This Is Angel’s Story As Told To Zia

Before my mum married, it was just the two of us. She and my biological father had dated for a long time. When she got pregnant, he said he wasn’t ready and didn’t want anything to do with the pregnancy. My mum told him she was ready, and he could go. She raised me as my sole parent. He came around my naming ceremony, and maybe once when I was four, and again, but beyond that, he never contributed anything. I only really got to know about him as I grew up.

We lived in a comfortable family house with my grandma, my auntie and my cousins. My mum was big on family, and she supported them a lot. Life was good, and everything was okay.

My mum had been doing well for herself before the marriage. She was a Lagos big girl, if I could say that. She joined her church in her early 30s, when I was a few months old, not even a year. Before then, she wasn’t really religious. She could go to church for a crossover service, but she didn’t have to go every Sunday. She found a place where she felt she belonged and became deeply involved, especially with the leaders. They were men, and she was friends with them and did business with them. They became family friends and came to the house for religious duties, and just as friends.

In that church, they believed marriage is the best thing you can do for yourself, and the talk about settling down never stopped. She didn’t feel like she was getting old, but with everyone saying it, she thought, since they’re saying this, I might as well look for somebody. They set her up with a couple of people. None of them worked out until the man she married, who was from the same place as one of her close friends. It took a while for them to wear her down. By then, she was in her mid-30s.

I was six when my mum married my stepfather in 2006. I came into that family with her, and my earliest memory of his behaviour is from their traditional wedding. He got into a fight with my mum’s cousin. The party had to end, and I remember the tension afterwards. My mum tried to calm him down before they left. Even as a child, I could see how aggressive he was. I didn’t know then that this was what life with him would be like.

When they married, he told her to stop working. That mattered later, because when she left him, she didn’t have her own income to fall back on. Her siblings supported us, but money was one of the reasons we went back.

He was violent towards my mum from the beginning. The physical violence is what I remember seeing, but there were other forms of violence, too. Usually, we kept what happened inside the family, even though people knew. One day, when he was beating her, I got so scared that I ran out to bang on our neighbours’ door. Their flat was only a couple of steps away, across the staircase. I could see shadows moving inside and even see people peeping, but nobody opened the door. I think I was nine then, maybe ten.

He came after me, dragged me back in and held me by my throat against the window. He lifted me off the floor. I can’t remember what made him stop. My neck hurt for days; it was painful to swallow, and my mum made me pap because she didn’t want me struggling with solid food.

Afterwards, our relationship went back to what passed for normal. He would say sorry, hug me, kiss my cheek, and everybody would carry on. When daddy’s back, you’ve got to be happy. It wasn’t that nothing had happened. We just suppressed it. 

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There was a pattern in the house. Something he said my mum had done would create hostility for a few days. The pressure would keep building until there was an outburst. On one occasion, he threatened to kill himself, my mum and all of us.

He is the firstborn of his family, and one week, he and my mum had travelled to his village for his lastborn’s wedding, where he had firstborn duties to perform. As usual, he couldn’t control himself. He chased somebody with a dagger, a much younger guy. In Igboland, that is an abomination. He ended up scattering the wedding. It didn鈥檛 hold because of him. 

My mum made them leave the village quickly, and it’s a good thing she did. His uncle later told him that if he had not left when he did, they would have stripped him naked and all the youths of the village would have gathered to flog him at the town square. That was their tradition.

When they got back to Lagos, the village sent him a letter excommunicating him. For a man who prided himself on being a real Igbo man, a traditional man, it was a deep shame. And the best way he knew to express his shame was to threaten to kill himself, kill my mother, and kill all of us.  My mum begged him, and he said he wouldn’t kill us, only himself. He told her to take the children and leave.

We started packing quickly. My mum kept telling us we needed to go, but when it was time to leave, we couldn’t find the gate or the car key. We were stuck there while he was making these threats. Eventually, he calmed down, cried and apologised for scaring us. After the usual hugging and making up, the keys appeared. The gate key had been in his pocket, and the car key was in his wardrobe. Then life went back to normal again.

Another time, I didn’t feed his dog when I was supposed to, and he beat me so badly that my hand was injured. This was around 2014. People kept asking what had happened, so I said I’d cut myself in the kitchen. One woman we bought tomatoes from didn’t believe me. She pressed until I told her the truth, and she and her husband were sympathetic. All those questions made me so self-conscious that I bandaged my hand to stop people from looking at it.

Through all of this, my mum and I became closer. We were like sisters in arms, fighting on the same side. When she was expecting my siblings, she would buy baby books for herself and her husband to read. But it was usually the two of us reading them and talking about what we’d learned. I was the first child, and I noticed things. In many ways, it was my mum and me together.

My mum always tried to leave, but we always ended up going back. In 2015, she left while pregnant with our lastborn. At that time, it looked final. She rented an apartment and was getting it ready for us. She took everything she could: the car and its keys, the furniture, the properties. She was on her way to furnishing the apartment. And this was close to her delivery date when she had a car accident, and that is what made us go back. The reason she left was the same as before: the violence, the negligence, and his mental instability.  returned to him, and the violence continued.

We finally left in November 2016. He had gone to work, and my mum took my three siblings and me away. We were practically running, looking over our shoulders and hoping he wouldn’t come back before we got out. This time, we didn’t clear out the house. We took only a few clothes and left so much behind. I still remember my favourite red shoe. I will never forget that shoe. It was left in the spoils of war.

We went to stay with my mum’s elder sister. It was a full house: my aunt, her daughters, her grandchildren, my grandma, my mum, my siblings and me. After we left, my stepfather started saying my mum had taken his children and his family away. I didn’t call him. I was glad my mother had taken us out. Why would I reach out to him?

