is right beside you.

Being single may indeed evoke feelings of loneliness for many individuals, as the absence of a romantic partner often leads to a void in companionship and emotional intimacy. However, it is important to recognize that marital status alone does not guarantee emotional fulfillment or genuine connection. In fact, being married to a narcissistic partner can result in an even more profound sense of isolation, despite the physical presence of another person.

Narcissistic individuals often prioritize their own needs, desires, and ego over those of their spouse, thereby creating an environment characterized by emotional neglect and invalidation. Such relationships are frequently marked by a lack of empathy, manipulative behaviors, and persistent criticism, which collectively undermine the emotional well-being of the non-narcissistic partner. Consequently, the affected spouse may experience feelings of invisibility, abandonment, and profound loneliness, as their emotional needs remain unmet and their authentic self is marginalized.

This paradox—where one can feel utterly alone in a shared living space—highlights the complex dynamics of relationships involving narcissistic personalities. It challenges the conventional assumption that being in a committed partnership inherently provides emotional security and companionship. Therefore, it is crucial to acknowledge that the quality of relational interactions holds far greater significance for personal fulfillment than marital status alone. Addressing and understanding these dynamics is essential for those seeking healthier, more nurturing relationships and for fostering emotional resilience in the face of such challenges.

07/02/2026

I had a son when I was seventeen years old. It affected my growth and slowed down my life. My dad became my enemy, and he stopped taking care of me. The man I had the child with ran away. He was older. He feared the repercussions. I saw my mates going to school and having dreams, and it pained my heart, but I told myself, “God gave me a child, and that’s fine.”

I went back to complete SHS through the help of my aunt, and after SHS, I started hating my son. I’d come to accept he was the reason my life had stalled. I’d come to hate what his father did to me and the fact that he’d run away. I hated to see his face, so I did everything to stay away from him.

After SHS, my mom called me to come home for the child, and I went. He was five years then. I put everything he had together, went to the compound of his father’s house, and left him there. I traveled back to my aunt because, from all indications, she was going to help me through tertiary. My parents heard what I’d done and went back for the boy, but this time, they didn’t ask me to come for him.

My dad died when I was in my first year in training school. When I went home, I saw my son and couldn’t look at him in the face. He recognized me and tried coming to me. I avoided him until I finally left town without telling anyone.

I completed training school and started working. My mom sent me a message to come for the boy so he could attend a good school. I had no choice, so I went for him. He lives with me now, and I’ve looked for every opportunity to dump him somewhere. I’ve visited his father’s home several times asking where the man is. They tell me they also don’t know his whereabouts.

I’m currently thirty years old but have no love life because of my son. I’ll meet a man today and tell him I have a son, and the next moment, he’ll ghost me. I’ve met great people. Those with money and those with big hearts. They all vanished because they didn’t want a woman with a child.

So I stopped telling them I had a child. That’s how I dated Samson for two years, and all that while he thought my son was the last-born of my mother. I warned him not to call me mom. I asked him to call me by my name, and he learned to. But the truth does come out eventually, right? Samson got to know about it, and currently, he’s also ghosting me.

I regret this life already. I yearn to belong to a man. I yearn to have a life that’s only mine and not a child in it. Unfortunately, he’s tied to the hip of my story, and I can’t tell the story without him coming up. My aunt wants me to send him to her. She wants me to have a man first, settle with him, and later come for him. Sending him away doesn’t change the story, and I’m scared I will continue to hate him if I send him away, so he’s with me and currently learning to love him each passing day.

It’s not his fault, but it’s also his fault. It’s not his doing, but he’s the one doing me—the reason I can’t find love. And then I had this thought recently that maybe the love I’m looking for is in him, and once I learn to love him, the rest will fall in place. So I’m learning. It gets better each day. Yesterday we looked at each other and we smiled. It felt genuine. It felt deep. Night by night, growth will happen in the dark, but we’ll definitely see it when the day comes. He’s mine. I’ll learn to treat him like he actually is.

16/01/2026

Last night, I was on the phone laughing and talking with a close friend of mine. In the midst of our conversation, she began sharing about her bloodline and what she learned about relationships from her father. She described him as emotionally unavailable, disconnected, and difficult to access. As she continued talking, she suddenly realized something. She said, “I keep entertaining and attracting men who are emotionally unavailable… just like my father.”

And I stopped her right there.

