“Fight for Me, Especially When I’m Undeserving of It” | by Debby Matthew | Jul, 2025

By Deborah Matthew

I am one person who loves to see good relationships — relationships that are pure, raw, filled with love. Relationships that are true, that care deeply for one another, that aren’t deceiving, that are transparent. Genuine. The kind of relationships that are just… mushy-mushy between each other.

And I don’t mean romantic relationships alone.

I mean friendships. Family. Any kind of bond where people are real with each other.

But here’s the thing — I don’t have friends like that.

Honestly, I don’t have friends.

I want to. I really want to. I’ve had people in my life — people I thought were friends. You know that kind of thing where you’re like, “You’re my friend”… but deep down, you’re wondering, “But am I your friend too?”

I’ve had experiences — so many of them — right from childhood.

I’ve always been a quiet person. I like being by myself. There was this couch in our house, back then before we moved. That couch was “mine,” allegedly. Everyone just knew — you could find me there. Morning, afternoon, in the dark… I’d be there. Alone.

Oh my God, I sleep a lot. If I wasn’t sleeping, I was just sitting there. And it’s not like I was always sad — no. Sometimes I was sad, sometimes happy, sometimes just… thinking. But no matter what I was feeling, I was always there. That was my space.

I used to think maybe I was just comfortable being alone because… well, no one was really paying attention to me. Do you get it? I was just there. I would sleep. Sit. Think. Everything on that couch.

There was one time, my whole family were at the backyard, just discussing — normally. And I just… I didn’t want to go and join them, because I did not like their discussions. I didn’t like the topic, how they were saying it. And I knew that it’s not something that I could just go and then contribute or tell them what I think. Nobody would listen to me.

Or they would want to — you know when you are giving an opinion about something, and instead of people listening to you, they’re just making up excuses — “You, calm down,” “That’s not it,” “What do you know?” “You’re a small girl,” blah blah blah, stuff like that.

So I just preferred to stay by myself, in my couch.

And then my dad came in and was like,

“Baby, you dey okay so? Wetin you dey do for here? Why you always stay inside darkness for this chair? You dey like winch. You sure say you know dey possessed? You sure say dem never…”

Typical African man kind of statement.

So, it’s not like I don’t want to talk.

It’s not like I don’t want to mingle.

It’s not like I do not like being around people.

I just… I like to be useful.

I like to talk — a lot. I like to provide solutions when I talk, through communication. I like to be sensible. Like, okay, I’m saying the right thing, I’m making sense, I’m contributing, I’m involved in this conversation.

When I’m not doing that — when that is not happening — I just prefer to stay alone.

Especially when I’m being thrown off, like, “What’s this one?”

I mean, even if I’m not saying the right things, you should be able to correct me — not push me away.

You see, that’s still me not giving up on me.

That was just a backstory — of the kind of person I am.

Quiet. Likes to be by herself. And some of the things that triggered that.

Let me go right into… or maybe I should say let me go further?

Whichever is best — you’ll help me put it the right way.

So — when I was in secondary school. That one I know I can remember.

I had one flaw. One of my flaws that used to put me in trouble.

So I did something in school, and then the whole school turned their back on me.

I remember my mom coming to school — crying and all of that.

My mom is very emotional. So she was crying and saying, “Oh, Baby, why did you do this? Baby, I can’t believe you did this…”

She was saying it in my dialect. I’m from Edo State.

And then — I had this friend.

I thought we were friends. I loved her. We talked. We shared secrets. I went to her house, she came to mine.

I knew her family, she knew mine.

We just… you know.

I used to think we were really in a good relationship.

I mean, she was my friend. That, I was sure of.

But I didn’t know I was only considered a friend in the feel-good moments.

Because when this whole issue happened, and everybody turned their back on me — I couldn’t even find my friend.

She was my classmate too. And the whole class turned on me.

People were gossiping in pairs.

I felt so alone. I felt terrible.

I felt like Jesus. I felt abandoned.

That was the moment my eyes opened.

That’s when it dawned on me — Oh my God, I don’t really have anybody.

I don’t have anybody except God.

And I was sure — God would not leave me. God would not turn His back on me just because I did something.

In fact, that’s when He would embrace me the most.

I think… I was looking for that — in human beings.

By the way, I’m a Christian. And I love God so much.

You’ll be hearing a lot of God, God, God in my stories. I just thought to tell you that.

Moving on.

That evening, I went to church.

My church back then wasn’t far from my school.

And as usual, many people — including her — took their regular route home.

So I saw her.

And in that moment, I thought, Okay… even if you were embarrassed by me at school, at least this is outside. This is different. You can come talk to me. You can ask what happened. You can even say you were embarrassed.

I would understand.

I’m someone who understands feelings and emotions. So it would’ve been okay.

But she passed by with one other person, and all I could see were the side-eyes, the body language, the irritation coming from her.

And I felt so bad.

I felt really, really bad.

That was the moment I concluded:

You know what? It’s okay.

I don’t have any friends. I only have Jesus.

And I should just focus on Him — to heal me, to fix me —

instead of depending on people.

I guarded myself.

My space. My peace. My everything.

I just moved through life, talking to people randomly.

Was I secretive? Maybe.