In December, I went to church with my aunt, my cousin and my cousin’s children. My mum, grandma and siblings stayed at home. It was a different branch of the church we had attended as a family, though we’d been there before. In the middle of the service, someone came and tried to drag me away. I saw my stepfather, and I saw that another man was with him. I refused to go with them. The chaos caused people in the church to look, a crowd formed and started asking what was happening. Everyone could see these men trying to take me in broad daylight.

Afterwards, people from the church went after them, but my stepfather got away at first. We ended up at a police station, and someone called my mum. She came immediately. I can’t tell you the exact sequence of everything the adults did that day. I was there, but I had zoned out. I think I was in shock.

What I remember clearly is coming back into the police station after going outside and hearing one of the policemen shouting. That was when the fear finally reached me, and I started crying. He shouted at me for crying, which didn’t help. My mum came and took me away from him. I can’t remember how the case ended or what, if anything, was done to my stepfather.

That was not the last time I saw him. He still came to where we were staying to see my siblings. I remember walking past him in the sitting room once without greeting him. He stared at me, but by then I had checked out of whatever relationship we’d had. I haven’t spoken to him since the incident, as far as I can remember. I think the last time I saw him was in 2017, before I went to school.

Leaving didn’t take away the closeness between my mum and me. With him gone, we could talk about my future without him interrupting, and my mum has always been the one who told me to do whichever path I liked. She studied the arts herself.

He was the opposite. He put me in science class throughout secondary school, with the mindset that science is the best one, where level-headed, better people and careers are found. He used pressure and violence to push me on that path. I had always been interested in the arts, but I ended up studying microbiology, partly because of him.

I went to university about a year after we left, or not even two years. That was where I started to see that what happened had really affected me. As outgoing as I am, I was still very timid. In church, I was a good public speaker, but I was always nervous because if I didn’t do my church talk well, he would come home and berate me. After we left, I realised I had taken on some of that timidity. His shouting, his violence and his coercion had gotten into me.

It also made me avoidant. I couldn’t navigate conflict, and I didn’t want to go back to spaces where I felt conflicted. In my first year, my first time living in a hostel, there were six, seven, or eight of us in a room. If four people were fighting, I would leave. I couldn’t deal with it. I like it when everybody is happy. I don’t like seeing people frown.

Sometimes I felt like I was her co-parent, along with my siblings. I don’t know whether growing up that fast helped me, but it happened.

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Living with my stepfather for so long also made me alert to patterns in other people. I keep my eyes open, especially in my relationships with men. I don’t think you have to believe there’s one Prince Charming and stop paying attention to what someone actually does. But I’ll be honest: it didn’t protect me completely.

I got married in 2023, and the man I married was one of my closest male friends from church. If you had asked me years ago who my close male friends were, he would have been one of the first names I would have given. When I was about four months pregnant, we went to court. By five months, it became evident that he wasn鈥檛 really who I thought he was. 

The switch-up was so fast. It became, 鈥淚 have you here; we got married because you’re pregnant; you don’t want shame to come to you.鈥� He also played on the fact that I wouldn’t want my child to come from a broken home, because I came from one. He even said it: I had no choice but to make it work, or everyone would see me as a failure like my mum.

My mum is not a failure. I have never seen her as one. If she hadn’t left, either she would have died, or one of us would have, or all of us. It’s the general patriarchal thought that makes the parent who stayed and kept the children safe look like the one who destroyed their children’s lives. When I left, he told me I was going to spoil my daughter’s life the way my mother spoiled mine.

By the time I gave birth, I had postpartum depression. He was neglectful, verbally abusive, financially abusive and emotionally abusive, too. The only one he didn’t get to was physical abuse, but he had violent traits, and I knew it was only a matter of time before he started hitting me. I did not want to wait for that.

I think I’m even a little thankful to my stepfather, because he made me spot the signs fast. When he was angry, he would break doors and bust locks. In every house we lived in, the doors were never the original ones. They were refurbished, replaced, or the locks were. We nicknamed him Buster Rhymes. It’s our code word for him even now, and nobody calls him by his real name anymore. One day, my ex did something like that. I felt like six people slapped me at once, and someone dumped a bucket of ice blocks on me. If I was in a trance before, I woke up that day. My daughter was a month or two old.

My mum had seen where it was going, and she reminded me: Angel, give yourself a timeline. I didn’t pull you out of where we were before, so you’d have to go through this again. When my daughter was about two or three months old, I told myself I would stay until she was a year, so I could have his support with the baby before I found my feet. I couldn’t. As soon as she turned six months, I left. We hadn’t even gotten to a year of marriage. It was 11 months.

My mum and I had sat down and gone over what she did wrong or could have done better as she was leaving. So I knew what I needed to do. I knew I had to cut off the church people and not entertain any explanations or mediation efforts, because they’re all manipulative. I needed to keep my wits. So I cut everybody off. People were angry. How dare Angel? Who does she think she is? He had his excuse: because I was refusing mediation, he didn’t provide for my child.

Even when I was leaving, my mum did not know I was leaving for good. When I got to her place, I told her, Mummy, I’m not going back, and she said, ” No problem, I respect your decision. Then I started telling her things I had hidden because I didn’t want her to worry. I’ve experienced less interference than she did when she left because I knew what to cut off and who to cut off. I haven’t heard from him in over a year. I’m the sole provider for my daughter, and I really don’t care. My peace is more important.

Before my ex, I would say I recovered from what my stepfather did. After my ex, I never recovered. That was 2024, and I haven’t been with anybody romantically since. I have no plans to. I used to brag that no boy had ever broken up with me, because I always broke up with them first. I was very strict with men.

But I underestimated the influence of religion and the church, and that’s how I let him in. He knew my background and my mum’s background, even though I never told him everything. I felt he had abused my trust and broken the most important thing. I only started recovering this year. I’ve never really been to therapy because it’s expensive, but I’m getting into it this year. I realised I never fully healed in my relationships with men.

