CHRONICLES OF A GOD GIRL: MASTERS EDITION 1

So, you started this series months ago on Instagram, but this morning, something shifted. You woke up feeling that this space, your blog, needed you. Blogging has always been your first love; you can never outgrow it. So here you are, dusting off the keyboard, ready to spill.

Let’s talk about this season of your life: the season where you decided to add “Dr.” to your name. But first, a master’s degree. You chose a private university in Nigeria, paid the fees yourself—because, girl, at this point, you are nobody’s mate. You are even the first in your immediate family to attempt a Masters degree, nobody should play with you. Then came the reality: seminars, literary texts to critique, and endless papers. And you paused.

“Is this doctorate dream even possible like this?”

But you never start what you can’t finish. So you keep going. First semester exams? Done. It wasn’t easy—juggling exams, your writing job, and a 9-5 almost took you out, but you’re still standing.

Now, let’s get into the real story. Because, as a storyteller, there’s always a story.

Enter one particular Dr.

When you started, you loved her. She was brilliant, eloquent—your kind of woman. But then, she started stretching your soul with these papers.

“Your paper must be standard enough to be published in an academic journal.”

Excuse me, ma, who told you I want to publish an academic paper? I am a storyteller, not a Professor of Language! But this woman? She became the weapon fashioned against your peace of mind. One paper—rewritten over and over—until you got sick of looking at it.

Boy! If excellence was a person… but at this point, you just want your paper graded. Because the price you are paying for excellence? Too much. And as you write this, she still hasn’t approved it. It is well. May the God you serve touch her heart because, frankly, you have nothing else to add to that paper.

Meanwhile, as if grad school isn’t stressful enough, your phone decided to retire at the worst possible time. But shoutout to your laptop—it’s carrying you through. The enemy’s plan to frustrate your Dr. dream will not prosper. They must call you Dr. in this life before Jesus comes back. Not after all these sleepless nights, writing papers.

And speaking of sleepless nights, you and sleep? Officially broken up. You remember Valentine’s Day—when people were getting flowers and gifts, and you? Puffy eyes, fighting sleep, drowning in books. If you survived that, what can’t you survive?

Right now, you’re sitting on your bed, surrounded by books—your new best friends. You can’t even go a day without reading any more. This is your life now.

But you’ve decided—this time, you’re bringing your people along. You’ll keep updating them on this journey because you’re done with hoarding gist. You are the new queen of being private while public. And graduation? Unlike your undergrad days, where you didn’t even attend the convocation, this one will be different. You will throw your cap in the air. You’ll invite your community. Only if they open a GoFundMe and contribute at least 5 million. Because after all this suffering? You deserve more.

Before you go, you just want to say: thank you for sticking around after all these years. You’re back. You repent. You’ll post more.

Now, tell me—what’s your take on grad school? Let’s chat in the comments.