On Belonging and Advocacy: For Ourselves and Our Children

학교와 집 사이 The One with Dr. Otito Iwuchukwu | Episode 24 (2025)

Jul 13, 2025

“I used to feel like my mom played favorites. And being the youngest, people often thought I was the favorite. But I’m like, far from it. That made me reflect on what belonging looks like in a family, how those dynamics play out, and how sometimes the very things we say we won’t do, we end up doing. So how do you pause, reflect, and become more aware so you can break or reshape those patterns?” — Dr. Iwuchukwu (2025)

When that email came, I felt a deep sense of shame, even though it was only the second day of school. It wasn’t just what was said, it was how it was said. It felt like, “Your child isn’t cooperating,” like something was wrong with her, or with us as parents. And I had to remind myself: this is a five-year-old child in a new, overwhelming environment. I wish more immigrant parents could separate their children’s behavior from the pressure to prove they’ve raised them “right.” — Mo! (2025)

BLOG POST

This month on The More Sibyl Podcast, we’re centering education in all its dimensions. And we’re starting strong with a powerhouse guest: Dr. Otito Iwuchukwu. She’s not just my personal person (true sisterhood!), but also a writer, organizational psychologist, pharmacist, learning and development leader, and most tenderly, a mother.

In her new book, The Belonging Paradox, she voices a question many immigrants quietly carry: Where do we truly belong when home is both here and there? Drawing from lived experience and layered wisdom, Dr. Otito blends soul and strategy in this conversation. She’s the kind of woman who navigates snack-shaming at school one day and writes affirmations on bathroom mirrors the next; each act, an offering of love and resistance.

If you’ve ever felt the weight of parenting in a culture that isn’t your own, this episode is for you. We explore what it means to advocate for our children in unfamiliar systems, how to hold space for belonging while straddling multiple worlds, and how reframing neurodivergence can become an act of radical love.

Straddling Cultures and Mothering Without a Manual

This isn’t Dr. Otito’s first rodeo on the podcast — so we skipped the long intros (you can catch her past episode here) and jumped straight into the deep end. We began by discussing how motherhood had surprised her. Unlike the structured roles she trained for, parenting came without a manual or a job description. It’s full of joys, yes — but it’s constantly unfolding, ever new.

She reflected on how each season reveals a new version of your child — and demands a new version of you. Adding the challenge of parenting in a different culture makes it a constant act of learning, unlearning, and adapting.

The one who wears many beads must learn how to dance differently.

She identifies as multicultural, not just because she’s an immigrant, but because Nigeria itself is a mosaic of languages and traditions. Diversity was never theoretical; it was lived. In the U.S., however, parenting means decoding new norms, expectations, and unspoken rules. As I said during the episode: “It’s a constant learning and relearning… and also learning from your kids, if you’re smart enough to know that’s part of it.” I learn from my two every day. It reminded me of a Nigerian proverb: The one who wears many beads must learn how to dance differently. Amen to that.

When Your Child Becomes a Mirror

There are always those moments that turn on the switch in our mind and alert us with an “Error 504” message. For Dr. Otito, it was her children who turned on the light bulb, or at least made her turn it on herself. In those early years, life in America was a constant juggle. She was working, driving across town for school pickups and after-school activities. She was often overwhelmed, and her children noticed. They told her she seemed constantly frazzled and impatient. It was hard to hear, but it made her pause. “Everything is to the 10th degree with you,” they said. And they were right.

She acknowledged that patience had always been a struggle, but this feedback hit differently coming from her kids. However, I had to admit that it reflected the kind of home she and her husband had built. It was one where their children felt safe enough to speak honestly, even when it meant calling out their parents.

That same boldness, she said, has sometimes led to what she calls “good trouble” in school. For instance, when her son (who is usually well-behaved and high-achieving) began bringing home behavior reports after switching teachers in third grade. She was confused, “The reports you send are not like the child I know, aren’t there any positives?” The teacher understandably apologized for only sending in negatives, but it wasn’t until she attended the end-of-year party that things clicked.

The teacher gave the class an instruction that didn’t make sense. And her son, without hesitation, asked, “Why are you asking us to do this?” The teacher replied, “Because I said so.” Dr. Otito thought to herself, This is why you get in trouble.

Still, she showed empathy. Managing a classroom of 25 children without support is no easy task. But the moment revealed the tension of raising confident, questioning children in systems that don’t always welcome it, especially as an immigrant parent adapting to a new cultural environment.

Misunderstood Intentions: When Cultural Misunderstandings Become Barriers

If you are already thinking, “What’s so hard about parenting in another language?” Well, Otito’s experience explains this perfectly, and this is just one aspect of the hardship.

Dr. Otito’s youngest son has ADHD, and one of the common symptoms is anxiety. However, this trait was misunderstood in her son. Instead of connecting it to his diagnosis, his teachers described him as “unduly anxious” and even suggested it might be caused by strict parenting at home. One would wonder how they know that. This assumption, she realized, stemmed from her own transparency. In a meeting, she’d shared that her kids don’t do “summer slump”. Instead, they study for two hours daily before playing during summer break. That comment, she said, “did not leave my record.”

As an educator herself, she questioned how a commitment to continued learning could be seen negatively. In Nigeria, holidays were filled with lessons, not just play. Learning was expected, not optional.

Here’s another frustration. We are familiar with Western views on punishment. This also causes misunderstandings. She explained that when her child says, “My mom punished me,” the school often assumes the worst without asking what actually happened. “What if it’s just taking away a device for the afternoon?” she asked. “Is that cruel and unusual?”

She urged educators to verify, not assume. “Have you ever seen my child come to school hungry or in worn clothes?” she asked. “And yet you think I’d mistreat them?” For her, it all comes back to one thing: without understanding a family’s culture, the system risks misreading their intentions and misjudging their children.

The Book Born of Battle Scars

Usually, we would discuss topics like these last, but the themes in Dr. Otito’s book, The Belonging Paradox, will be frequently referenced in this conversation. This book was shaped by deeply personal experiences, especially her challenges navigating the U.S. school system as a mother of a neurodivergent child. Her son had an accommodation plan, but support often depended on who was involved. She had to initiate a meeting with the school psychologist herself, which made her wonder, What if I hadn’t spoken up?

That same psychologist later told her that, based on 46 years of experience, she could tell which children would succeed. Otito immediately pushed back and pointed out the fixed mindset behind such thinking. That experience left a mark. At times, Otito questioned whether her children truly belonged in that environment. She considered homeschooling multiple times, but ultimately chose to stay, believing in the importance of mutual learning and in her family’s right to be there.

At home, another moment struck her deeply. One of her sons told her he felt she spent more time with his sibling. It reminded her of her own childhood feelings around favoritism. Though others assumed she was the favorite as the youngest, she hadn’t felt that way. That comment pushed her to reflect on how family dynamics shape belonging, and how easy it is to repeat the very patterns we try to avoid.

Those two experiences, both at school and at home, formed the core of her book. They raised hard but necessary questions about belonging, bias, parenting, and the work of breaking generational patterns.

What Belonging Really Means — and Why It’s Complicated

It’s time for some definition of terms. When Otito says Belonging and when she says Paradox, what exactly does she mean? Otito explains it like this: We’re told that public spaces, like public schools, are meant for everyone. But when a child doesn’t fit the expected mold, they’re often treated like a problem. That exclusion reflects back on the family, creating a cycle of non-belonging. She shared how this also manifests in the workplace. You can have the proper credentials and do your job well, yet still find yourself sidelined when the dynamics shift. Even after meeting all the requirements, you’re left feeling like you don’t belong.

On a national level, it’s just as complex. “We came in the right way, cleared the barriers,” she said, “and yet someone still tells you to go back to where you’re from.” That’s the paradox — meeting every condition for inclusion but still being excluded. Otito also challenged the idea that belonging is something others must grant. “You belong simply because you’re here,” she said. In families, adults belong because they’re raising children, and children belong just by being part of the system. If more people understood that, we’d stop tolerating exclusion disguised as standards. When I asked what chapter was hardest to write, she said it was the one on work (I had a feeling that was the one). It was personal. She remembered her father being sidelined at work due to tribalism despite his qualifications and experience.

He stayed until retirement but never reached his full potential. Her own workplace struggles reminded her of his story. She was determined not to repeat it. “Affliction will not arise a second time,” she told herself, quoting the Bible verse Nahum 1:9. Still, it wasn’t easy. She didn’t want to be known as someone who walked away, but also knew some victories come at a cost. “If you want to play the game,” she said, “you have to know how to play it. Otherwise, you’ll be thoroughly whooped.” Her book is available on Amazon, and I highly recommend that you get a copy for yourself.

Advocating Without Apology: What Immigrant Parents Need to Know

Parents, we hear your silent struggle. I have a personal experience where I received emails about my daughter just two days into her first time in public school, stating that she wasn’t behaving well and was having trouble sitting still at school. As an immigrant mother, all I could feel from that email was shame. The first instinct was to scold her, but I came to understand that it wasn’t her fault. But how can I make her teachers see that? Thankfully, we brought in an expert. I believe this conversation can empower us with the right tools for effective advocacy.