I don’t really trust men now. In my spare time, when I have money in my pocket and my belly is full, I wonder when I’ll trust them again. On a normal day, I’m too busy hustling to take care of my child and myself.

Now I’m pursuing my passion in the arts. My career spans both the arts and marketing. I still like science, and I may go back to it in my master’s, but it’s not a priority. I don’t want to suffer for money in a role I don’t enjoy just because it pays more. I’ll be 26 this month, and I feel like I’ve lived 40 years on earth through those 10 years alone. I just want to do fun things, meet fun people and enjoy life. I’ve been through enough, and I don’t want any more traumatic experiences.

What happened also put advocacy for women at the front of my mind. All the things we had to fight after we left- financially, psychologically, health-wise and mentally- I’ve not done up to 1% of what I want to do for women in abusive homes and relationships. It’s one of the things that fuels me to work as hard as I do. I want enough money and connections to give women, children, and anyone in that situation the help we didn’t have.

I hope anyone in a situation like ours can find a way out, whether on their own or with help. The earlier you get out, the better.

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So we asked hairstylists across four Nigerian cities, Morenikeji of in Lagos, Tega of in Abuja, Bevvy of in Port Harcourt and Sewa of in Ibadan, what it actually costs to do your hair in 2026, from braids and wigs to silk presses and installs. Consider this the price list your group chat has been trying to put together for years. Verified by Selasi for .

Note: All prices are in naira and exclude attachment prices. 

1. Patewo 

Patewo is named after the Yoruba word for “clap.” It is made by weaving cornrows from the left and right sides of the head to meet symmetrically in the centre, mimicking the motion of two hands clapping together. 

Lifespan: 2 to 4 weeks, depending on your hair texture, whether you used extensions, and how well you protect it at night.

How to Maintain: At night, wear a silk or satin bonnet/scarf or use a satin pillowcase. Lightly oil your scalp and hydrate your braids every day. You can apply styling mousse, but avoid heavy products. 

How Much Does it Cost?

Ibadan:

N 3,000

Abuja:

N 10,000

Lagos:

N 8,000

Port Harcourt:

N 8,000

2. Knotless braids with wavy ends:

Knotless braids start with your own hair and feed extensions in gradually, so there’s no tight knot pulling at your roots. The ends are left unbraided and waved, which gives the style its soft finish

Lifespan: 4 to 6 weeks. The waves usually drop before the braids give out, so the ends set the real timeline.

How to Maintain: Wrap with a silk or satin scarf at night. Lightly oil your scalp every few days and use mousse on the braids to keep flyaways down. Finger-detangle the wavy ends gently; no combs.

How Much Does it Cost?

Ibadan:

N 12,000

Abuja:

N 25,000

Lagos:

N 45,000

Port Harcourt:

N 20,000

3. Pearl Cornrows 

Cornrows braided flat to the scalp with pearl beads threaded onto the ends or along the parts. Same base as regular cornrows, dressed up.

Lifespan: 1 to 2 weeks. The braids can hold longer, but the pearls and threading start to loosen and slide.

How to Maintain: Sleep in a satin bonnet so the pearls don’t snag. Keep the product light around the beads, and cleanse your scalp with a damp cloth or diluted shampoo using an applicator bottle.

How Much Does it Cost?

Ibadan:

15,000

Abuja:

15,000

Lagos:

20,000

Port Harcourt:

10,000

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4. Faux Locs

Hair is braided or twisted, then wrapped with extension hair to form locs. You get the loc look without locking your real hair.

Lifespan: 4 to 8 weeks, depending on how fast your roots grow out and how neat you want them to stay.

How to Maintain: Oil your scalp weekly and wrap your hair at night. Don’t restyle them too often; constant pulling loosens the wrap at the roots.

How Much Does it Cost?

Ibadan:

10,000

Abuja:

25,000

Lagos:

30,000

Port Harcourt:

10,000

5. Goddess Braids

Chunky cornrows braided close to the scalp, usually with curly strands left out along the braids or at the ends for a softer look.

Lifespan: 2 to 4 weeks. The loose curls frizz first, so the style looks freshest in the first two.

How to Maintain: Satin bonnet at night. Refresh the curls with a little water and leave-in conditioner on your palms, and keep your scalp oiled.

How Much Does it Cost?

Ibadan:

26,000

Abuja:

25,000

Lagos:

35,000

Port Harcourt:

18,000

6. Shuku (suku) 

Cornrows braided upward from the hairline to meet in a raised crown at the centre of the head. A classic Yoruba style, worn on its own or as a base under wigs.

Lifespan: 1 to 2 weeks on natural hair, up to 3 with extensions.

How to Maintain: Wrap at night and lightly oil your scalp. Don’t pull the crown into tight ponytails, or it will loosen early.

How Much Does it Cost?

Ibadan:

8,000

Abuja:

25,000

Lagos:

25,000

Port Harcourt:

10,000

7. Irun Kiko

Irun kiko is Yoruba for “knotted hair.” Sections of hair are wrapped tightly with thread from root to tip, forming firm, sculpted strands. You might also hear it called African threading.

Lifespan: 2 to 4 weeks. The thread holds well, but new growth and fuzz at the roots show after the second week.

How to Maintain: Keep the thread as dry as possible and oil your scalp between sections. Sleep with a satin scarf so the strands don’t bend out of shape.

How Much Does it Cost?

Ibadan:

5,000

Abuja:

10,000

Lagos:

10,000

Port Harcourt:

2,000

8. All Back (Cornrows)

Straight-back cornrows braided flat from the hairline to the nape. The simplest protective style on this list and the base for many of the others.

Lifespan: 1 to 2 weeks on natural hair, 2 to 3 with extensions.

How to Maintain: Satin scarf or bonnet at night, light scalp oil every few days, and edge control only when needed. Daily edge gel builds up fast.

How Much Does it Cost?

