Meeting Stella was love at first sight for me. It was at a mutual friend's birthday dinner in a crowded Lagos restaurant. I saw her seating across the table, I saw immediately drawn to her. Though I'm the shy type, I somehow summoned up courage to walked over to where she was seat to join her. Lucky for me, she didn't object.
By the end of the evening, after conversations of things we shared in common like our love for books by certain authors and love for music, I asked her for her number. She gave me without hesitation. From there we gradually began to hang out on weekends, went out to the movies, and some late night conversations on the phone.
Back then I was a freelancer, majoring on graphic design. I wasn't really making much, but I manage to pull through. Stella however, just landed a position at a consulting firm. It was like a dream job for her because she had this passion for solving problems.
But none of this really mattered at first. I admired her drive and she admired my creativity. We both had plans and dreams that we shared with other. The difference in our paycheck seemed unimportant. W didn't think it mattered.
Later on, things began to change after Stella's promotion. Suddenly, she became too busy. If it wasn't business trips, it was client dinners, if it wasn't that, conference meetings, and so on. She started earning more than double my income. She bought a car and suggested we move into a nicer apartment together.
At first, I was proud of her. I even bragged about her success to my friends. I was really inspired by her determination. But on my own side, things weren't really moving smooth with me. Freelance gigs wasn't that forthcoming at that time. At that time, me and Stella didn't really make much mentions of money in our conversations.
One evening, as we sat in our new apartment, Stella suggested hiring a new cleaner.
I didn't welcome the idea. “We can manage, Stella. Why spend extra when I'm around here more?”
“It's not about you not doing enough,” she said. “It’s just...I want us both to have more time together. And honestly, we can afford it.”
I know she meant no harm at all. But I couldn't help but brood on the statement, “...we can afford it,” when in the real sense, what it really meant was “...I can afford it.”
The tension began to increase. One evening, she returned from a long day, tossing her heels aside while I sat with my laptop on my laps.
“No luck today?” she asked.
“Another rejection. They said they are going with a bigger agency,” I replied.
She came over, robbing my shoulders. “I’m sorry, dear. You'll get the next one.”
“Easy for you to say,” I said, though I was hoping but it wouldn't come out loud enough, but it did.
She didn't say anything.
It wasn't that I resented her success, I guess it was just the contrast, the contrast reminder that while she was climbing higher, I felt stuck at the bottom.
We gradually started having fights. Sometimes about money—like when Stella would decide to cover the rent more often. Sometimes about time—she became too busy that she barely had time for us.
One day, after a serious argument we had, I blurted out, “Do you even see me anymore, Stella? Or am I just some project you are funding until I figure out my life?”
“That’s not fair. I love you. But I can't apologize for wanting more for us,” she replied with tears in her eyes.
One Saturday afternoon, Stella suggested a weekend trip to Accra, eager for a break from work.
“I'll book the flights tonight,” she said, excited.
But told her I wasn't buoyant enough to afford that.
“I’ll cover it,” she replied quickly.
“Do you hear yourself?” I was raising my voice now. Do you realized how it feels to always be the one covered for? Like I'm a child, not partner?”
Stella let out her own anger. “And do you realize how it feels to be building a future with someone who refuses to admit he's stuck? I don't care about the money. I care that you're giving up on yourself.”
Things wasn't really the same with us after that day. We barely spoke, moved around each other like strangers.
One night we were sitting in the living room, pretending to be watching what was going on on TV. I didn't like us being like this with each other.
“I’m scared, Stella,” I finally spoke. “Scared that I'll never catch up with you. Scared that you'll wake up one day and realize you deserve someone...more.”
She reached for my hand. “I never needed you to catch up to me. I need to stand with me. Success isn't a race we are running against each other, it's a life we are supposed to build together. But I can't carry the weight of yourself doubt on my own.”
I began to realize how I let my insecurity get in-between us.
“What if I fall again?” I asked.
“Then we figure it out,” she assured me. “But promise me you won't stop trying. Don't detach yourself away from life because you feel you're not measuring up. I fell in love with your passion. Don't let it die.”
The problem didn't disappear overnight. But that conversation was really helpful. I went through some sessions of therapy walk through my feelings of inadequacy. I also enrolled in a course to improve on my design skills, and it really helped. I began to gradually land some steady freelance contracts, eventually partnering with a small startup.
Stella made changes as well. She learned to set better boundaries at work, intentionally sparing time for the both of us. She stopped trying to fix everything with money, focusing instead on listening, encouraging, and being present.
Months later, I got an offer from a client to be hired full-time. I walked through the house to break the news to Stella. I found her in the kitchen. Before I could even say a word, she turned and smiled. “Whatever it is, I'm proud of you already.”
I just swallowed up what I was about to say and smiled back at her.
Looking back, I often think about how close we were to losing each other—not because we didn't love each, but because I let fear and pride take control.
Success that was supposed to be a good thing seemed to be the same thing that nearly divided us. But in the end, we managed to pull through. Our relationship didn't become perfect, but it became real. Instead of one person carrying the other, we both walked forward together.
Between Pride and Love | Ecency
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