Or maybe I just wasn’t convinced enough to share things I didn’t want others to know — just because we had a “relationship.”

I wasn’t vulnerable. I wasn’t open.

I just treated people as they came, basically.

No friends. Just people.

But then… as an adult — some time ago — I started to talk to someone. A lady.

She’s an amazing human being.

Sometime last year — or the year before — she was my neighbor. That’s how it started.

The first time I really saw her was on her birthday. She came to my house and brought food for my mom.

My mom is everybody’s mommy, by the way.

They started talking, the usual “Ah, Mommy, how are you?” kind of gist.

She brought food — and she can cook!

I mean it. She can really, really cook.

So that’s how we got to know each other and started talking.

What I didn’t know was that my mom had already told her:

“My daughter’s not the type to have friends or just associate anyhow.”

So one day, she was at the backyard fetching water, and I just walked up to her.

I said, “I sell hair. I sell clothes too.”

And she said, “Oh! I sell clothes too.”

Perfect match.

She bought from me.

We kept talking.

I started going to her house. Sometimes I’d even sleep over.

Slowly… I started to become vulnerable.

She shared her story with me. I gave her advice when I could. I received hers too.

It was just… a good relationship.

And after such a long time, I finally thought:

“Okay. I think I can take this person as my friend.”

She really had good qualities.

Qualities that aligned with my core values — what I’d want in a friend.

She was kind. She listened to me.

She was way older than I was, but still — she listened.

She cared about me. She was good to me.

Really, really good to me.

She didn’t just say she loved me — I could see it in her actions.

Whenever she noticed me heading in the wrong direction, she’d gently call me back.

“Oh, Baby, come. This is the way to go.”

Or she’d say,

“Oh, Baby, this top you’re wearing isn’t really nice. I have one that would be perfect for the event you’re going to.”

That’s the kind of attitude I value.

That’s the kind of love I connect with.

And she had it.

It felt so good to realize,

“Wow… someone actually cares about me.”

Now, here was the problem.

She had anger issues.

She overthought everything.

She misunderstood things easily.

She didn’t know how to communicate.

She didn’t know how to apologize.

She just didn’t do those things — and that was a big problem for me.

A red flag, even.

We had rough moments. Many of them.

And I just wasn’t having it.

I kept correcting her because…

If you don’t communicate, you’ll misunderstand everything.

You’ll make decisions based on what you think you know.

And sometimes? That’s not even what happened.

You’ve overthought it. And now we have a bigger problem.

So I spoke to her about these things.

I told her,

“Just talk. If I do something wrong, call me. Tell me what I did that hurt you. And I’ll apologize.”

That’s what relationships are about, right?

We fix things. We put in effort. We make it work.

But with her… it didn’t work that way.

And the things that used to cause issues?

They were really, really minor.

Things you wouldn’t even think twice about.

Things we could’ve just talked through and moved on.

But no — those exact things became the problem.

And I started noticing it more and more.

How moody she was.

How quickly things went left.

She wouldn’t talk.

She could go days without saying a word — until I’d finally go to her and ask,

“What’s really the problem?”

But even that was another episode on its own.

Because I’d have to ask… and ask… and ask before she’d finally say something.

“What’s wrong?”

“Is it about yesterday?”

“Is it something I did?”

“Was it my attitude?”

“What exactly? Because I don’t know.”

And only then would she start to talk.

“Oh… you did this.”

And I’d just pause — because that wasn’t what happened at all.

She had misunderstood everything.

Eventually, we’d talk it through and realize it was all just a misunderstanding.

But she still wouldn’t say sorry.

She once told me:

> “I don’t know how to communicate.

I don’t know how to apologize.

I just don’t know how to do these things.”

And I completely understood.

I told her,

“Even I didn’t know how to apologize before. I struggled. I was shy. I felt awkward about it. But I didn’t stay there.”

I tried.

I listened.

I learned.

And I kept learning.

Because that’s what it takes — intentionality.

You have to be willing to grow.

You have to want to be better.

Especially when you say you love someone.

Especially when you want that person to be your friend.

You have to put in the effort.

We continued like that for a while.

I kept talking. I kept trying.

But then something happened —

again, something very, very minor. So minor that I can’t even remember what it was.

But this time… I was tired.

Really tired.

So I let it go.

I stopped talking.

And we didn’t speak for months.

Almost a year.

I was really tired — again.

Because I just kept thinking:

Why can’t you just talk?

Why can’t you communicate?

So what if I offend you?

Or what if you offend me?

Sometimes, people offend you, and you still apologize.

Even on their behalf.

Just to make the friendship work.

Just because you love them.

So someone who doesn’t even apologize when she’s clearly wrong…

Is it that same person who would apologize or fight for me when I’m the one who’s wrong?

I thought about it — and I knew.

No. No, no. I can’t.

I want someone who would love up on me —

Even when I am undeserving of it.

Just like my Lord Jesus Christ.

So maybe that’s where the story ends.

Or maybe… not.

Maybe there’s more to tell.

Like —

What happened next?

Did we ever speak again?

Did friendship become easier for me?

Did I find the kind of love I talked about?

Let’s talk in the comments. 🖤

I’d really love to hear what you think.

And maybe, just maybe… I’ll share the rest.