Ibadan:

8,000

Abuja:

20,000

Lagos:

15,000

Port Harcourt:

8,000

9. Koroba

Koroba means “basket” in Yoruba. The braids are woven from the sides of the head into a rounded crown at the centre, so the finished style sits like an upside-down basket.

Lifespan: 2 to 4 weeks, depending on hair texture and how well you protect it at night.

How to Maintain: Satin bonnet or pillowcase, light scalp oil, and hands off. Constant touching roughs up the crown fast.

How Much Does it Cost?

Ibadan:

10,000

Abuja:

18,000

Lagos:

20,000

Port Harcourt:

10,000

10. Dolly Braids

Box braids finished with curled ends, usually set on rollers or rods for that bouncy 90s finish.

Lifespan: 4 to 6 weeks. The curls loosen over time, but you can reset the ends with hot water and rods.

How to Maintain: Wrap at night and oil your scalp weekly. To revive the curls, dip the ends in hot (not boiling) water.

How Much Does it Cost?

Ibadan:

7,000

Abuja:

15,000

Lagos:

30,000

Port Harcourt:

15,000

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11. Dija Braids

Made popular by the singer Di’Ja: medium braids with soft curly ends, usually worn with a deep side part.

Lifespan: 3 to 5 weeks. The curled ends lose definition first.

How to Maintain: Satin bonnet at night, mousse on the braids for flyaways, and refresh the curls with water and leave-in on your palms.

How Much Does it Cost?

Ibadan:

5,000

Abuja:

15,000

Lagos:

20,000

Port Harcourt:

10,000

12. Beaded Braids

Braids of any size finished with beads at the ends. The beads do the talking, so the braid itself stays simple.

Lifespan: 2 to 4 weeks. The braids often last longer than the beads stay put.

How to Maintain: Sleep in a satin bonnet so the beads don’t snag or crack. Keep products light near the ends and oil your scalp between the parts.

How Much Does it Cost?

Ibadan:

8,000

Abuja:

20,000

Lagos:

35,000

Port Harcourt:

20,000

13. “Lagos Hairline” Wig Finish

A wig install styled so the hairline melts into your skin and mimics natural edges. The finish is what you’re paying for, not the wig itself.

Lifespan: The install holds 1 to 2 weeks before the hairline starts to lift. The wig itself can last months with good care.

How to Maintain: Tie your edges down with a scarf for 10 minutes after styling and before bed. Keep glue or spray layers thin, and clean your hairline properly between installs so buildup doesn’t irritate your skin.

How Much Does it Cost?

Abuja:

30,000

Port Harcourt:

25,000

Lagos:

25,000

14. Jumbo Braids + Boho/Fulani Braids:

Jumbo braids are large box braids that are quick to install. Boho versions leave curly strands loose throughout, and Fulani braids add the signature centre part with side cornrows and beads.

Lifespan: 3 to 5 weeks. Bigger braids frizz sooner than small ones, and the loose boho curls tangle first.

How to Maintain: Satin bonnet at night and light scalp oil. For boho pieces, finger-detangle with water and leave-in, never a comb. Snip stray frizz instead of pulling it.

How Much Does it Cost?

Ibadan:

6,000

Abuja:

15,000

Lagos:

20,000

Port Harcourt:

12,000

We surveyed 5,000 workers across Nigeria鈥檚 formal and informal sectors to examine what Nigerians earn, where the money goes, and whether hard work actually translates to financial security. This is what we found. Download the 糖心原创 State of Income Report.

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For Dada*, 30, she first noticed that her 鈥榰sual鈥� PMS symptoms were a little more than that at the age of 26. 鈥淚 was in a car that was on Third Mainland Bridge, and I nearly jumped into the water. I was so scared because it felt so real; I could clearly see myself doing that. The only thing that stopped me was the fact that I thought about how cold the water would be.鈥�

is a severe form of PMS, and suicidal thoughts are one of its symptoms. It causes intense physical and emotional symptoms every menstrual cycle in the week or two before your period. Symptoms often abate as soon as the period comes. We spoke to Clinical Psychology Researcher about PMDD and how it increases suicidal ideation in women.

What is PMDD?

PMDD affects roughly ; that is, 1 in every 18 women has PMDD. To get a diagnosis, at least five symptoms have to show up in the final week before a period, ease off within days of the period starting, and disappear in the week after the period starts. Because so many conditions can mimic it, doctors are meant to confirm the pattern with daily symptom tracking across at least two cycles before calling it PMDD. Most women never get that far.

The “just” in “it鈥檚 just PMS” is where the trouble starts. Women with PMDD have almost seven times the odds of attempting suicide, and almost four times the odds of experiencing suicidal ideation, .

For Dada*, those two weeks before her period meant she was fighting her mind in addition to all the physical symptoms. 鈥淚 would literally be in a fetal position, crying, and my mind would tell me how worthless and useless and stupid I was, and how I should kill myself because I wasn’t worth the time and space and nobody would love me for me,鈥� she says. 鈥淚t would stay for two weeks. I’d feel fatigued and exhausted, easily irritated and extremely emotional. It was like my nerves were exposed.鈥� She would start fights with her sister and her partner at the time, and she believes the fog of it kept her in a toxic situationship far longer than she should have stayed. At work, she would lock herself in the toilet and cry for hours, 鈥渢rying so hard not to die.鈥� She cancelled plans because she felt drained and unworthy of being around people. 鈥淭here have been times when I thought I was actually going to die. I’ve almost cut myself multiple times.鈥�

For years, she didn’t have a name for any of it. 鈥淚 didn’t think of PMDD until two years later, when I saw a post on X (fka Twitter). I thought it was just stress. I didn’t even track the frequency of my cycle until I was 27, and even then, I thought it was just usual period nonsense, because it would stop immediately when my period came.鈥�

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The pattern of symptoms that build before a period and lift almost as soon as it arrives is one of the signature tells of PMDD, and one of the reasons it hides so well. Researchers now understand it as a sensitivity in the brain’s response to the normal hormonal changes of the menstrual cycle, not too much or too little of any hormone. The hormones of someone with PMDD would look perfectly ordinary on a test. What differs is how the brain reacts to them, and because the reaction is timed to her cycle, it is easy to mistake it for stress, a bad week, or a personality flaw.