I told her, “That is not coincidence. That is not bad luck. That is an assignment of the enemy. You are a serving, loving, emotionally present woman, and the enemy is using other people who should be giving you emotional presence to deny you. That is warfare.”

I reminded her of who she is. I told her that she deserves someone who mirrors her emotional availability, her depth, her softness, her presence. I told her that the pattern in her life is not accidental. It is targeted.

And that’s when it hit her.

She began going through her relational history out loud. One by one, naming the men. The situations. The connections. And as she spoke, she said, “That’s the one thing they all had in common. They would buy me things. They would show up in ways that looked good on the surface. But they denied me emotionally. Every single one of them.”

Provision without presence.
Access without intimacy.
Appearance without availability.

That is not random. That is a strategy.

I told her, “This is bloodline. This is imprint. This is inheritance. And it has to be confronted.”

As I was speaking, I felt it. That subtle, heavy resistance in the atmosphere. That pushback that lets you know you just put your finger on something that does not want to be exposed. I wasn’t sure if she was really taking in what I was saying. The conversation stayed light, and I didn’t press her. I left it there.

Later that night, I went to sleep.

And I had a dream.

In the dream, I saw my friend. I also saw a demon. It had horns like a ram. And I could feel its presence before I even saw it. Heavy. Angry. Territorial. The atmosphere was thick. Charged. Pressurized. I could feel its rage. I could feel its hatred. I could feel its authority posturing.

It was standing directly between me and my friend as if she were its property. As if it owned her. As if it had claim. As if I was trespassing.

It was not lurking.
It was not hiding.
It was positioned.

And then it spoke.

Not to her.
To me.

With anger in its voice and ownership in its posture, it said:

“Stay out of this!”

I woke up gasping for air. My heart was racing. My body was shaking. I could still feel the presence of that thing. That was not imagination. That was not symbolic. That was confrontation. That was territory. That was ownership being challenged.

That spirit was not speaking to my friend.
It was speaking to me.

Because I had interfered.
Because I had disrupted.
Because I had touched access.
Because I had named the assignment.
Because I had exposed the pattern.

And it did not like it.

As soon as I came to myself, I knew I needed to call her. Even though it was early. Even though she is on Pacific time. Even though it was barely 5 a.m. her time. I called anyway.

Because when you know, you know.

When she answered, I told her about the dream. And she gasped. She said, “Oh my God.”

Then she told me something that stopped me in my tracks.

She said that after we got off the phone that night, she got in her car and went into full warfare mode. She said she started yelling at her bloodline strongman because she could see clearly what was being reinforced in her life. She said she was telling it that it could not have her, that it had no more access to her, and that she was breaking agreement with his emotional abuse assignment.

And in that moment, everything made sense.

The resistance.
The dream.
The warning.
The timing.

Conversation.
Confrontation.
Clarity.
Warfare.
Spiritual reaction.
Warning.

That is not coincidence. That is cause and effect.

I knew immediately that we had hit it.

We had hit the nerve.
We had hit the strongman.
We had hit the thing that has been contending with this woman of God’s relationships without a shadow of a doubt.

And although the dream was uncomfortable, startling, and intense, I was honored.

Because that’s my sister.

And the mere fact that we located what has been fighting her is thrilling to me. The mere fact that the enemy reacted means we were right. The mere fact that it showed itself means we touched the legal right.

For weeks, I have been praying for her. For clarity. For freedom. For alignment. Because I want to see my sister walk down the aisle. She deserves to be loved well. She deserves emotional safety. She deserves presence. She deserves consistency. She deserves depth.

And I will gladly disturb hell for that.

This is what happens when you begin to intercede for people. You do not just pray. You disrupt plans. You interrupt assignments. You interfere with access.

The enemy heard me building her up.
The enemy heard me naming the pattern.
The enemy heard me affirming her worth.
The enemy heard me exposing the strategy.

And it responded.

Not because I was wrong.
But because I was right.

This is why many people stay stuck. Because they are treating warfare like personality. They are calling patterns “just how I am.” They are calling assignments “my type.” They are calling inheritance “bad luck.”

And it is none of that.

It is strategy.

And when you start dismantling it, don’t be surprised when something reacts.

That does not mean you are wrong.
It means you are right on time.

The Power Pusher, LICSW

Join my upcoming bloodline mapping Masterclass!