The key, she said, is using your voice, clearly and intentionally. Advocacy isn’t about being confrontational; it’s about knowing the outcome you want and finding the best, most effective way to get there. But first, you need to know you can actually use it. She spoke about how bias often shows up subtly. In her case, a teacher once commented that her child behaved “like someone who went to Montessori school,” a statement that sounded neutral but was clearly loaded. Her response? “Is that a bad thing?” The teacher clarified it was about structure, but the implication was clear. Rather than react emotionally, Dr. Otito asked for specifics: What exactly does “not sitting still” mean? For how long? What’s your definition of “bothering you”?

Parents aren’t helpless. We can work with teachers while still questioning assumptions. When what’s being said doesn’t align with what you see at home, it’s okay to push back respectfully. Advocacy means ensuring your child is supported and that the school is helping you meet the goals you have for them. And yes, it’s possible to request a different teacher if needed. You don’t have to leave your child in an environment that’s clearly not working. As long as you’ve documented concerns and a valid reason, you can request a change. Thanks to voices like Otito’s, I now know how to advocate calmly but firmly. I’ve learned not to internalize every critique and to look for context before reacting. It’s not always easy, but it’s necessary for our kids and ourselves.

When Data Meets Instinct: The Power of Calm, Informed Advocacy

So let’s talk action. What specific things can we do? Tip №1: Always ask for context. Instead of accepting vague complaints, ask, “What exactly is the concern?” and “What can we do about it, together?”
That word ‘together’ matters. Ideally, both parents and teachers want the child to thrive. However, sometimes you meet people who are stuck in negativity. Otito emphasized that staying calm is essential, especially as an immigrant parent. Calmness helps break stereotypes and shifts the dynamic in your favor.

She shared a revealing story from her son’s kindergarten experience. During a surprise meeting with the full child study team, the teacher raised concerns about focus. Another staff member suggested he might be bored. His test scores told a clear story: he entered with 93% and moved to 95%. The question then became, “Is his lack of focus actually affecting his learning?” The answer was no. What followed was a telling moment. The teacher admitted he came in already knowing how to read and write and was pulling her attention away from kids who hadn’t reached that level. In other words, his competence had become a problem. Otito named it clearly: a “brightness tax.” The idea that a child is penalized for being ahead. She challenged them on it, and suddenly, the whole room shifted.

When the teacher questioned his comprehension, Otito pushed back with evidence. Her son could spot a single changed sentence in a familiar book. That is comprehension. An occupational therapist even began offering strategies for the teacher. That meeting could’ve gone another way. But it didn’t, because she came prepared with data, knowledge of her child, and refused to be derailed by vague comments like, “He doesn’t comprehend well.” The meeting shifted because she stayed calm, brought data, and knew her child. That’s her message to other parents: know your child and advocate with clarity. You don’t need special connections or credentials. You can ask questions, challenge vague feedback, and request a change.
I shared a bit of my journey, too. My daughter was struggling to focus after lunch. It turns out she wasn’t eating because lunchtime was too noisy and stressful. The countdowns gave her anxiety. She was locking herself in the bathroom. That wasn’t the child I knew. I had to ask the school to review footage and reconnect with her former teacher to make sense of it. It all came back to context. Otito reminded us that conflict isn’t always destructive; it’s just a matter of differing perspectives. But when we bring calmness, data, and a deep understanding of our kids, we can bridge that gap and advocate effectively.

Coping with Guilt, Judgment, and the Weight of Bias

All this is easier said than done. Especially when you have to deal with the very real feelings of guilt, shame, and fear. Otito doesn’t even sugarcoat it when we came to this part of the conversation. “I’m not even going to lie, it was tough.” So tough that it even strained her marriage. She recalled confronting her husband, frustrated that he didn’t react the same way to the school’s messages. For her, each email felt like a judgment, not just of her child, but of her parenting as well.

It wasn’t that she saw her children as perfect. She knew their flaws and was often more critical of them than most. But the pain came from being misunderstood. “You don’t know this child,” she’d remind herself. It felt like history repeating itself, being misjudged based on limited interactions, missing the complete picture of who someone is. The impact on her son was clear. He began to hate school, and while teachers suggested his anxiety might be coming from home, she pushed back. At home, he was a different child. The contrast was stark. Emails from school caused immediate dread, while people like custodians and support staff spoke warmly about his kindness and politeness.

Despite her frustration, Otito made a point to hold empathy for teachers, acknowledging they’re overwhelmed and under-resourced. But she was also firm: if you can’t teach without harming children or reinforcing bias, maybe teaching isn’t the right job. In a school where few kids looked like her son, the challenges were layered. “It becomes a double whammy,” she said. And for her, this kind of advocacy is always personal because when your child is misunderstood, it cuts deep. In teaching, kindness is non-negotiable. She even cites examples from a book she has read on the subject: Teaching to Transgress by Bell Hooks. She discusses care in the classroom, highlighting how it was lost entirely with the advent of desegregation. This is our call to bring it back!

Embracing Neurodivergence

When we talk about care, we know it is especially needed in cases of children with neurodivergence. Otito has two sons with ADHD, and she shared how her perspective changed by simply observing her two sons. They could grasp complex concepts with ease, yet often struggled with simple tasks, such as putting away their shoes or keeping track of their jackets and glasses. These everyday frustrations, she explained, are tied to challenges with executive function. While it is something that can improve with age, it is still a hurdle. What shifted things for her was noticing their creativity. “There’s a lot of creativity here,” she said, emphasizing how their honesty and divergent thinking showed up in unique ways. It made her pause and reconsider what society typically frames as deficits. She began to appreciate their minds not just for what they struggled with, but for how differently and beautifully they processed the world. As she saw herself reflected in her children, she started researching, and the pieces began to click. From there, she made a conscious choice: to raise her children without shame or self-censorship. She understood the reality of rejection sensitivity and wanted them to move through the world without fear of judgment. Her goal became to affirm them, not fix them.

She acknowledged that some people worry neurodivergent kids won’t fit in, but as she put it, “Why the insistence on fitting in?” These aren’t new traits; we just didn’t have names for them before. And many of the world’s most creative minds, like Leonardo da Vinci, likely shared these differences.
Her approach isn’t about denying the challenges. It’s about centering the strengths so they’re not drowned out. “You help them find their way,” she said, “while recognizing the world will try to box them in.” That perspective, grounded in lived experience and love, is a powerful reminder to see our children fully, for both who they are and who they’re becoming.

A Letter to My Younger Self — and a Call to Every Immigrant Parent

As our conversation wound down, I asked Otito to do one last bit of time travel with me: What would she write in a letter to her younger self, the girl who arrived in America with a suitcase full of dreams, straddling two worlds? Her answer was simple, but powerful: “You are enough.” Not in the way that dismisses growth or ambition, but in the way every child deserves to hear. Belonging is not earned through hyper-criticism or perfectionism. That was the message she would have wanted as a younger version of herself, someone trying hard to belong in every room. If she could go back to those early days in the U.S., especially during the pressure cooker of grad school, she said she’d tell herself to be less fearful. “Be more outward-facing,” she said. Look up, look around, and engage more openly with the world, instead of shrinking inward.

“Children now actually have an advantage,” she noted, because they don’t have to wait years to express the parts of themselves we had to hide or suppress. Otito also reminded us that the work she’s doing isn’t just about children — it starts with us, the parents. “As a parent, you have to find your own belonging,” she said. That self-knowing is what equips us to pass on a sense of security to our children. Whether we arrived documented or undocumented and then became legal, our presence gives us the right to belong. And that belonging extends to our children as well. They deserve the full rights and recognition of people who belong. Her book, The Belonging Paradox, is available at bookstores everywhere, including her website, where you can also find her on LinkedIn. It’s a deeply personal work, years in the making, that asks one essential question: What does it take to feel like we truly belong? And her answer is clear, go find out in the book — no spoilers from me! (LOL).

To every immigrant parent trying to raise children who feel seen, safe, and strong in the U.S. educational system, this episode is for you. Maybe you won’t know how much you need it until August rolls around and another school year begins. So bookmark it. Share it with a parent navigating the same road. Let it be a balm, a guide, and a reminder that you are not alone.
Let’s keep the conversation going. Share your thoughts, discuss the episode, and let us know what resonated most with you. Because the quiet work we do — in emails to teachers, in lunchroom check-ins, in school hallways — matters. And this podcast, The More Sibyl Podcast, is where we continue to hold space for all the in-between.

Oh — and something BIG is coming this month. Mark your calendars for July 19th: More Than a Backpack is a live panel session featuring moms, dads, and a behavioral specialist, who will dig even deeper into how we can collectively advocate for our kids in the North American education system. That’s right — both the U.S. and Canada. Save the date, and we’ll see you there!