Ibukun*, 23, an artist, spent years doing exactly that. She had always had depression, so when things got dramatically worse in the days before her period, she filed it under her existing diagnosis. 鈥淚 just thought that was me being me,鈥� she says. 鈥淚 wasn’t very good at relationships, so I always thought it was a me problem. I just thought,鈥� Oh, my depressive episodes get worse before my period. Cool.鈥� 

In that week, she would stay in bed, struggle with basic hygiene, cry at everything, and pick fights with the idea of cutting people off entirely. 鈥淓very time I have an issue with a friend before my PMDD hits, I just consider cutting them off when I’m in a PMDD rut.鈥� 

When she was younger and severely depressed, that same week came with self-harm. 鈥淎 week before my period, I would constantly cut my arms. I’ve stopped that, thank God.鈥� She only learned PMDD existed in 2021, when a friend posted about it, and she educated herself; she was formally diagnosed in therapy in 2023. Even now, she is unmedicated. 鈥淚’m not medicated or anything. I’m just aware that okay, yeah, it’s PMDD, and I rawdog it.鈥�

Adesuwa*, 26, also had to find the word herself. The first time she noticed something was wrong was in 2020, and when she told a friend how she was feeling, the friend 鈥榡okingly鈥� told her to kill herself. She assumed it was the pressure of school. Her worst days bring body weakness that keeps her in bed, anger at the world and then at herself, and a depression deep enough that she thinks about dying. Her darkest moment came while cooking, when she caught herself wishing the gas would explode and kill her. Her period arrived less than an hour later. Like many Nigerians, she read about PMDD online and immediately recognised herself in it. Naming the feeling was her first step to coping. She sees a therapist now, and while she has no formal diagnosis, her therapist gives her techniques that help.

Some women never get that close to an answer. Funmi*, 23, started experiencing worsening anxiety and feelings of low self-worth about two weeks before her period, around the age of 20, and she dismissed it herself. 鈥淚 really just thought this was what everyone experienced when they said they experienced PMS,鈥� she says. She has no official diagnosis and had never spoken to anyone about it until last year. Her lowest point came during her medical board exams, when worsening premenstrual symptoms collided with exam anxiety. 鈥淚t was such a haze, honestly, and I can’t even say how I got through it. It’s a blank space in my memory.鈥�

The women who did seek medical help often came back with nothing useful. Dada* was repeatedly told it was stress and that she should improve her diet and exercise more. 鈥淭he gynaecologists kept saying it was normal, which is crazy,鈥� she says. She was only diagnosed in the end because her therapist was working carefully to rule out ADHD and autism. 鈥淚 wish women weren’t always dismissed with ‘that’s how it is’,鈥� she says. 鈥淚t irks my soul every time I hear it.鈥�

Why is Getting a PMDD Diagnosis Hard?

Like most mental disorders, PMDD doesn鈥檛 come alone, and that is one reason it hides for so long. Between 42% and 49% of people with premenstrual disorders also live with a . An existing diagnosis can become a hiding place. Ibukun spent years filing her worst weeks under the depression she already knew she had, because a worsening of what you already have does not look like a new condition.

The overlap with ADHD is even sharper. Provisional PMDD in 31.4% of women with an ADHD diagnosis, against 9.8% of women without ADHD. Women carrying ADHD together with depression or anxiety were the most at risk in the entire sample, with more than four times the risk of women without ADHD. Dada*’s experience sits inside this pattern: her PMDD was only named because her therapist was carefully ruling out ADHD and autism first.

PMDD is also . Women with mothers and sisters who experience PMDD are more at risk of developing the disorder. 

PMDD rearranges lives, especially in Nigeria, a country where women’s diagnosis is a Herculean task. Funmi missed classes for days at a time, absences she couldn’t afford and had to scramble to make up for. Adesuwa* can’t do meaningful work in her bad week and now plans her workload around her cycle. Ibukun*’s executive dysfunction deepens. And because Nigeria’s mental health support is largely private and largely unaffordable, therapy, the thing that moved three of these four women forward, stays out of reach for most. 鈥淚 just wish everyone could afford mental health support services, because they go a long way,鈥� Adesuwa says.

Next Read: Body Dysmorphia: It Is MORE Than Hating Your Body

So what actually helps? 

The women have answers they built themselves. For Funmi*, she optimises her life around her cycle, and keeps her closest circle to people she doesn’t have to apologise to, reminds herself that some of what she feels in that week isn’t real, and protects her school attendance so that the days she truly can’t show up don’t cost her. 

Adesuwa* tracks her cycle to plan and leans on music. She goes to therapy, watches comfort shows, and surrounds herself with friends and family who make things feel lighter. 

Dada* tracks her period with an app and her calendar so she can catch the shift early, and finds that exercise, eating well, and sleeping well all help. 鈥淗aving a safe community of people who can listen without judgment, and who can care for you in the aftermath of an episode, is extremely important,鈥� she says.

Modern medicine has answers, too. The American College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists strongly SSRIs, a class of antidepressants, for the mood symptoms of premenstrual disorders, and lists hormonal treatments, counselling, exercise, nutritional therapies, and self-help strategies among the options. Many patients do best with a combination. A diagnosis matters because the treatment for PMDD is specific, and because a woman who knows her calendar can prepare for her hardest week instead of being ambushed by it.

