My 5 AM Battle, an Ex’s Call, and a Stranger’s Video

Two nights ago, I was scrolling through my phone in my small Lekki apartment, feeling that familiar weight of stagnation again.

After more than 10 years coaching people on personal development, self-improvement, and chasing personal growth, you’d think I’d have it all figured out.

But honestly? Some days I still feel like the same broke, unsure guy who started this journey reading dog-eared copies of old motivation books in a noisy danfo.

I decided to practice what I preach. “Set one small personal development goal tonight,” I told myself. So I grabbed my notebook—the one with coffee stains and half-finished self development plans—and wrote: Wake up at 5 AM tomorrow.

No excuses. Run for 30 minutes. Journal three things I’m grateful for. Simple, right? The kind of personal growth stuff I tell clients every day.

The alarm screamed at 4:58 AM. I slapped it off and lay there staring at the ceiling fan spinning lazily. My body begged for five more minutes.

“Just hit snooze once,” the lazy voice whispered. I’d heard that voice from hundreds of clients over the years—the one that says discipline is for tomorrow. I almost gave in. But then I remembered Tunde, one of my first mentees back in 2015.

Tunde was a 28-year-old bank teller who hated his job but was terrified of change. He came to me saying, “I want self improvement, but I don’t know where to start.” We set tiny goals: read 10 pages a day, walk during lunch. He missed three days in a row once and almost quit.

I told him, “Missing a day isn’t failure. Quitting the streak is.” He got back on track, switched careers to digital marketing, and last year sent me a photo from his new office in Canada. “Thanks for not letting me quit on myself,” the message read.

That memory kicked me out of bed. I laced up my old running shoes—the ones with the sole starting to peel—and hit the quiet streets. The air was cool, Lagos still half-asleep. Streetlights glowed orange on wet asphalt from last night’s rain.

My legs felt heavy at first, lungs burning like they forgot how to breathe properly. “This is why people quit motivation,” I thought. It’s not glamorous. It’s sweaty, boring consistency.

Halfway through the run, near the empty Lekki-Ikoyi link bridge view, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I ignored it. Then it buzzed again. And again. I slowed to a walk and pulled it out.

It was my ex, Ada. We hadn’t spoken in two years—not since I chose my coaching business over moving with her to Abuja for her job transfer. The message preview read: “I saw your post about personal development goals. Can we talk? It’s important.”

My heart did that stupid flip it always did. I typed back quickly: “Sure. Call me when you’re up.”

She called immediately.

“Hey,” she said, voice soft like she hadn’t slept. “I… I need help. Real help. My life feels stuck. I keep starting things—gym, side hustle, even therapy—and I bail every time. I thought of you because you always talked about self development like it was breathing. Like it wasn’t optional.”

I stopped walking, leaned against a railing overlooking the lagoon. Water shimmered black and silver under the dawn light. “Ada, why now?” I asked.

“Because I saw your story yesterday. You wrote about failing at consistency too. I thought… maybe if someone like you—who teaches this stuff—still struggles, then maybe it’s not just me being weak.”

We talked for 40 minutes. She cried. I listened. I shared real stories—not the polished ones I post online, but the ugly ones.

Like how I once ghosted my own coaching group for a month because rejection emails crushed me. Or how I gained 15 kg in 2020 from stress-eating while pretending everything was fine on Instagram.

“The twist isn’t that personal growth is easy,” I told her. “It’s that the real breakthrough comes when you stop waiting to feel motivated. You act anyway. And some days, acting looks like dragging yourself out of bed at 5 AM even when your mind is screaming no.”

She laughed through tears. “So you’re saying I should run tomorrow morning too?”

“Only if you want to,” I said. “But start stupid small. One push-up. One page. One honest journal entry. Build the muscle of showing up for yourself.”

We hung up. I finished my run slower, but lighter. Back home, I showered, made tea, and sat on my balcony as the sun rose gold over the rooftops. I opened my notebook again and added one line under yesterday’s goals:

Helped Ada remember she’s not broken. Just human. And that’s the biggest personal development win sometimes.

Then came the plot twist I never saw coming.

Around noon, my phone rang again. Unknown number. I answered.

“Is this the personal development coach who runs early mornings in Lekki?” a man’s voice asked, excited.

“Uh… yeah?”

“Bro! I saw you running this morning. I was in my car at the traffic light. You looked miserable at first, then like you found Jesus halfway. I pulled over, took a video, posted it on my page. It’s blowing up—people are tagging it #RealSelfImprovement #MotivationFromTheStreets. They want to know who you are!”

I laughed so hard I almost dropped my tea. A random stranger turned my private battle into viral motivation content. Comments flooded in: “This is the realest personal growth I’ve seen.” “If he can do it tired, so can I.”

I didn’t plan any of it. No fancy script. No motivational quotes overlaid on sunrise pics. Just me—a flawed guy with 10+ years of scars—showing up anyway.

And that’s the funny, messy truth I’ve learned after all these years: Self-improvement isn’t about becoming perfect. It’s about becoming stubborn enough to keep going, even when life throws curveballs like exes calling at dawn or viral videos of your sweaty struggle.

So if you’re reading this and feeling stuck, hear me: Start anyway. Miss days? Fine. Ghost your own goals? Happens. But don’t quit the relationship with yourself.

Because one random 5 AM run might just change everything—including someone else’s life you never even met.

Keep growing, my friend. The plot twist is usually waiting just after the part where you want to give up.