🅻🅸🅽🅺🆂:

Listen: https://mosibyl.podbean.com/e/otitoagain2025/
Download: https://mcdn.podbean.com/mf/web/w7u5i43upyhe27te/OTITOAGAIN2025.mp3
Or on the website: www.mosibyl.com
The Belonging Paradox: https://www.amazon.com/Belonging-Paradox-Fully-Belong-Matter/dp/1736424424
Teaching to Transgress: https://www.amazon.com/Teaching-Transgress-Education-Practice-Translation/dp/0415908086
Dr. Otito Iwuchukwu’s Past Episodes: https://mosibyl.podbean.com/e/otito2024/

Leadership & Fatherhood Through a GiANT Lens

내면의 리더| The One with Dr. Brandon Jennings | Episode 23 (2025)

Mo! Sibyl, PhD ~ 모 미영

Jul 06, 2025

“Competition can really drive people to achieve things they otherwise wouldn’t. In our culture, it’s often viewed negatively, but I like to spin it positively. I’m willing to take risks and make decisions that some colleagues might avoid. I don’t care about gender or race; this is a valuable skill that not only elevates your own performance but also pushes others to improve. Embracing competition means striving to make everyone around you better, not just wanting to win at others’ expense.” — Dr. Jennings (2025)

BLOG POST

We had an amazing time in June celebrating the stories of men and fathers and exploring who they are behind the titles and accolades. And to bring this powerful series to a close, I have the rare honor of hosting a very special guest who has personally and profoundly impacted my life. He rescued me from a toxic work environment and showed me what true leadership could look like (more on that later).

Dr. Brandon Jennings is a leader, educator, clinician, and coach who has spent over a decade enhancing health systems, mentoring future pharmacists, and equipping teams with the necessary tools to thrive. From serving as Executive Director of the Dr. Terry Sinclair Health Clinic to now leading transformational leadership training through Abilyn Consulting and GiANT Worldwide, Brandon brings heart and intentionality to every space he enters.

But today, we go beyond his impressive resume. Together, we explore the roots of his leadership philosophy, his evolution as a father, and how personal growth and professional development are deeply intertwined.

The Drive to Be Better: Where It All Began

In some ways, it’s nice to be predictable. If you’ve followed the podcast for a while, you already know what’s next: Who was Dr. Brandon Jennings before the degrees and accomplishments? He highlighted one thing: “I’ve always been a very competitive person.” Honestly, if you’ve ever heard him speak, you can feel that edge in his voice.

Growing up, Brandon didn’t fully realize how much that drive defined him. He just knew he had to keep pushing himself. He remembered a time when doing well wasn’t about personal pride; it was about avoiding trouble at home. His mom was an educator, and that came with high expectations. “I had to do a good job because I was gonna get in trouble if I did not,” he said.

But then something shifted. He reached a point where it wasn’t about what his mom thought anymore — he wanted to do better for himself. An inner motivation took over, and that’s when things really started to take off. Can you pinpoint that moment when your motivation shifted from external pressure to internal purpose? Let’s talk about it in the comments!

He emphasized how central competition is to who he is. It’s a core value, not just a personality trait. However, he also emphasizes the importance of managing and channeling that drive in a healthy manner. “It could be quite overbearing,” he admitted, if not kept in check. So for him, it’s about harnessing that competitiveness for growth rather than letting it spiral into something destructive.

He also shared that he grew up with one sister in Fredericksburg, Virginia, just about an hour south of D.C. Hearing Brandon reflects on his early values reminded me that ambition often starts in ordinary places — like report cards, family expectations, and personal turning points that quietly shape who we become.

Redefining Competition: A Tool for Growth, Not a Dirty Word

Let’s talk a bit more about competition. The word can feel off-limits, especially for women. In so many spaces, we’re taught that competition is something we should avoid — that it’s aggressive, not inclusive, even a little “dirty.” Since Brandon is familiar with competition as a tool for growth, I asked how people like me and others who’ve been conditioned to shy away from competition can lean into it in a way that actually serves us.

He started by affirming the power of competition to drive individuals beyond what they thought possible. “Competition can really help drive individuals to achieve things otherwise they would not be able to,” he said. And he acknowledged how our culture often paints competition in a negative light, especially when it comes to women.

But Brandon’s approach is all about reclaiming it. As he put it, “I like to spin it. Now I kind of have to because that’s me.” For him, competition isn’t about beating others down. It’s about being bold enough to take risks and make decisions that others might hesitate to make. And it’s not about gender, race, or any identity marker. It’s a valuable mindset that pushes not just yourself but those around you to be better.

What I appreciated most was how he addressed a common misperception. “People view that as arrogant,” he said. “People will view that as wanting, ‘I want them to lose…’ Further from the truth.” That distinction is so important. Embracing competition doesn’t mean wishing failure on others. It means showing up fully, being courageous enough to strive, and encouraging others to do the same.

Brandon has proved that competition, when reframed, can be empowering. It’s not about exclusion — it’s about growth. And we all deserve the freedom to tap into that.

Redefining Masculinity from the Inside Out

One of the things I’ve always admired about Brandon is his self-awareness. He’s someone who has clearly done the deep inner work. In today’s climate, where masculinity is under the microscope and scrutinized in every way, seeing a man comfortable in his identity is admirable. So what shaped his identity as a man, and what can we learn from it?

He admitted that it’s hard to put into words, but he traced a major turning point back to around 2014 or 2015. That was when he first encountered the ideas and tools that he now teaches to others. Before that, he said, “I don’t know that I was incredibly toxic, but it was not effective,” referring to how he was leading and operating in the world. Sometimes it’s not outright harm we’re causing, but an ineffectiveness rooted in unexamined habits or blind spots.

What changed for Brandon was his ability to recognize who he really was, become comfortable with that identity, and confront his own shortcomings — something he had previously avoided in the early part of his career. “I just shied away from those,” he said. But once he began to embrace those imperfections, it made a significant difference in how he presented himself. It was transformational.

He talked about how toxic masculinity, at its core, often stems from the desire to crush others in order to rise higher. “That’s honestly never been me,” he said, adding that he’s never really been a “guy’s guy.” He has always felt uncomfortable in hypermasculine environments. But what’s powerful is his recognition that even without trying, he was still putting people down — unintentionally, unconsciously. That distinction he made was so important: there’s a difference between being unaware of the harm you’re causing and actively trying to “stomp on” others to elevate yourself.

And when I brought up how this kind of toxic behavior often shows up most sharply toward women, he didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely,” he said. That level of acknowledgment, without defensiveness, is what made this part of our conversation so real.

Brandon’s journey reminds me that redefining masculinity doesn’t mean abandoning it. It means getting honest, embracing your flaws, and refusing to build yourself up by tearing others down. That’s how we get rid of the “toxic” traits related to masculinity.

Learning by Example: The Role of Influence, Delegation, and Empowerment

This part of the conversation pivoted to something so important because it affects how we show up and lead every day. It began with Brandon sharing about the father figures or role models who had shaped him. He started with his dad, a computer scientist with a sharp analytical mind. Brandon hasn’t officially typed him in the Five Voices framework, but he’s pretty sure he’s a Guardian. “Very much by the books,” he said. As someone who leans more toward the Pioneer voice, that naturally led to some clashes, especially during the high school and teenage years. But despite those tensions, he still considers his dad a brilliant man and a solid role model.

Then there was someone Brandon affectionately calls his uncle. He was a close family friend who owned and operated an auction business. Brandon began working for him at just 13 or 14. It was there that he not only learned the value of hard work but also began to understand the power of leadership. He noticed he was willing to go above and beyond for his uncle, but not for his uncle’s assistant. That sparked an early realization — it wasn’t about the task itself, it was about the person leading it. His uncle had the kind of leadership presence that made people want to step up.

And it wasn’t just about confidence. Brandon shared that what really influenced him was his uncle’s willingness to jump in and do the work, no matter how menial. “He hired me for grunt work to haul stuff and move stuff around, but in the moment, he would jump in and help as needed.” That hands-on humility made a lasting impression and continues to shape how Brandon leads today. Yes, he hires people to help, but he’s always willing to jump in and do whatever is necessary.

That led us to the larger conversation about delegation and team-building. For a long time, I struggled with delegation. Growing up in Nigeria as the firstborn daughter, I was conditioned to view responsibility as something that never gets passed off. Delegation felt like weakness. But working with Brandon helped shift that mindset. I even received a “good work on that delegation” comment from Brandon, which affirmed to me that I was actually improving. (Yay me!)

He explained that empowering others through delegation isn’t about offloading work you don’t want to do. It’s about trusting capable, competent people with responsibilities they can often do better than you. That shift not only lifts the burden off your shoulders but also strengthens the team. “You empower others when you appropriately delegate to them,” he said. “You gave them the resources necessary to succeed.” It creates a culture where people feel seen, trusted, and excited to contribute.

Brandon models this himself. He gave the example of his social media presence, something he admits he doesn’t really engage with. Instead, he has employees who take full ownership of their tasks. “I have no idea what they do,” he said, laughing. However, he trusts them because he hires people who are highly competent in areas where he knows he lacks expertise.