The week before a period should be uncomfortable at worst. It should not be a week a woman has to survive. For the roughly 1 in 18 women living with PMDD, “it’s just PMS” is not reassurance, and for some women, the distance between that dismissal and a bridge, a blade, or a kitchen is one bad cycle. As Funmi puts it: 鈥淧eople make a lot of jokes about ‘oh, it’s that time of the month’, but it’s not normal to feel like you want to jump off a bridge because of your period.鈥�

It’s more than mood swings. It always was.

If you or someone you know is struggling with thoughts of suicide or self-harm, you can reach out to someone:

• Mentally Aware Nigeria Initiative (MANI): 08091116264 or 08111680686

• International Association for Premenstrual Disorders (IAPMD): iapmd.org

• Find a Helpline: findahelpline.com

鈥淢aybe he’s tired, maybe it’s me, maybe this is just how sex feels.鈥� 

When sex isn’t good, the majority of Nigerian women make explanations rather than tell a partner what isn’t working. In some cases, it was a matter of protecting said partner鈥檚 ego or avoiding the uncomfortable conversation. 

We asked seven Nigerian women about the excuses they made for a man who was bad at sex, what accepting it looked like in the moment, and when the story they were telling themselves finally stopped making sense. 

1. 鈥淟et Me Not Judge Him From One Experience鈥� – Ola*, 23

I met him at the gym, so I had high expectations. I was thinking, 鈥淭his one is a gym bro, at least the energy will be there.鈥� Unfortunately, I was very wrong. The foreplay was not giving; he finished really quickly, and I felt like I was doing most of the work. Instead of admitting the sex was bad, I told myself, 鈥淢aybe he’s just tired. Maybe he’s stressed. Let me not judge him from one experience.鈥�

It became my favourite excuse. I liked him, and I wanted there to be a reasonable explanation. I was attracted to him, and I’d already built this whole image of what he’d be like sexually. I became an Olympic-level excuse maker. During sex, he was giving pillow princess while I did most of the work. I didn’t have a serious conversation with him because I was still in my 鈥榤aybe he’ll do better next time’ era. Then we had sex a second time. I thought this was where things would improve. Instead, this man judged me for swallowing his cum. Some of you men have a lot of confidence for people who should be focusing on their own performance.

If the same thing happens twice, you have to start questioning your theory. I wasn’t making excuses because there was a good reason. I was making them because I didn’t want to admit the sex was simply bad. I stopped trying to convince myself that everything was fine. I was lowering my expectations and calling it understanding, and questioning whether I was asking for too much when I wasn’t.

I should be able to say what I like and need, and attraction isn’t enough.聽 I can find someone extremely attractive and still realise that, sexually, the chemistry is giving a grand total of nothing. Omo, I ghosted him o.

2. 鈥淢aybe It Was First-time Jitters With A New Partner鈥� – Enkay*, 35聽

It was my first time with a new partner, and we’d been heavy on the foreplay for weeks. Then the day of the deed came, and it was over in five minutes. It was like he’d just jerked off because the whole experience felt like I wasn’t even involved. I told myself maybe it was first-time jitters with a new partner, and a friend validated that. I’d only had two other partners, so I also wondered if I was the inexperienced one. Maybe this was just how it was.

After a while, it became predictable: it’ll be over in ten minutes, then you’ll go back to whatever you’re doing. I’d give myself that timeline. During sex, I tried to draw pleasure from how turned on he was by my body. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. I always tried to make sure we were at my place so I could ask him to leave as soon as it was over.

It was temporary. I was only in that location for a year, and we really did vibe over movies, anime and work. I didn’t want to look for another partner or risk being seen as slutty in such a small community. I never directly addressed the problem. A few times, when I was in charge of how sex went, I tried to show him what I wanted instead of telling him. Of course, that didn’t always work.

Around the same time, I had sex with someone who literally worshipped my body the first time. It opened my eyes; I started thinking, “So this is how it can be?” I could finally acknowledge that the other sex had been bad, mediocre at best, and that I should have moved on much earlier. I was still considering his feelings, so I let things fizzle out, especially since my year there was nearly over.

I really had to learn that you have to take charge of your own pleasure. Men will cum regardless. If a partner doesn’t know what they’re doing, you can speak up and tell them what works and what doesn’t. If they’re unwilling to change, feel free to wave goodbye.

3. 鈥淚 Kept Thinking Something Was Wrong With Me鈥� – Yvonne*, 27

By the second time or so, I realised this couldn’t be it. This was my first encounter with sex, but it just felt wrong. Remembering it makes me angry all over again. God will actually punish that boy. It was just about him. There was hardly ever any foreplay, although he was very particular about me not being hurt. I remember thinking my nerves weren’t sensitive enough.

I pathologised it as I often do, even now. I kept thinking something was wrong with me. Then I just accepted it. I thought that was all there was to it. Overall, he was a terrible person, so I was really warped in the head when it came to him. The adrenaline was really something. I did try to talk to him about it, but he paid me no mind and didn’t even entertain the conversation.

I accepted the other bad parts of the relationship, too, which, honestly, was all of it. I carried that lack of demanding better into everything else. I centred him and basically wanted whatever made him satisfied. After we finally parted, he tried to move toward me one more time. By then, I was disgusted with him, so I turned him down. We were already over, and he stayed gone. I just knew that what we’d had couldn’t be all there was to it, especially when there was hardly ever foreplay.

More women need to learn that sex is as much for you as it is for them, and an orgasm isn’t a myth. If there’s no foreplay, please close the chapter quickly. A man who doesn’t care if sex is satisfying for you won’t care about you in other parts of the relationship either. He centres himself in bed and everywhere else; you’re just a tool.

4. 鈥淚 Had Sex With Multiple People to See If It Was Me鈥� – Ari*, 25

When I started having sex with men, there was almost never any pleasure beyond the initial thrust. I’m such a people pleaser that I’d fake moans until he finished, and he always took forever. I had sex with multiple people to see if it was me. I liked the idea of sex more than the act.

