[STORY] Why does your voice sound like Lagos traffic? What happened?

Two weeks ago, I got a text from a friend:

“Bro, aren’t you supposed to be at the pitch today? Investors are waiting.”

My chest tightened instantly. I had overslept after pulling an all-nighter working on the same pitch deck.

When I checked the time, my stomach sank—it was already 11:45 AM. The meeting was for 10:00 AM.

I stared at the ceiling, frozen. My dreams of launching my startup, my months of preparation, my late-night hustle—all gone in one stupid mistake.

I whispered to myself, “So this is how failure feels, abi?”

I dragged myself to the mirror. My reflection looked like a tired extra from a Nollywood movie—crumpled T-shirt, dry lips, and disappointment hanging on my face like a billboard.

I picked my phone again and saw a message from one of the investors:

“We waited for 45 minutes. Very unprofessional. Good luck.”

The words cut deeper than a breakup text.

I slumped on my bed. In my head, I replayed every motivational quote I had ever posted on Instagram:

“Discipline over motivation,” “Wake up and grind,” “Failure is feedback.” Yet, here I was, unable to follow my own advice.

My phone buzzed. It was my mom.

“Hello?” I said, voice weak.

She replied, “Why does your voice sound like Lagos traffic? What happened?”

I sighed. “Mom, I messed up. I missed a major pitch. This was my one chance.”

Silence. Then she said, calmly:

“Do you remember when you fell off your bicycle in JSS 2? You cried like the world ended. But the next day, you rode again and kept going until you mastered it. Why stop riding now?”

I chuckled bitterly. “Mom, this is different.”

“No,” she said firmly. “The size of the fall doesn’t matter. The decision to stand up does.”

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept hearing her words. “The decision to stand up does.”

At 2 AM, I opened my laptop. Instead of pitying myself, I restructured my pitch deck. I made it sharper, cleaner, and added visuals that would even make Elon Musk pause.

By morning, I sent a bold email to the investors:

“I owe you an apology for yesterday. But I’m not giving up. I’ve attached an updated pitch deck and would appreciate another chance to present—anytime, anywhere.”

Honestly, I thought they’d ignore me.

Three days later, I got a reply.

“Your persistence is impressive. Meet us Friday at 4 PM. Don’t be late this time.”

My jaw dropped. I screamed so loud my neighbor shouted through the wall,

“Bro, are you okay?”

I laughed and shouted back, “Life just gave me a second chance!”

Friday came. I wore my sharpest suit—well, the only one I had. As I stood before the panel, sweat gathered at my temples.

One investor asked, “Why should we trust you after last time?”

I took a deep breath and said, “Because I’ve already failed once, and failure taught me more than success ever could. I won’t waste your time again.”

The room went silent. Then one of them smiled.

“Good answer.”

I didn’t secure full funding that day, but they offered me mentorship and a smaller grant to prove my concept. That moment became the fuel I never knew I needed.

I walked out of the building, sun blazing on my face, and whispered to myself:

“This isn’t the end. This is just Level 1 of the game.”

Failure isn’t the opposite of success—it’s part of the process. Missing that pitch was painful, but it forced me to toughen up, rethink, and push harder.

So whenever life knocks me down now, I don’t sulk. I just say, “Oya, round two.”

Because at the end of the day, personal development isn’t about being perfect—it’s about bouncing back, Gen Z style.