And that’s where self-awareness comes in. I agreed with him — knowing you can’t do it all and choosing to lean into someone else’s expertise is a form of wisdom.

Before we wrapped up that section of the conversation, I had to shout out his newsletters. I told him I love the music theater angle, and sure enough, it turns out the magic behind that content is his assistant Catherine, who also happens to be a professional actress and the music tutor for his oldest daughter. That little detail brought it all full circle: Brandon surrounds himself with capable, talented people and gives them the freedom to shine.

From the Classroom to Leadership

Can we tell where we’ll end up just by looking at the kind of students we were? For Brandon, it wasn’t obvious at the time, but looking back, the things he picked up in school play a big role in what he does now. It’s funny how the dots connect in hindsight. The habits, mindset, and even early exposure to healthcare — all quietly set the stage for where he is today.

His early interest in healthcare was sparked by his uncle, who had gone to pharmacy school before becoming a teacher and eventually starting an auction business. That uncle encouraged Brandon to look into pharmacy, and that nudge stuck. From a young age, he knew he enjoyed helping people — not just in the traditional sense of healthcare, but in a more profound way. “I love helping people reach their full potential,” he said. It’s what he loved then, and it’s still what fuels his work today, whether in healthcare or leadership development.

On the leadership side, Brandon’s path wasn’t as intentional — it kind of found him. He told me that he’s always been someone who took on leadership roles or, more often, was asked to step into them. In several organizations he’s part of, he just wanted to be a member, contribute quietly, and do the work. But time and time again, people asked him to chair a committee or lead a project. And even though it seemed accidental, there was something about the way he could see the structure and connect the dots that made others take notice.

“I think from a structural perspective I’m able to see how those things fit together,” he said. His creative side is evident in building frameworks, organizing people, and bringing disparate pieces together into a cohesive whole. As a younger person, he didn’t understand why leadership opportunities kept landing in his lap. But now, looking back, he has a clearer theory about what’s been there all along.

Sometimes the signs are there even when we don’t recognize them right away. The things we naturally enjoy, the roles we’re drawn into, the strengths others see in us before we see them ourselves — they all leave clues. And sometimes, just like Brandon, we find ourselves exactly where we’re meant to be, even if we never planned it that way.

No Wasted Steps: How Education Shapes the Journey, Not Just the Destination

If you’d recall, Mr. Chris Chime (another guest in this series) is someone who studied something completely different from what he does currently. He mentioned in his first episode that if he could go back, he would skip the whole process entirely. Since Brandon started in pharmacy but is now in leadership, I wondered if he thought the same. However, Brandon doesn’t think any of his education was wasted.

Even though he no longer uses his clinical pharmacy skills every day, he values the process of learning, not just the knowledge he acquired. He believes education gives you the ability to maneuver in the direction you want. You acquire skills like processing information, engaging with people, and building structure around problems. For him, the methods he used to help patients as a pharmacist are the same ones he uses today to help coach clients. The goal hasn’t changed. “I desperately want you to be the best version of you,” he said, whether he’s supporting someone managing diabetes or someone trying to lead a team more effectively.

That said, he did share something surprising: if he had to pick another path, he might have chosen to become a family physician instead. There are aspects of primary care that he still finds meaningful, and as a pharmacist, he sometimes feels limited in what he can do in that space. But even if he’d gone that route, he believes he’d have ended up in the exact same spot. “I likely would not still be practicing with the current climate of what family practice looks like,” he told me. His journey has made sense not because it was perfect, but because each step equipped him for the next.

And of course, there’s the personal side. “I met my wife in pharmacy school,” he said, smiling. It acknowledged that the relationships, the family, and the tiny threads that we find on the journey are sometimes the biggest reasons we’d never want to change a thing.

So yes, Brandon’s path shifted, but none of it was wasted. Every stage built something that’s still in use today. And honestly, that’s a powerful reminder that our journeys don’t have to look linear to be meaningful.

Following Amy: How One Mentor Shaped a Career and a Philosophy of Leadership

Brandon has done it all — academia, healthcare, and now leadership. It hasn’t been a conventional pathway. How did he get here? Well, his career journey was greatly impacted by one person: Amy Whitaker Rudenko, a dear mentor who, unfortunately, passed away.

He first met Amy while working as a pharmacy technician during his undergraduate studies. She came in one Saturday to pick up a shift, and that brief encounter changed everything. From that point on, he said, “All I ever wanted to be was Amy.” She was competent, compassionate, firm when needed, and incredibly relatable. Even a decade after her passing from breast cancer, Brandon still strives to lead the way she did.

Amy’s influence led him into academia, where he split his time between teaching and clinical practice. That balance kept him engaged and allowed him to constantly problem-solve — from daily staffing issues to figuring out how to serve underserved communities with no funding. Those experiences laid the groundwork for the leadership work he does today.

At one point, I joked that Amy must’ve been a Pioneer voice type. Brandon, true to form, started analyzing her likely personality blend — Connector, Nurturer, maybe some Creative. I had to laugh and remind him it was just a joke. But really, the way he still thinks about her shows just how deeply one person’s example can shape a life and career.

The Framework That Changed Everything: Why the Five Voices Stuck

Now, at this point, you must have heard me refer to the Five Voices multiple times — and if you are not already familiar, you might be wondering what they are. I promise they’re not the voices in your head, but something way more helpful. Here’s where we break it down. When I first encountered the Five Voices framework (Pioneer, Creative, Connector, Nurturer, and Guardian), I honestly didn’t expect it to have much impact. Personality tools can be a hit or miss, and I’ve seen my fair share. But when Brandon introduced me to the Five Voices, it just stuck. Not just because it was insightful, but because it was simple and actionable.

Brandon pointed out that it’s the simplicity that makes it so powerful. He explained how the Five Voices takes something as complex as the Myers-Briggs 16 types and narrows it down to just five. That simplicity makes it easy to remember and actually use. You only need to know your top two or three dominant voices, and the other two round it out. It’s not about labeling people, but about understanding how we present ourselves — and how others perceive us.

He shared how it changed everything for him, from how he leads teams to how he parents his kids. He’d found himself leaving people behind — not out of arrogance or carelessness, but because he didn’t even realize he was doing it. Once the Five Voices gave him language for his default tendencies, it became easier to lead with intention. Even now, he admits he doesn’t always get it right — he can spot what someone else needs to work on, share it with them, and then go and make the same mistake himself without realizing it.

I also asked why he chose GiANT, the platform behind Five Voices, out of the many leadership tools out there. For him, it came down to timing and resonance. He was struggling to lead effectively, and a colleague introduced him to the framework at just the right time. It made sense instantly. It wasn’t just theoretical, so it had staying power. It gave him tools that he could apply across his life — not just at work.

I totally get what he meant. Myers-Briggs always left me with unanswered questions: “Okay, I’m an INTJ or ENFP or whatever… now what?” GiANT filled in that gap. It helped me not only understand myself better but also figure out how to work with the people around me. It gave me language for things I didn’t know how to articulate before.

When Brandon joked about being an ISTJ and not knowing what to do with anyone who wasn’t, I laughed because it was such a perfect example of what the Five Voices help you grow beyond. It shows us not just who we are, but how to bridge the gap between ourselves and others. That’s what real leadership and connection require. And I’m so glad this tool made its way into my life — and this conversation.

Why Feelings Aren’t the F-Word

Brandon has done a lot of work helping men better understand themselves in leadership and life, and I was curious how he creates spaces where they can lead from wholeness instead of performance.

His answer? “Feelings are okay.”

This wasn’t always the case for him. Early in his career, Brandon saw feelings as something to push through in order to succeed. But that changed with the Five Voices framework, which helped him see how central emotions are — not just for him, but for others. He learned to ask not just, “What do you think about this?” but, “How do you feel about this?” Because sometimes, people haven’t processed their thoughts yet — but they know exactly how they feel.

A Pioneer is a voice known for being strategic and fast-moving, so this shift didn’t come naturally to him. But if he wanted to connect and lead well, emotions had to become part of his leadership. Feelings aren’t just valid — they’re powerful. It’s unfortunate that, culturally, men have been taught otherwise. But yes, he cried. Of course, he cried. He has two daughters. That part made me smile.

When I asked about common struggles men face in leadership and emotional intelligence, Brandon said there isn’t a huge gender gap across the five voice types, except for the Nurturer voice, which is less common among men. The bigger issue isn’t capability — it’s conditioning. “It’s not that my dad told me not to feel. It just never came up.” And that silence speaks volumes.

As a Pioneer, Brandon knows how his intensity can overshadow others. He described how he might talk over someone until they prove they have a better idea. But he’s learned to dial that back and create space — especially for quieter voices like Nurturers, who are often undervalued despite doing the most relational work.

Only 7% of people are Pioneers, yet they’re overrepresented in leadership. Loudness gets mistaken for leadership, and that’s a disservice to everyone.

This conversation was a needed reminder that emotional intelligence isn’t a “nice-to-have” — it’s essential. Especially for the men in our lives learning to lead with both strength and softness.

