The night is thick with a strange melancholy, the kind that makes even a hardened heart feel fragile. There is an ache woven into every inch of me tonight. Louder than the music I have drowned myself in for hours, the sobs claw at my throat, raw and relentless, haunting my every breath. I can barely lift myself from bed, surrounded by empty wrappers and crumpled dreams, feeling the weight of so many disappointments – some personal, some stretching far beyond me.
Kamala Harris lost, and somehow, it feels as though a piece of me has lost as well. In her defeat, I hear echoes of every missed opportunity, every injustice, every barrier women have faced throughout time. I think back to Hillary’s loss and how it left me shattered years ago. These women, whom I have admired from afar, have held my hopes, have shown me what could be possible. America, a country I have never even touched, has become a place of dreams for me,not for what it is but for what it claims to represent. Each setback in its promises to women feels deeply personal, another reminder of the battles still left to fight.
I resonate with Kamala’s voice, not only in what she said but in what she represented: a woman of color, strong and unapologetic, holding space in a world that so often dismisses women who dare to lead. Her ambition reminded me that our dreams are sacred, that they deserve to exist, no matter how often we are told to shrink or wait our turn. And though her journey met with loss, that spark she lit remains, flickering within each of us who listened and believed.
Women around the world, in every nation, on every continent, we live with dreams that are both powerful and fragile. We dream of leadership, of standing tall in places where women before us were not allowed. We fight against stereotypes and confront injustice with fire, but our path is still wrought with roadblocks. Sometimes it feels like a losing battle, but it is precisely in these moments of loss that we must find our strength.
I think of my final-year project at University of Ilorin, researching discrimination against women in the Nigerian legal system, delving into the deep-seated biases that keep us chained. That research was a revelation; it opened my eyes to the larger fight against gender violence, a battle that spans far beyond any single country. I wrote of laws and policies, but what I learned was that true change takes more than words. True change requires resilience, the kind that has held women together through centuries of silence and struggle.
Sometimes the world feels unbearably heavy, as though every attempt to break free is met with another wall, another reminder of the old ways. But even in this heaviness, there is purpose. I remind myself of women across history who, with fewer resources and voices than we have now, carved out places of power, breaking silence after silence. They knew that change was not immediate, that progress is a torch passed on from one generation to the next. And now, it is our turn to carry that torch. Our voices might quiver, our paths may be uncertain, but we stand on the shoulders of giants, and they are rooting for us.
I am not alone in this feeling, and that alone gives me strength. Somewhere out there, countless women share this moment, this mix of heartache and hope. To every girl and woman who finds herself questioning if she is enough, if the world is ready for her dreams, I say this: we may feel invisible at times, pushed aside or underestimated, but our voices are a force, quiet yet unbreakable. And even if we are not fully recognized today, we must keep dreaming, keep pushing forward, for there will be those who come after us. For every woman who fights today, there is a girl somewhere watching, learning, and gathering the courage to become someone more.
Perhaps it is in our quietest, most uncertain moments that we find what truly matters. Beyond the noise, the doubt, and the heartbreak lies the simple truth that we are enough—enough to rise, enough to keep dreaming, enough to make a difference. We press on, not for immediate victories, but for the day when our daughters and sisters will know a world where their dreams are celebrated, not questioned. In this hope, in this commitment to a future that honors the strength of every woman, I find a quiet kind of power, one that will carry us forward, no matter how long the night may seem.
I look ahead, not only for myself but for the generations to come, for Nigeria, for Africa. One day, we will raise daughters and sons who believe in equity as naturally as they breathe. They will grow up in a world that may still hold echoes of its past, but they will also bring with them the strength of their mothers, grandmothers, and all the women who have ever dared to dream beyond what the world expected.
Titilope Anifowoshe is a lawyer and entrepreneur. She can be reached via titilopeanny@gmail.com
