MARRIAGE IS NOT A BATTLE GROUND AND YOUR WIFE IS NOT YOUR COMPETITION

The day I sent my wife out in the rain, it was my friends who coerced me to do so.

They said I was too soft — a traditional man must prove he is the man of the house sometimes.

I remember it clearly.

She had only corrected me in front of my friend, Emeka. It wasn’t disrespectful at all. She simply said,
“No dear, the plumber didn’t come today. I rescheduled him for Monday.”

But Emeka raised his brows and muttered,
“Na wa o. Your wife dey correct you like this? Guy, you’re losing grip.”

And that was all it took.

I let my ego ride my head like an okada with no brakes.

Later that night, when she tried to explain, I shouted at her.
Told her to pack her things and leave.
In the rain.

She didn’t argue.
She wrapped herself in a wrapper, picked up her pillow, and quietly stepped outside.

The rain beat her like she wasn’t someone’s beloved wife.
Like she wasn’t the same woman who stood by me when I had nothing.

Even as the door closed behind her, my heart trembled.
But pride whispered,
“Good. You’re the man. Let her know who’s boss.”

She came back the next morning — not because I begged — but because she had a Zoom meeting and the kids had school.

She said only,
“Let’s not allow emotions scatter our home. I forgive you.”

Just like that.
No drama. No shouting. Just peace.

But that wasn’t the only time I let my pride ruin things.

I was never the supportive husband.
Whenever she achieved something, I stayed silent.
She would send me her published articles, screenshots of emails from clients, testimonies from women she mentored…

I wouldn’t even open them.

Deep down, I thought if she shone too bright, my own light would fade.
So, I didn’t clap when she deserved it.
I didn’t hug her when she cried over failed projects.
I just watched — silently competing with someone who only wanted to build with me.

Then one day, I lost my job.
One email.
One “Thank you for your service.”
And the pride I carried like a chieftaincy red cap fell off.

It was her who held the home.
She paid the bills.
Bought foodstuff.
Paid the kids’ school fees.
She smiled while doing it all.

I kept waiting for the insult:
“You’re a man and you’re not doing anything.”
But it never came.

Even when my friends came and said,
“One day she go count everything she spend o. You go shock.”
She never did.

One of them even advised,
“Just dey surprise am small-small. Buy perfume, book Uber for her — just show say you still be man.”

I nodded like I would — but deep down, I didn’t.

Not until one night.

She came back from work, removed her heels, helped the kids with homework, and still boiled rice for dinner.

I watched her from the couch.

And I broke.

I cried.

Not out of pain — but because this woman had every right to give up on me… yet she stayed good.
Good to me.
Good to our kids.
Good to our home.

That night, I knelt beside her and said,
“I’m sorry. I see you now. I want to help you. From now on, I’ll carry this load with you.”

She looked at me, shocked.
Then she hugged me — the kind of hug that comes from a tired but hopeful heart.

From that day, I started cleaning.
I picked the kids from school.
Some days, I dropped her at work and helped her visit clients.
I became her support system.

Her work boomed.
Her pay increased.
Our kids were happier.

One day she handed me her ATM card and said,
“Please manage the house.”

Not out of fear — but out of trust and love.

Months later, my old job called me back — same role, bigger pay.
But I wasn’t the same man.

I had dropped the chieftaincy red cap — because I learned a family isn’t run by intimidation or tradition.
It is built on love, humility, and kindness.

I also left the friends who used to whisper poison into my ears.
I chose peace over ego.

Now, when I look at my wife, I see grace.
When I look at my kids, I see joy.

Now I clap — literally!
When she gets a new contract, I shout,
“That’s my star girl!”

She blushes like a teenage girl and curls into my arms with the sweetest smile.

When she sends me her brand features, I repost them.
When she needs to visit clients, I drive her there myself.

I now know: celebrating my wife doesn’t make me smaller.
It makes our love bigger.

When I look at myself today, I see a man who was broken — but rebuilt by love.

Moral of my story?
Marriage is not a battleground.
Your wife is not your competition.
She’s your helper — and when God gives you a helper, He expects you to help your helper too.

And if you find that kind of woman?
Don’t just marry her.
Grow with her.

 I have find my own , you cherish and nurture your own and let the world be a better place for us all. 

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