When the Lightbulb Turns On

One of my favorite moments from this conversation was when Brandon shared a breakthrough story from his coaching work with a healthcare professional. The client was a Nurturer-Connector (someone who thrives on emotional connection), but his supervisor was a strong Guardian, focused more on structure and results than relationships. For the client, that lack of connection made the work environment feel draining.

He came to Brandon for help, and after a few sessions, things became clear. It wasn’t that anyone was doing something wrong; they were simply a mismatch. Brandon helped him see that the emotional disconnect was keeping him from thriving, and once that was named, it became easier to make a decision. Rather than quitting out of frustration, the client chose to leave with clarity and on his own terms, ultimately moving into a role that better suited him.

What made the difference was reframing the decision. Instead of getting stuck in guilt or emotion, Brandon asked one simple question: “Is this the right fit?” That shift made space for empowerment and gave the client permission to move forward.

Start with Self

When I asked Brandon what advice he’d give to men who feel stuck or unsure of their place in the world, he didn’t hesitate: “Know yourself first.”

That starts with identifying your core voice, understanding your strengths, and getting honest about your tendencies. Self-awareness won’t make you perfect, but it helps you make conscious choices. As Brandon put it, “The majority of the time I still screw it up, but I’m at least aware of it.”

That awareness is the key. If you’re stuck on autopilot, doing what you’ve always done, nothing changes. Growth begins when you start looking inward because that’s the one thing you can control. You may not be able to change your boss or your circumstances, but you can take ownership of how you respond. And if others change too? That’s a bonus. But the real work starts with you.

Voices Are the Equalizer

Brandon works with people from different backgrounds. He’s able to do this because, as he put it, “Voices are the great equalizer.” Regardless of your culture or context, once he understands your voice type, he can begin to see how you interact with the world.

He takes time to understand each client’s background and voice, using that as a foundation for trust. When he says something that resonates, people feel seen — and that’s where transformation begins. His creative side helps him not only identify problems but also build clear paths forward.

He’s also honest about his own tendencies. As someone who values competency, he often wants to prove his worth — even when no one’s asking. But it comes from a place of care. When he says, “I don’t care where you’re from,” what he really means is, “Come as you are.” He absolutely cares. I’ve experienced how he honors cultural nuance, listens deeply, and adjusts when needed.

Brandon knows he’ll never fully understand what it’s like to walk in someone else’s shoes. But he’s committed to not assuming one size fits all. Whether it’s rephrasing advice or seeking input from others, he leads with humility.

A Tribute to Brandon

I’ll never forget how I met Brandon. Shout out to Dr. Jamie Wagner, my mentor through AACP, who introduced us. Jamie had been guiding me through some tough moments at work, and when I opened up about what I was dealing with, she said, “I think you’ll benefit from some leadership coaching with Brandon.” I wasn’t quite sold at first — coaching can sound a little abstract — but because I trusted Jamie, I took her advice. That’s how I ended up in Brandon’s leadership boot camp.

The group Zoom sessions were eye-opening. Everyone’s name included their dominant voices, which helped me understand where each person was coming from. At first, I was mostly listening and observing. But everything changed in June 2022.

That month, things came to a head at work. I showed up to a session in tears. The group became a support system at that time. Brandon followed up with a late-night call while I was in my hotel room in Connecticut. That was proof that even if he says he doesn’t care, he absolutely does.

That experience marked a turning point. Since then, the work I’ve done with Brandon has reshaped both my professional and personal life. It’s helped me become a more present leader and a better partner, parent, and person. You don’t just show up to work as an employee — you carry your whole self. This work helps align the whole self.

I’m grateful, and I strive to create the same space for others — one where they feel seen, heard, and free to grow.

Fatherhood and the Unexpected Gift of Humility

Of course, we couldn’t let Brandon go without a sneak peek into his life as a father. I asked Brandon what surprising lesson fatherhood had taught him. “Let’s just start with raising teenagers,” he said. And then he laughed — the kind of laugh that says, you have no idea.

The real challenge? Understanding what motivates his kids, especially when they’re so different from him. His oldest is his complete opposite, which makes connection difficult. He’s constantly trying to bring out the best in her, but to her, it just feels like he’s always telling her what to do. His youngest, on the other hand, is just like him. And that’s its own challenge. They butt heads because they both want to be right.

For Brandon, connection doesn’t always look the same as it does for others. He’s had to learn that what feels like a connection to him may not register the same way for his daughters — especially with teenagers, who are still figuring out how to interpret those dynamics. And some days, he admitted, it feels like he’s getting it all wrong. Like he’s ruining everything.

But then he said something that really stuck with me: “That humility is a piece I never knew was coming from parenthood.” And now, it shows up every single day.

Marriage, Parenting, and the Work That Shows Up at Home

Brandon shared how the work he does professionally also influences his personal life, especially at home. Like many people, he ended up with a partner who is his opposite. As a Pioneer voice, Brandon is strategic and forward-thinking. His wife, a Nurturer-Guardian, brings care and detail. “She’s a nurturer with the kids,” he said, “but a guardian with me.”

That difference means he’s had to learn how to approach conversations with her differently. For example, when planning a vacation, he might have the idea ready to go, anticipating her usual questions. But she’ll still ask something unexpected. “Then I slump back into my office to figure out the rest,” he laughed. Her questions frustrate him at times, but he admits, “The vacation will be better because of it.”

When I asked about his proudest moments, Brandon lit up talking about his daughters. His oldest recently played Middle Elsa in Frozen Jr., and he teared up several times watching her perform. What stood out to him was how she loves acting because she gets to be someone else — so different from him, who prefers being himself on stage. And yet, they both thrive in front of audiences, just in different ways.

As a husband, he’s proud of the supportive and equal relationship he shares with his wife. After almost 20 years of marriage, he holds deep respect for the women in his life. “Having two daughters, women’s rights are incredibly important to me.”

Leadership, Therapy, and the Work of Becoming

As we wrapped up our conversation, I asked Brandon for his advice on what fathers can do to lead effectively at home and in the workplace. His answer was simple but powerful: know yourself. And not just on a surface level, but deep enough that it reshapes how you show up for others.

For Brandon, that journey started over a decade ago with therapy. He openly shared how transformative it has been — not just in helping him process difficult situations, but also in providing him a safe space to understand his reactions. “As a man, generationally, that’s not something people value,” he said. “But I needed it, and it was super helpful.” It’s a tool he still uses today and a practice he encourages other men to explore as part of their self-leadership.

He also touched on the power of creating safe spaces where men can express themselves without fear. Every culture has stereotypes about masculinity — even down to whether a man can order a pink drink at a bar. “If you want a fruity drink, go get a fruity drink. Make it happen.” That kind of freedom starts with knowing yourself and being comfortable in your own skin.

Abilyn: Built with Heart

Finally, we talked about Abilyn Consulting — the leadership and coaching company he started in 2019. The name — Abilyn — is a blend of his daughters’ names, Abigail and Madelyn, which I found deeply meaningful. He and his team work with individuals and teams to help them grow and transform how they engage with others.

And I can personally vouch for their work. I’ve gone from group boot camps to one-on-one coaching, brought Brandon to speak at my university multiple times, and recommended him to friends and colleagues across industries.

It’s more than just leadership development. It’s heart work. It’s about knowing yourself, leading yourself, and only then — leading others, whether or not you have a formal title.

If any part of today’s conversation resonated with you, I encourage you to check out Abilyn Consulting or follow Brandon and his team on social media. You’ll find tools to help you better understand your voice and how to connect with the people in your life — at work, at home, and in your community.

To all the fathers and father figures listening: Happy Father’s Day. You matter more than you know.

And to everyone else, may you lead with humility, listen with presence, and live with intention.

Till next time, Mosiblings.

🅻🅸🅽🅺🆂:

Listen: https://mosibyl.podbean.com/e/drjennings2025/
Download: https://mcdn.podbean.com/mf/web/dzbhbz6sj6z6d4hs/DRJENNINGS2025.mp3
Or on the website: www.mosibyl.com
Abilyn Consulting Website: https://www.abilynconsultingllc.com/
Instagram: @abilynconsulting
Facebook: Abilyn Consulting
LinkedIn: Abilyn Consulting
Take 5 Voices Assessment: https://app.mygrowthmap.com/view/eae23a6fe0aedc0a647904e2b5a50b18

Becoming Dad

아버지란 존재의 의미|Healing the Boy, Raising the Man — The One with Mr. Chris Chime | Episode 22 (2025)

Mo! Sibyl, PhD ~ 모 미영

Jun 30, 2025

“I was practically raised by my mom. I lived with my father only briefly, and we never had a great relationship. The one person who witnessed my journey and stayed committed to it was my mom. I’m grateful to God for giving me such a mother, because she sacrificed everything. Back in secondary school, everyone knew I wanted to make her proud at all times, I saw what she went through. That became the foundation of my life: I didn’t want to do anything that would make her regret it.” — Chris Chime (2025)

BLOG POST

Familiar voices are always a blast to have on the podcast. We had this guest previously this season in Episode 9, where we picked this mastermind’s brain on running a business in the diaspora. Now, I’m honored to welcome back Mr. Chris Chime. If you missed that one, do yourself a favor and catch up — the link will be in the show notes.