15/01/2026

"MY WIFE FOUND OUT I SECRETLY MARRIED A SECOND WIFE AND SHE SUDDENLY CHANGED"... PART ONE

My name is Chinedu. I'm 42 years old.
And I need to get this off my chest.

My wife has completely changed.
And I don't know what to do anymore.

When I married Ngozi fifteen years ago, she was perfect.
Sweet.
Respectful.
Submissive.
She cooked every day.
Cleaned the house.
Took care of me.
Took care of our children.

She was everything a man could ask for.

But now?

Now she's a completely different person.

Cold.
Distant.
Uninterested.

And it all started when she found out about my second wife.

Let me explain how it happened and started.

Ngozi and I have four children together.

Beautiful children.
But raising them hasn't been easy.
School fees. Feeding. Clothing. Medical bills.

The costs kept piling up.

So Ngozi had to work.

She's a teacher.

Doesn't make much, but she contributes.
She pays some of the school fees.
Buys food for the house.
Helps with bills.
I appreciated it at first.

But over time, I started to notice things.
She would come home from work tired.
Smelling like chalk and sweat.
Sometimes she'd cook immediately.
Other times she'd rest first.

The house wasn't always as clean as it used to be.

Her hair wasn't always done.
She wore the same wrappers over and over.
And when she cooked, the smell would stick to her.

Egusi.
Ogbono.
Palm oil.

I'm not saying it's her fault.

But a man needs his wife to look good.
To smell good.
To make him want to come home.
I tried to tell her.

Gently at first.

"Ngozi, maybe you should shower before cooking."
"Ngozi, when last did you change this wrapper?"
"Ngozi, you're always tired these days."
She would just look at me.

Exhausted.

And say, "I'm trying my best, it's not easy and you don't help out...how can me,a man...help a woman out...???

But her best wasn't enough anymore.

I'm a man.
I have needs.

And if my wife can't meet them, what am I supposed to do?

That's when I met Adaeze.

She worked at a salon in town.
Always well dressed.
Always smelling like perfume and beauty.
Always smiling.

She didn't have children yet.
Didn't have stress.

She had time to take care of herself.

To look beautiful.
We started talking.
One thing led to another.

And before I knew it, she was pregnant.

I didn't plan to marry her.
At least not officially.
But she insisted.

Her family insisted.

They said if I didn't marry her properly, they would disgrace me publicly.

So I did..

A small ceremony.

Just her family and a few friends.

I didn't tell Ngozi. I didn't tell my children.
I thought I could manage both.

Keep them separate. I mean,men are polygamous in nature.

But somehow, Ngozi found out.
I don't know how.
Maybe someone saw me.
Maybe Adaeze said something.

But one day, Ngozi just looked at me and said:
"So you married her..? God will judge both of you...
Not a question.

A statement.
I tried to deny it.

"Married who? What are you talking about?"

She didn't argue.
Didn't shout.
Didn't cry.
She just looked at me.

And nodded.

"Okay," she said.

That was it.

I thought she had accepted it.

Some women do. Infact most women do.

They understand that a man can have more than one wife.

Especially if the first wife isn't performing her duties properly.

But I was wrong.
She hadn't accepted it.
She had just decided to stop trying.

It started small.

She stopped cooking.
Not completely.

But instead of cooking fresh meals every day, she would cook once and reheat for days.
Or she would just boil yam and serve it with palm oil.

No stew. No soup.

"I'm tired," she would say when I complained.

Then she stopped cleaning.

The house was no longer spotless.
Dishes would pile up in the sink.

Clothes would stay in the laundry basket for days.

"The children can help," she said. "I can't do everything."

Then the money stopped.

She used to contribute to the house.
School fees. Food. Bills.

But after she found out about Adaeze, she stopped.

"You have two wives now," she said calmly. "You figure it out." Let her help too...

I was shocked.

"What do you mean, figure it out? These are YOUR children too!"

"Exactly," she said. "MY children. Not hers. So you'll take care of them. Like a father should."

And just like that, everything fell on me.

Adaeze, my second wife, lives in a rented apartment.

I pay the rent.
I pay for her feeding.
I pay for everything the baby needs.

And I'm still paying for Ngozi and the four children at home.

School fees for four children.
Feeding for six people.
Medical bills.
Transport.
Rent.
It's too much.

I thought marrying Adaeze would make me happy.

Give me peace.

But instead, I'm drowning.

