Five years ago, if you told me I’d find my husband in my Twitter comments section, I would have laughed. If you said I’d end up choosing love over tradition and creating a rift between me and my family, I would have called you crazy. Yet here I am, writing this from our home, wearing my wedding ring, and living a life I never imagined would be mine.

It all started during the 2020 lockdown. While everyone was mastering TikTok dances, I was becoming a Twitter warrior. My opinions were strong, my tweets stronger. One particularly heated exchange with a troll brought him into my DMs. “Need backup? I’m pretty good at handling Twitter trolls 😂” he wrote. That laughing emoji changed my life forever.

What began as witty banter evolved into late-night calls, secret meetups, and eventually, a love that would test every traditional value I was raised with. You see, in Igbo culture, some things are considered unchangeable. His family’s status as ‘osu’ was one of them. An ancient tradition that labeled his ancestors as outcasts would now determine our future.

We lived together secretly for six months, building our dreams while I attended family dinners where my mother’s prayers for me to “find a good husband” felt like thorns in my heart. Every Sunday, I sat at that table, dying inside as they discussed potential suitors from “respectable families.” Meanwhile, our joint account grew with our hopes for escape.

The day we decided to leave, I wrote my parents a letter. Twelve pages of explanations, apologies, and goodbyes. We got married in a small ceremony at the registry in Ikoyi, Lagos. No family, just friends who understood that love shouldn’t come with centuries-old conditions.

It’s been three years now. My phone still doesn’t ring on Sunday evenings. My mother’s number remains blocked – not because I want it that way, but because the last time we spoke, her words were daggers of disappointment and shame. Sometimes, I catch myself looking at old family photos, wondering if my children will ever know their grandparents.

But then my husband comes home, and his smile reminds me why I chose this path. We’re building our own family now, creating new traditions where love doesn’t come with conditions and acceptance isn’t based on ancient prejudices.

Our apartment isn’t as big as my family home, but it’s filled with more honest love than I’ve ever known. Our dinner table is smaller than the one I grew up eating at, but the conversations are freer, fuller, truer. We’re writing our own story, page by page, day by day.

Was choosing love over tradition worth it? When I look at our life now—the morning kisses, the shared dreams, the unconditional acceptance—I know it was. Some people say love conquers all. What they forget to mention is that sometimes, after the conquest, you have to rebuild from scratch.

I lost my family to tradition, but I gained a chance to build a new one based on love. Our children will never know the weight of ancient prejudices. They’ll grow up knowing that their parents chose love over everything else, and that sometimes, the hardest choices lead to the most beautiful beginnings.

For those facing similar choices, wondering if love is worth the price – I won’t tell you what to choose. But I will tell you this: the heart knows its home, even when tradition tries to lead it elsewhere.

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This story is part of our BraveHuman series, where our investors share their bravest moments to inspire others. We never use real names or identifying details.

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