He needs no introduction: seasoned entrepreneur and proud father of four. With nearly two decades of experience building businesses in Nigeria and Canada, he knows what it means to lead in high-stakes environments. But today, we’re shifting gears.

In this follow-up conversation, Chris invites us into a more intimate space. We talk about the kind of leadership that isn’t often spotlighted — the quiet, daily, intentional work of being present as a father and husband. Chris opens up about raising children across cultures, navigating the complexities of parenting with grace, and leading his family with faith and purpose. You should be excited!

The Blueprint I Inherited: How My Mother Shaped the Father I Am Today

Since Chris has been here before, we’ve already learned all about his upbringing, such as how he’s the last-born of four children or how seeing charcoal on the ground for the first time inspired his first business idea. So if you want to catch up, do your homework by listening to that episode (you won’t regret it, trust me). This time, I only needed to understand how his background shaped the kind of father he is today.

Chris shared that he was primarily raised by his mother, who became both a parent and a pillar in his life. He described watching her fight through hardship and stay consistent and empathetic through it all. “She’s the God I could lay my eyes on,” he said, capturing just how much reverence he holds for her. Through her tenacity and sacrificial love, she gave him a living example of what it means to show up fully for someone.

That experience shaped Chris’s resolve. He decided early on that he would be a father his children could look up to and a husband his wife could rely on. Watching his mother choose to stay and raise him when she could’ve walked away inspired him to be just as present and grounded in his own family life. Here’s a quote from him that captured it beautifully: “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree… Don’t look for my mom’s legacy anywhere else — I am her legacy.”

We also discussed the family dynamics that shaped his upbringing. His parents divorced when he was just two years old. Although they reconciled when he was twenty, he emphasized that a significant portion of his foundational years were shaped by his mother alone. He lived with his father for a short time, but described their relationship as transactional — ” Whatever he wants, I give him.” It lacked the emotional bond that marked his connection with his mother.

Chris’s commitment to honoring his mom extended even to his time in secondary school. He recalled how he stayed focused and avoided trouble, not because of external pressure, but because he didn’t want her sacrifices to be in vain. Friends and classmates noticed it too. They would often comment that he must’ve made his mom proud. Her hard work was always at the forefront of his mind, and it fueled a desire to excel.

Now, as a father of four, Chris reflects on that journey with an even deeper appreciation. “Raising kids is not a walk in the park,” he said. And yet, his mother made it seem possible, even under challenging circumstances. Her example didn’t just shape him — it set the standard for the kind of man, husband, and father he’s determined to be.

Real Fatherhood: Presence, Partnership, and Breaking the Cycle

To Chris, being a real father goes far beyond just providing. It’s about caring deeply, listening intentionally, and showing up consistently. It’s about being committed not only to the children but also to the partner you’re parenting with. He believes that one of the most powerful ways to teach love to your children is by loving their mother well. “Children do what they see you do, not what you tell them to do,” he said. So when he shows love to his wife, Vivian, he’s also modeling love for his children in the most tangible way possible.

Chris described himself as “a family man to a fault” and said he makes no apologies for that. For him, family is not just a priority — it’s a calling. What struck me most was how he challenged a mindset many of us grew up hearing: the idea that someone from a divorced home is somehow more likely to fail at marriage. Chris, who was raised by a single mother, flipped that narrative entirely.

“Divorce allows you to do it right,” he said. In his view, people who have experienced the absence or breakdown of family often understand its value more deeply. While some people from intact families may take that stability for granted and “misbehave in marriage,” those from single-parent homes often carry a stronger determination not to repeat what they saw. Chris made it clear that the cycle can be broken and that it’s a choice. He said, “You understand what it means to have a father who is alive but not present… You make up your mind. This must stop here. It must never cross my generation.”

Hearing him say that was a powerful reminder of how much intentionality matters. It’s not just about what you inherit — it’s what you do with it. And Chris has chosen to show up with love, discipline, and a clear vision of the legacy he wants to build.

Finding Wholeness in Community

As we got deeper into the conversation, Chris shared exactly how he was intentional in becoming a better father — and it did not start when he got married. First, he accepted his situation. “One of the things I do in life is I practice acceptance. Where am I now? What can I do from here?”

Instead of fixating on what he lacked, he focused on how to fill those gaps. He didn’t try to pretend that everything was perfect, but he also didn’t let the absence of a father define his path. “Whatever she lacked in her ability to give me, I found it elsewhere,” he said of his mom. “That’s why I went to church.”

Chris leaned into the community. “I’m a child of the community,” he declared proudly. He explained how the church played a critical role in his growth. It wasn’t about religion for him — it was about purpose and intentionality. He sought out marriage classes as a teenager, sitting in rooms meant for adults, not because he was in a rush to marry, but because he wanted to understand what breaks marriages and how to avoid them. His spiritual father became a mentor, even without one-on-one interaction, simply through listening to the Word.

He described this season of learning as a time when he was “getting ready for marriage,” often 10 years ahead of his peers in terms of mindset and maturity. His passion for family life was born from this search for understanding. “Everything will begin and fall at that nuclear zone,” he said of the home. Career, accolades, and success all matter — but according to Chris, none of it holds weight if your family life is in shambles. “That’s the place where you are known.”

Chris emphasized the importance of creating balance wherever there’s a lack. “Whatever you lost… you should find yourself in a community where you can gain that thing back.” And not casually, but “with all sense of purpose.” He contrasted his path with friends who had stable homes but still went astray, saying some of them took their family structures for granted.

That entire section of our conversation prompted me to reflect on the value of communal support, particularly in the Nigerian context. In our culture, the idea that it takes a village to raise a child isn’t just a saying — it’s still very much alive. From extended family to religious communities, many of us were raised by networks, not just individuals. Even in the absence of formal systems like the Department of Human Services (DHS), we’ve had unofficial foster parents: an uncle, an auntie, a teacher, or a church member who stepped in.

Of course, we’re not without our issues — abuse and other challenges exist — but one thing we do have is a deep-rooted value for collective parenting. And I hope that as our communities evolve and people migrate or adopt different cultural norms, we don’t lose that. Because raising kids in isolation isn’t sustainable. And as Chris so beautifully reminded me, healing and wholeness often begin when we choose to lean into the strength of community.

Raising Whole Children Between Two Worlds

This flowed seamlessly into the next part of our conversation — raising children between two worlds. In Chris’s case, it is between Nigeria and Canada. His response was as insightful as his masterclass on business. He didn’t just speak as a parent; he spoke as someone deeply committed to the work of intentional parenting.

Chris made it clear that you can’t chase career goals and leave your parenting on autopilot. “We cannot chase careers at the expense of raising our children,” he said. He drew attention to how easy it is to mistake surface-level progress for actual growth or good behavior, like having a fancy accent. We must remind ourselves that sounding like an American or Canadian doesn’t necessarily mean a child is well-raised.

He’s seen something in Southeast Asian homes that he shed light on: no matter where they relocate, they bring their value systems with them and replicate those values at home. He believes African families should do the same. Chris discussed how, in his house, his children have private tutors — just like many kids would have back in Nigeria.

He had me laughing when he explained how he challenges the “no problem” culture in Canadian schools, such as when students don’t do their homework and it’s accepted. “Your teacher says there is no problem because you are not their problem,” he told his kids. “But I’m telling you, if you don’t do your homework, there is a problem.” He doesn’t believe in overly permissive parenting and says it plainly: “I’m not your friend. I’m your father. I become your friend when you are 18.”

What I loved most was his metaphor of the home as an embassy. “When you’re inside this house, this is my own embassy. Outside is Canada. Inside here, we are going to marry both societies.” He sees himself as the visionary of his home — someone who ventures outside to select the best from Canadian culture and brings it back in, while also preserving the core values of his heritage. He’s not interested in throwing away everything Nigerian just because they now live in Canada.

Ultimately, Chris’s goal is to raise children who are whole, sound, and confident. And to do that, he believes you must blend the best of both worlds — with structure, intention, and unshakable values at the center.

Parenting with Patience, Presence, and Precision

Another important thing he tries to do consistently is connect with his kids. “I immerse myself in their world… so I can expunge the things that shouldn’t be there.” He doesn’t just bark orders or lay down the law; he studies them, plays with them, asks questions, and even learns Gen Z slang to stay connected. I jokingly reminded him that when he uses their slang, “it stops looking cool.” But that doesn’t stop him, because connection matters more.

Chris explained that while we may have grown up in environments where parenting meant command and control, he’s learned to take a different, more nuanced approach. It’s not about shouting or threatening — it’s about understanding each child individually. Some of his kids need just a word to understand; others need a whole sit-down, a clear explanation of the bigger picture, and space to process it all. He meets each of them where they are.