So I took it like a champ. If I was the problem, why should it be less pleasurable for them? For the longest time, I wouldn’t even say it didn’t work for me. I’d zone out and let out moans now and again. I’ve faked orgasms to end sex multiple times. I read a lot of books growing up, and I thought that everybody couldn’t be lying about how good it is, so the self-blame just kept going.

I liked the prospect of a warm body. It was only during sex that I’d ask myself why I was there. With my first boyfriend, it was painful every time, but he’d convince me, and love would make me do it. With my last partner, I knew he liked sex a lot, so it became a chore I did for him. Conversations seemed to put partners on edge. My last partner liked trying to please me, but I figured he’d give up at some point. Moaning and allowing him to finish was easier.

One day, I woke up and realised that bad sex didn’t serve me. It was some weeks before we broke up. In those last days, he talked a lot about how we didn’t even have sex anymore. Even though I ended it, I knew it would eventually have been a dealbreaker. Afterwards, I went eight months without sex. I realised I owed nobody sex and thought I was asexual.

Just last week, I came three times from head and twice from penetration. Before, I was going years without an orgasm unless I was masturbating. With my current sexual partner, I told him head didn’t work for me, and I had written it off. He asked me to trust him and, omo, thank God I did. I’ve had so much fun. I’ve started buying and using more toys. I know now that good sex means caring about your partner’s pleasure; most of those partners didn’t really care about mine. If you do rubbish now, I’ll boo you because I know it’s not my shame to bear. I still think I’m on the asexual spectrum, but step by step. I’m getting the pleasure I missed back.

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5. 鈥� It鈥檚 Just My Assault History Playing Tricks on Me鈥� – Morenike*, 25

When I had sex with him for the first time, we had been kissing for a while, and then it led to fingering, and I remember thinking, 鈥淭he last time I tried this with someone else, it didn’t hurt, so why does this hurt?鈥� It felt like he was stabbing my insides. I told myself, okay, maybe different strokes for different folks.

At the time, I was dealing with a lot around sex because I’d started having flashbacks about being sexually assaulted when I was young. So I told myself, 鈥淢aybe it’s just my SA history playing tricks on me, and maybe that’s how sex is supposed to feel. He’s trying his best.鈥� I was inexperienced, but I know now he just didn’t know how to fucking finger.

He was a situationship, and he was really sweet to me. Instead of telling him, 鈥淵ou kind of suck at this,鈥� I let my inner avoidant out after sex. I accepted that he was exceptionally awful at fingering and started ignoring his messages asking me to come to his house. We’re still friends, but that’s just it.

Before I got comfortable enough in my body to want more sexual interactions, I’d prepare myself to dissociate because I didn’t know if it was going to be awful. One time, I texted my friend afterwards and asked them to call me with an emergency so I could leave. Years of staying quiet and allowing things to be done to me without speaking up had affected me. Why couldn’t I tell a nigga he didn’t know how to finger? He didn’t even give head. Na so so fingering without lube. What am I, Kanji Dam?

After him, I started telling people what I liked and didn’t like, and directing them to do better. I haven’t had a lot of sexual partners, but they’ve been pretty understanding once I started talking. I’m more comfortable saying I’m inexperienced now. Good sex, for me, means not being afraid to speak up. I also don’t care much for sex because of my demisexuality. If I build a beautiful emotional bond and desire someone sexually, that’s great. If not, I’m not going to force myself to accept casual sex.

6. 鈥淗e Didn鈥檛 Give Head. Who Does That?鈥� – Kara*, 31

He was my first consensual sexual partner ever, and I didn鈥檛 have a frame of reference for what good sex was supposed to feel like, so it took me a while to realise what was happening. The first time we tried having sex, we discovered I had trauma-related vaginismus, and for some reason, he was very frustrated by that. That should have been my first red flag, but I was young, dumb and in love, so I rationalised it away. When we finally had sex, I was a little bit drunk because I had read somewhere that alcohol helped deal with vaginismus more easily, and it did. The haze of the alcohol made me think it was decent sex. Again, with no frame of reference, I didn鈥檛 know what I was missing.

I kept telling myself that it was inexperience, and maybe I was broken because of assault. He was a lot more sexually experienced than I was and made sure I knew it by virtue of jokes. Now that I think about it, that was weird as hell. 

It was consistent for a couple of months, and then at some point, I stopped having sex in general because I got busy with work. After a while, I got my spark back and started exploring with other people, which made me realise how nice sex in general was. He lived close by, so we tried to reignite a sexual relationship, but compared to the other people I had had sexual encounters with, it was just mid. 

I tried having sex with him a couple more times after that, but I kept zoning out because it was a lot of in, out, bye-bye. I felt more like a Fleshlight than anything else. And he also didn鈥檛 give head; who does that? I was a people pleaser at the time, so all I did was just make excuses to not see him when he wanted to have sex. I kept assuring myself that this was how sex was supposed to feel, even when it was very clear to me that it wasn鈥檛.

I tried having a conversation with him one time, where he gave me a bullshit reason about why he didn鈥檛 give head and then made the conversation about the 鈥榤agical powers of his dick.鈥� No, that鈥檚 exactly what he said. Incredible. 

Never again. I鈥檓 grown, and I have told a man to get up from my body because he was doing nonsense, and it wasn鈥檛 working for me. I now move with the audacity of a man. These men would be very vocal when you鈥檙e not pleasing them, so why shouldn鈥檛 I do the same?

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7. 鈥淚 Told Myself That Knowing I Could Make Him Feel Good Was Worth It鈥� –  Tolani*, 23

I didn’t realise the sex was bad until years after I’d left the relationship. When I finally had a different experience, I thought, 鈥淥h, this is what it’s supposed to be like,鈥� and chuckled at everything I’d been through before.