I tried talking to Ngozi.

"Things were better before," I said. "When we worked together."

"We're still working together," she said. "You're working. I'm working. Just separately now."

"But you used to contribute to the house—"

"I used to do a lot of things," she interrupted. "I used to cook for you every day. Clean your house. Wash your clothes. Submit to you. Respect you."

She looked at me.

Cold.

"But you still weren't satisfied," she said. "So why should I keep trying?"

The intimacy stopped too.
Completely.
She sleeps on her side of the bed.
I sleep on mine.
We barely talk.

When I try to touch her, she moves away.

"I'm tired," she says.

Always tired.

I asked her once, "Are you punishing me?"
She laughed.
A bitter laugh.

"No," she said. "I'm protecting myself."
"From what?"

"From you," she said.

My mother noticed when she came.

She came to visit and saw the state of the house.

The unwashed dishes.
The unswept floors.
The tired look on Ngozi's face.
She pulled her aside.

I heard them talking in the kitchen.

"What is wrong with you?" my mother asked. "Why is this house like this?"

"I'm tired, Mama," Ngozi said simply.

"Tired of what?" my mother snapped. "You have a husband. Children. A home. What more do you want?"

"I want rest," Ngozi said.

"Rest?" my mother repeated. "You can rest when you're dead! Right now, you have responsibilities!"

"Your husband is going outside because you're not taking care of him!" my mother continued.
Ngozi said nothing.

"Look at you," my mother said. "Your hair is not done. Your wrapper is old. You smell like kitchen. What man wants to come home to that?"

Still, Ngozi said nothing.

"You need to check yourself," my mother said. "Find out what you're doing wrong. What is that other woman doing right that you're not doing?"

I expected Ngozi to cry.

To apologize.

To promise to do better.

But she didn't.

She just looked at my mother.
And smiled.

"Mama," she said calmly, "if you think she's doing something right, then your son should stay with her."

My mother was stunned.

"Are you talking back to me?"

"No, Mama," Ngozi said. "I'm just tired. Very, very tired."

And she walked away.

That was six months ago.
Nothing has changed.
In fact, it's gotten worse.

Adaeze is demanding more money.

The baby is growing.

He needs things.
Clothes. Diapers. Formula.

And Ngozi has completely stopped contributing.

She pays for her own things now.

Her clothes. Her hair. Her transport.
But nothing for the house.

"You wanted two wives," she said when I confronted her. "Now you have two wives. So take care of both."

I'm barely surviving.

The other day, Adaeze called me.
Crying.

"I thought you said you were taking care of your first wife," she said. "But I heard she's working. Why am I the only one at home?"

"She has to work," I explained. "We have four children—"

"And I have YOUR son!" she shouted. "Why should I suffer while she's comfortable?"

I didn't know what to say.

Because the truth is, Ngozi is more comfortable.beautiful and glowing now.

She's just surviving.
We're all just surviving.

And I'm the one paying for everything.

I look at Ngozi sometimes.
And I don't recognize her.

She's not the woman I married.

She's harder now.

Colder.

She doesn't smile at me anymore.
Doesn't ask about my day.

Doesn't try to please me.

She just exists.
In the same house.
But miles away from me.

And I don't know how to get her back.
People tell me I should discipline her.

"You're the head of the house," they say. "Put your foot down."

But what can I do?

She's not disobeying me.

She's just... not trying anymore.

And I can't force her to care.

I regret it sometimes.
Marrying Adaeze.
Not because I don't love her.
But because of what it cost me.

My peace.
My money.
And Ngozi.

The woman who stood by me for fifteen years.
Who gave me four children.
Who worked and cooked and cleaned and never complained.

Until I gave her a reason to.

Now I'm stuck.

Paying for two households.
Trying to keep two women happy.

And failing at both.

Ngozi doesn't love me anymore.
I can see it in her eyes.

Adaeze is starting to resent me.

Because I can't give her the life I promised.
And I'm exhausted.

Financially.
Emotionally.
Physically.

I just want things to go back to the way they were.

When Ngozi was sweet.
When she contributed to the house.
When she smiled at me.

But I know that woman is gone.
And I'm the one who killed her.

To be continued...