One story he shared beautifully illustrated what parenting with structure can look like, even without the use of corporal punishment. One day, after repeated warnings about the state of their room, he packed up all the electronics and kept them in his room for two weeks. Needless to say, the girls completely lost it. “It was as if I took the oxygen supply off,” he said. But the point wasn’t just to punish — it was to drive a lesson home. And he didn’t cave the minute they cleaned up. He told them, “I’m not giving them back until I see consistency.”

He acknowledged that, while corporal punishment might have been common where they grew up, living in a place like Canada requires a different kind of wisdom. You don’t beat the child, but you still discipline. He told his children, “The government says I shouldn’t touch you, but they are still building prisons. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

Just because the law prohibits physical discipline doesn’t mean the law absolves consequences altogether. If you don’t parent intentionally, society will correct your children, and often not with compassion.

I appreciated how Chris also touched on the diversity of parenting styles within a single household. With three girls and a boy — and four distinct personalities — no two children receive the same approach. He said it plainly: “Our kids don’t have the same parents.” Because the way we relate to each child must evolve based on who they are and how they’re wired.

What We Keep & What We Unlearn

Of course, not everything is perfect in the way we raise children in Nigeria. So here is what Chris has kept — and what he has had to let go of lovingly.

He kept respect. This is non-negotiable in his home. “You do not see an adult and say ‘hi.’ Don’t do that in this family,” he said firmly. Regardless of how many Canadian families might find that acceptable, his children are taught to greet elders respectfully. Coming from Nigeria’s Southeast, where they don’t typically prostrate as in the Yoruba tradition, Chris still upholds the culture of honor. “Uncles are uncles, aunties are aunties, you don’t call an older person (old enough to be your parent) by their first name.” He even shared a story about their elderly apartment facility manager, Mr. Jill. Despite the man’s insistence that he be addressed by his first name, Chris instructed his children to continue calling him “Mr. Jill, sir.” Why? “He’s over 70. I can’t even call him by name.” Even when the culture around you relaxes formality, he believes children must still be taught to honor age and experience.

The one he had to break was the idea that a parent’s word is final and unquestionable. In Nigeria, it was common to hear, “I’ve spoken. Case closed.” But in Canada, parenting demands more conversation — more listening. “You’re dealing with children whose level of exposure is so high,” he said. So now, when his kids come home, he carves out time for them to debrief their day. “Tell me your wins. Tell me your failures. Tell me your tears.” No detail is too small. He emphasized the importance of being the first person to validate their own experiences, so that no one else defines them. However, on this point, a balance still needs to be struck.

He likened fatherhood to shepherding. A shepherd doesn’t stand back while the sheep cross a dangerous road; he guides them, even when the sheep don’t “like” it.

He shared the example of one of his children struggling with self-confidence. Instead of telling her to ignore what others say or dismissing her feelings with a “just face your books,” Chris leaned in. He paid attention to her behavior, noticed when specific comments made her moody, and walked her through her emotions. Whenever she displayed confidence, he affirmed it. “I heard you did this. I’m very proud of you.” His parenting is characterized by subtle adjustments that recognize and acknowledge both struggles and victories.

Chris also teaches his kids not to assume that everyone in their classroom is coming from the same kind of home. “Don’t get lost in the crowd,” he warns them. Just because you’re all sitting in the same class doesn’t mean you’re all coming from the same emotional space. He described how some kids go to school having just watched their parents get high. Others are being raised by grandparents who, while loving, aren’t there to discipline — ” because you are not their problem.” That line made me laugh, but it’s so true. Grandparents have done their part. It’s now the parents’ job.

Ultimately, Chris reminds his kids that not all pain is visible. “When you see a child that snaps at even a ‘hi,’ know that there’s pain behind it. Show compassion.” It’s a kind of wisdom that comes from someone who’s not just parenting children, but raising humans with depth, empathy, and vision.

More on Cultivating Meaningful Connections With His Kids

At one point in our conversation, I asked Chris something I’d been thinking about lately, especially now that my husband and I just welcomed a new baby. I wanted to know how he stays connected with each of his children individually. You know, one-on-one time, personal outings, intentional moments. I was asking for myself.

Chris lit up immediately, sharing that it’s something he and his wife are very intentional about. For starters, they’ve built a strong family culture around outings — a tradition that began back when they were still living in Nigeria. Every quarter, they’d take their daughters to lovely places to introduce them to beauty and create positive family experiences. “We want them to see those places before anybody will introduce them to it,” he said.

Since moving to Canada, they’ve maintained the practice, adjusting the rhythm to fit their new environment. Now, every first Sunday of the month, the whole family goes out to eat. Regardless of which birthday it is that month, the person gets to choose the restaurant. It becomes an opportunity not just for good food, but for authentic connection. They laugh, they chat, and in between bites and jokes, Chris and his wife sprinkle in life lessons. For instance, they use everyday moments — such as holding the door for someone or cleaning up after yourself at a restaurant — as teaching opportunities for manners, respect, and consideration.

But the real gems came when he started describing the ways he’s now beginning to shift toward one-on-one time as his kids become teenagers. Sometimes, if he’s picking one of them up from school badminton practice, he’ll turn the ride into a mini-date. Maybe they’ll stop for chocolate. It’s less about the treat and more about creating space to talk. No pressure. Just openness.

When there’s a school report or incident that needs addressing, Chris and his wife have a deliberate approach. They speak to the child involved alone, without siblings present. He explained that this gives them space to define themselves without shame or encouraging sibling rivalry. And because he knows his kids so well, sometimes he can even predict who probably did what. “If I hear a report, I can tell. It’s in line with the challenge I’ve been seeing,” he said. These aren’t lectures — they’re conversations. They unpack what happened and why, and he connects it back to earlier things he’s already taught at home.

Chris was also very candid about what makes this kind of parenting possible: time. Not just loving the idea of quality time, but intentionally making it happen. His wife chose her career path in a way that prioritized family life. Chris noted, “Both of us cannot be out there.” Because without time, there’s no connection. And without connection, there’s no opportunity to influence your kids truly.

And you know what? I’ve met these kids, and I have to say — they are genuinely lovely humans. When we visited with our daughter, Ariife, they made her hair and treated her with so much care. They are genuinely a good reflection of their parents.

Drawing the Line: Choosing Your Spouse Without Disrespecting Your Roots

This part of the conversation is one of my favorites. Five years ago, during a visit to his home in Canada, he told me something unforgettable: no family member, no matter how close, is allowed to come between him and his wife. He made it clear that he won’t allow it. That kind of boundary-setting — especially in our cultural context — is rare and truly commendable. How does he do it? What made this mindset so strong?

Well, Chris took me back to his childhood. He sat his parents down and asked, “What made this divorce happen?” An outside party had suggested to his dad to get a new wife. He found it absurd that someone could walk into your home and tell your wife to be replaced while their wife remains untouched. For him, that moment revealed how deeply some men fail to protect their homes from outside interference.

He traced many family breakdowns to what he called “sibling weakness” — a blind loyalty to siblings at the expense of a spouse. But for Chris, it’s simple: he was the one who chose his wife. She was fine in her father’s house. He said he was in love. So he must protect her. If anyone has a problem with her, they can bring it to him — but they shouldn’t expect him to agree. He’ll address any issues privately with his wife, not in front of others.

Scripture guides his principles. “Husbands, love your wives as Christ loves the Church.” (Ephesians 5:25). And as he explained, the Church isn’t perfect. There are fake pastors, boundary crossers, and everything in between. Yet God doesn’t discard them. So why do men act like their wives’ minor faults deserve public judgment?

Chris also questioned the cultural values of an Igbo man in marriage. He took a hard look at traditions that undermined love or fueled control and weighed them against his values. People have “made the word of God of no effect by their traditions,” he said, quoting Scripture (Mark 7:13). For him, stripping away harmful cultural habits and keeping what truly builds unity is necessary wisdom.

He’s not anti-culture (we know from previous conversations) — he doesn’t believe it should override covenant.

What really stayed with me was his reflection on extended family. He acknowledged how hard it can be to set boundaries with uncles or relatives who raised us or funded our education out of a sense of honor. But he insists that there must be a line. A simple, “Uncle, thank you. I honor you. But this part of my life you cannot touch. I’ll manage it,” will do wonders.

He’s right — it’s not easy to say no to elders. But Chris believes true respect includes the courage to protect what you’ve built. “Your wife is not a saint, just like you’re not,” he said, “but if she knows she’s protected, she’ll fight for you with everything she has.”

It was a powerful reminder: protection isn’t just about shielding someone from harm. Sometimes, it’s about knowing when to shut the door — even to voices that believe they have a right to enter.

When Love Means Drawing the Line

What happens when a wife no longer feels protected? When resentment builds because her husband can’t or won’t set boundaries with his family? When the home she’s supposed to thrive in becomes a battleground of influence?

Chris was clear on the matter. Many men simply don’t know how to say “no.” They’re so preoccupied with not offending parents or siblings that they allow behaviors that quietly erode their marriage. “It can’t happen,” he said. “Not in my house.”