He was the first guy I’d had sex with, so I thought it was supposed to feel that way. I was in love with him. He was my best friend, first love, first time and all that. I told myself that knowing I could make him feel good was worth it, even when it made me uncomfortable. There was nothing to compare it to; I assumed Wattpad and erotica stories were full of shit. I pushed for lots of lube because it was cold and tingly and made things more interesting. I tried to bring a vibrator into it too, because I knew I could finish with one. He didn’t seem keen, and I didn’t want him to feel emasculated. Some men think toys are an indictment of their masculinity. Thank God for journey mercies.

I knew some things I wanted even without knowing what sex could feel like. I tried to get him interested in a D/S dynamic, but he just didn’t have that dawg in him. I think he laughed at some of my kinks, so that was that. We had an unsteady relationship; we were friends with benefits, and bigger issues sometimes kept us apart or made things awkward. Towards the end, I started to accept that we weren’t going to be 鈥榯ogether-together’ and that he wasn’t a good person for me. Sex stopped feeling like, 鈥淚t’s not good, but at least I get to be close to him and make him happy.鈥� It became, 鈥淵eahh, this sucks.鈥� We’d finish, and I’d wonder what I was still doing in his bed.

We grew more distant. I started talking to someone I found ultra attractive, who was pretty good at being a dom. That made it easier to let go. Later, I had another partner with whom the sex was also bad. This time it was worse: he thought thrusting really hard was the way to go, and sometimes it straight up hurt. I had to psyche myself up to get through it.

I think those small acts of betraying yourself add up. Women are taught to centre male partners, so it was easy to feel proud that I was making him happy while ignoring how I felt. Sometimes I felt bad about myself for letting it happen, even when it bordered on painful. I was afraid that if I made him feel bad, whatever we had would end.

Then I met someone and being with them felt like being back in secondary school: sweet and nice, almost silly. We’d inch closer on the couch and find excuses to brush against each other. The sex feels good. I like the way they look at me during it. The passion isn’t a raging flame; it’s like enjoying an orange so much you squeeze its juice into your mouth as hard as you can. Tangy, sweet, and refreshing, and you don’t want it to stop.

I’m more assertive now about how I want to be touched. I put my comfort and pleasure first because there’s no award for suffering, and I’m here for a good time. I just wish I’d known sex was actually supposed to feel good. I wouldn’t have put up with obvious mismatches for so long while telling myself, “Well, at least I’m getting some.”

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Names* have been changed and responses have been edited for clarity and flow.

But most of these products weren’t made for your face; they were made for your feed. So we asked Certified Clinical Esthetician Babarinsa Oluwadamilohun to walk us through the products the internet has convinced you that you need: what they actually do, how to use them, and how not to.

1. Niacinamide

What it is: Niacinamide is vitamin B3. It helps with oil, the look of pores, and uneven tone, which is why it shows up in nearly every routine video on your feed.

How to use: Apply at 2-5% once or twice daily. It layers well with almost everything, which is honestly part of the problem: because it plays nice, people stack it.

How not to use: The 10% serums the internet loves aren’t faster results. They increase the risk of skin irritation. If your routine already has seven products, niacinamide isn’t the missing piece. It’s just another layer.

2. Tretinoin

What it is: Tretinoin is a prescription-strength retinoid, and the real thing behind most “glass skin” transformations online. It treats acne, texture, and fine lines, and it works. That’s why people preach it like gospel.

How to use: Start with a pea-sized amount at night, two to three times a week. The sandwich method helps: apply it after a moisturiser, then top it with another layer of moisturiser.

What not to do: start daily at full strength because someone told you to push through the purge. And don’t pair it with benzoyl peroxide on the same night.

3. Benzoyl Peroxide

What it is: Benzoyl peroxide kills acne-causing bacteria. It’s a spot treatment, not a personality.

How to use: Use 2.5-5% as a spot treatment or short-contact treatment, in the mornings.

How not to: The internet’s version has you 10% slathered all over, on the same night as your retinoid, which bleaches pillowcases and skin barriers alike.

4. Reedle Shot

What it is: The reedle shot is a spicule serum: tiny micro-needles that create pathways so what you apply next absorbs better. The tingle is normal. But it鈥檚 a relatively new product, and there鈥檚 not much research on it. 

How to use: Use it a few nights a week, right after cleansing.

How not to: Don’t use it daily, and don’t stack it with retinoids and acids the same night. More absorption of everything is the problem, not the goal.

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5. Retinol

What it is: Retinol is tret’s gentler cousin. Same family, slower-acting, and available without a prescription.

How to use: Start with a low percentage, at night, and build up slowly over weeks.

How not to: Don’t buy the highest percentage first, and don’t expect tret-level results. And if you’re already on tretinoin, you don’t need retinol too. Pick one retinoid lane.

6. Hyaluronic Acid

What it is: Hyaluronic acid is a humectant: it pulls water into your skin, which is what gives that plump, hydrated look.

How to use: Apply it on damp skin, then seal it in with a moisturiser.

How not to: The mistake is applying it to dry skin in dry air. With no water around to grab, it pulls moisture from your skin instead.

7. Snail Mucin

What it is: Snail mucin is hydration and repair support, and the original K-beauty glass skin poster child.

How to use: You can use it daily, after cleansing, before your moisturising cream.

How not to: Just don’t expect it to resurface anything. It’s for comfort, not transformation. And comfort is fine, as long as you know that’s what you’re buying.

8. AHA (Glycolic/Lactic Acid)

What it is: AHAs are chemical exfoliants. They dissolve the dead skin cells sitting on your skin, which is where the glow comes from.

How to use: Use them one to two times a week, at night. That glow is enough.

How not to: Don’t do daily peels, don’t use them the same night as a retinoid, and don’t skip sunscreen afterwards. Freshly exfoliated skin burns fast.

So, Do You Need Them?

Some of these products earn their place. Some are solutions to problems the internet invented. The difference isn’t the product; it’s whether your skin has a reason for it. The internet sells you routines for glass skin. What your skin needs is a reason for each step.

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