Follow and engage for the wife's side of the story.
Benjamin Peace

14/01/2026

I never loved my husband. In fact, when we were dating, I was only using him to pass time after coming out of a very hùŕtful breakup. He was there for me and he was kind. I gradually developed a liking for him in the process, but deep down I knew I didn’t love him.
A few months later, I found out I was pregnant. He asked that I keep the baby, went to see my people, and asked me to marry him. I couldn’t say no. I was already pregnant and didn’t want to disappoint my family after they had sponsored me through school as the only graduate in the family. I thought about it for a long time but eventually decided to go ahead with the marriage. We did both the traditional and court weddings.
However, I always felt something wasn’t right. I knew he wasn’t the man for me. He is a good person and very family-oriented, but the feeling just wasn’t there. I tried to love him because we were married, but the more I tried, the more I found myself d!sliking him.
After I had my first son, we started having serious issues. I had a traumatic labour experience and eventually had a CS. I became very scared of s*x. Each time he came close to me, I would run away. He then started ch£àting, and other issues sprang up from there. We fo^ught constantly, sometimes àŕgu!ng about s£x till daybreak. I became very withdrawn and couldn’t even tell anyone how I felt. The small liking I once had for him completely dì£d. S£x became a tùg of war. I felt he didn’t own me, even though we were married. I wasn’t seeing anyone else and had nobody in mind, but I couldn’t open myself up to him anymore. He had a series of affairs and kept complaining that I was the one pushing him away. I would see his chats and conversations with other women, and it only made things woŕs£. With every f!ght, the hàtr£d increased. Now, I feel d!sgust£d and !rr!tated anytime he tries to touch me.
He is now trying, saying he has changed and all that, but I am done. I want to walk away. It has been almost seven years, and we have two kids. I just want to leave. Will it be wrong if I do? I feel absolutely nothing for him, and I know I’ve also contributed to our pŕobl£ms.
I used to hear stories of women who married men they didn’t love and eventually fell in love with them. Why is mine different? I tried to spice things up, to make myself fall in love with him, to be understanding despite the challenges, but nothing is working. Instead, my heart keeps telling me I don’t belong here.
I’ve been faithful, but I won’t say I’ve been myself around him 100%. We barely understand each other. We have very different views about life, and I can’t even point out areas where we are compatible. We are just living like strangers because of the kids.
We’ve had so many issues that family and even the church have intervened. He keeps telling them that I am unforgiving and that I don’t let things go. I feel I married wrong.
I’ve wanted to walk away for a long time, but the fear of starting all over has held me back. He is a great father, I won’t li£. The kids adore him, and he takes very good care of them. He provides for them fully. He has his flaws, and I have mine too.
I don’t want to make mistakes, but deep down I know we weren’t meant to be. I’ve prayed—before you tell me to pray. I’ve fasted. I joined the Hallelujah Challenge, asking God to turn my heart toward him, but nothing is working. It feels like my heart is turned against him. I can be with him and still feel completely s£x-starved. I don’t want to stay and ch£àt.
He has asked that I leave the kids with him, which I am okay with, because I can’t even take care of them properly right now. I feel like I entered this marriage to please my family, not myself, and I feel like I’m drowning in it every day. I’ve been in and out of d£pression.
Am I being selfish for choosing not to stay?
Considering the effects of broken homes on children, what should I do?
Should I stay?
Will we eventually learn to understand each other?
We are just moving in circles, with no progress. From the outside, people think we are the perfect couple. “You look so good together,” they say. “You have cute boys.” But deep down, I am slipping away.
Is it wrong to want more out of life and for myself?
Please, I really need advice from older people who are married. We will be seven years this March, and I swear it’s not getting better—it’s getting worse. The same aŕgùments, the same issues, over and over again. Instead of bringing us together, they keep creating bigger gaps.
Am I searching for what doesn’t exist?
Nobody is perfect, yes, but not matching my energy on any level is another form of toŕtur£. I’ve shrunk myself so much just to avoid bruising his ego. I love writing. I took content-writing classes and started sharing my daily struggles with the kids, even without photos or videos, because he’s strongly against exposing them on social media. Still, he is against it. I feel like I’m just pretending—especially around him. And this is even the least of our probl£ms.
We have a lot of issues. I know no marriage is perfect, but I am mentally, psychologically, and emotionally exhausted. I’ll be 34 next month, and I’m working too. My family isn’t helping, but I know they will eventually accept my decision. Still, I don’t want to make mistakes. I don’t want regrets.
Please, someone should talk to me because I am losing it.

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