He pushed back on the idea that closeness means a lack of boundaries. That’s not true. “Once you’re married,” he said, “you and your spouse must define what your marriage will look like. Forget what your parents or culture taught you.” He warned that when couples fail to do this, it leads to serious cracks in the foundation.

Chris described what happens when extended family members “pitch a tent” against a spouse. But if they complain about your wife, shut it down. To him, real love isn’t passive. Real love is firm. It says “no” when necessary. It protects.

He brought up a common issue: property. Some husbands write only their names on documents — even when their wives are full contributors. That single act, he said, tells a woman she has no real stake. “You’re already setting yourself up for failure.”

Chris emphasized that women are territorial by nature. They want to guard their homes. But once they stop feeling safe or respected in that space, they begin to withdraw. And unlike men, who often return emotionally, once many women check out, they’re done.

The key to preventing this, Chris insisted, is communication. Not just sweet words or surface-level “I love yous,” but honest, respectful conversations. “You have to learn to have hard conversations in your marriage,” he shared. Early in their marriage, he’d wake his wife at 1 a.m. to discuss issues because he couldn’t rest with things unresolved. Eventually, they grew out of that stage — but he still insists on one rule: “Say what you feel. Whether right or wrong, say it with respect.”

One more thing: never touch certain sacred things during arguments. Don’t threaten divorce or suggest that your spouse is replaceable. “Once you say it,” he warned, “your spouse starts to pull back. Even if you say you didn’t mean it, the seed has been planted.”

Chris reminded me that love isn’t just affection — it’s action. It’s boundaries. It’s choosing your spouse over comfort or cultural pressure. It’s doing the hard things so your marriage doesn’t quietly erode while everyone else thinks it’s fine. It’s dying to self and knowing that the marriage is not about either of you, it’s about both of you. (Thank you, Chris!)

Returning to the Basics: Family First, Always

As we wrapped up our conversation, Chris left us with one final charge: “Husband, be a true husband to your wife. Wife, be a true wife and a mother to your children. Husband, wake up and do your job.”

He spoke directly to the reality that many couples — especially those of us navigating marriage and parenthood in the West — face. Here, we don’t always have nannies or extended family readily available. There are no aunties on standby. And yet, some men are still acting like chairmen in their own homes, refusing to help while their wives do everything. He said it plainly: “In the West, we help our wives. We bathe the children. We do things.”

Chris didn’t just appeal to fairness; he appealed to compassion. He reminded us that the woman you brought into your home is still trying to hold on to parts of herself. “She doesn’t want the $50 nails she just did to keep breaking while she does everything alone,” he said. The message was clear: ease her burden. Do your part.

We also discussed how the Nigerian community has made significant strides in their careers. From medicine to tech to finance, we’re flying high. But Chris cautioned that if we don’t turn our attention back to the home front, we’ll suffer in ways that no amount of money can fix. Children who aren’t equipped emotionally or spiritually won’t be able to handle the very legacies we worked so hard to build for them.

And then came his most sobering observation: many people today are living like strangers in their own homes. The rising rates of divorce stem from how quickly we now threaten to abandon our relationships. “Women become so touchy. You can’t take a joke. Before you say Jack, you’re already meeting a lawyer,” he said. And who suffers the most? “The kids.”

Chris’s heart for family is so evident. “Everything begins and ends at the family point,” he said. And as he spoke, it reminded me that building a family isn’t about perfection — it’s about intention. It’s about not letting our culture, trauma, or even ambition get in the way of doing what matters most: loving and protecting the people we do life with.

To hear the whole conversation, go back and listen to the episode. And if you haven’t already, check out Episode 9, where Chris first joined the podcast to share about purpose and entrepreneurship.

As always, thank you for tuning in to this space where we honor our past, sit honestly with our present, and lean into who we’re becoming. Take care of yourselves and your people, and continue to evolve.

Chris, you’re already part of this podcast family, so get ready for your next return.

🅻🅸🅽🅺🆂:

Listen: https://mosibyl.podbean.com/e/chimeagain2025/
Download: https://mcdn.podbean.com/mf/web/6g8zxv3pit2jmk6n/CHIMEAGAIN2025.mp3
Or on the website: www.mosibyl.com
Chris’s Previous episode: https://mosibyl.podbean.com/e/chime2025/

Reflections of a Grateful Adoptee

연결된 이야기| On Family, Business & Legacy — The One with Sam White| Episode 21 (2025)

Mo! Sibyl, PhD ~ 모 미영

Jun 24, 2025

“Where everybody else has to get what they get, you were chosen. We saw you and knew that you were ours from the very beginning.”
— Sam recalling his mother’s words about being adopted

“I try to help people feel the same warmth of being chosen — as a friend, a life partner, a pickleball partner. Just creating warmth wherever I can.”
— Sam on how adoption shaped his relational style

BLOG POST

Another beautiful episode, another amazing human, because why break a winning streak? Still riding the wave of celebrating the men in our lives, today’s story features Mr. Sam White. Sam and I became acquainted with the noble battleground of pickleball, a place where the best stories began. He’s a new dad, a devoted husband, an adoptee, an entrepreneur, and the heart behind Real Estates and Relationships. In other words, he’s wearing more hats than a department store mannequin. In this episode, we explore identity, fatherhood, family, business, and the beautiful, chaotic dance of balancing it all. Grab a drink and enjoy the ride.

Chosen Love and a Life of Warmth

You know the drill, guys; we start from the start. At the same time, some stories start in hospitals or hometowns. Sam White’s began in the hearts of two people who chose him long before he could understand what that meant. He grew up in Chandler, Arizona, in a home filled with love, activity, and a strong sense of community through church. His dad, he shared, was a “simple man,” quiet but profoundly wise when he spoke. His mom, on the other hand, was more fast-paced. Sam sees himself between both personalities. He spent his childhood immersed in sports, student government, and numerous activities, as he loved being around people. After high school, he moved to Denver, Colorado, for college. It was there he discovered that snow, while fun in theory, isn’t quite as lovable in practice.

Sam also opened up about his adoption story, which profoundly shaped his worldview and sense of identity. Biologically, he’s majority Black with some European ancestry. He was adopted at six months old by Douglas and Cynthia White, a Black couple from North Carolina. After a miscarriage, they chose to adopt and became parents to Sam while living in Chicago, where they pastored a small church. They later moved to Arizona, where he was raised.

Sam has a younger sister, also adopted, who’s eleven years his junior. While not biologically related, they share such a strong family resemblance in spirit and connection that people often comment on how well their family “fits” together. To Sam, imagining life without them feels strange.

The magic in this part was how intentional his parents, especially his mom, were about framing his adoption in a positive light. Sam recalled learning about it as early as kindergarten. His mom was concerned that schoolkids might use “adopted” as an insult, so she made sure Sam embraced it fully before anyone else could try to weaponize it. Her message was simple but powerful: “You were chosen. Where everyone else has to get what they get, we saw you and knew you were ours from the very beginning.”

That mindset has shaped Sam’s relationships. He tries to infuse them with the same sense of warmth, acceptance, and intentionality. Whether as a friend, a life partner, or even a pickleball teammate, Sam says he tries to convey the same feeling of being chosen and deeply valued. And in his mom’s words that still ring true today: “Adopted just means loved differently.”

Creating Belonging Through Culture and Curiosity

I’ve had my fair share of conversations around adoption as an adoptive parent, including one that stood out, a podcast episode with Christelle Pellecuer. She shared her experience growing up as a Madagascan adoptee raised by French parents in a rural part of France and how she’s now on a journey to reconnect with her Black identity. Reflecting on that, I asked Sam if he had a similar experience and how adoptive parents can support cultural belonging, especially in cross-cultural adoptions.

Because Sam was adopted into a Black family, cultural familiarity was already part of his upbringing. But the environment around him also played a key role. He grew up in Arizona, which he described as the most culturally diverse place he has lived. Unlike places like Oklahoma, where, as he put it, “we live in Edmond is a dot, a sprinkle,” Arizona had entire communities of diverse backgrounds. He regularly interacted with people of African, Latin, Indian, and Caucasian descent. He spoke about growing up with a second family that was Mexican, attending school with Indian friends, and being generally surrounded by diversity that felt natural.

That exposure helped shape the way he views the world now, and it’s something he hopes to recreate for his children. He emphasized the importance of giving kids opportunities to engage with different cultures, not just by teaching or telling, but by experiencing them firsthand. Living in Oklahoma now, he notices how some people take pride in staying rooted in one place and never venturing beyond it. His parents, on the other hand, gave him a different gift, the desire to explore.

Even though his parents were Southerners with strong military values, firm in their “yes, sir; yes, ma’am” way of raising kids, they also nurtured in him a spirit of openness. They taught him to see value in every culture. Now, as an adult, Sam loves to travel, not just to resorts or tourist spots, but deep into communities, where he can really understand how people live in different cultures. That curiosity, he believes, is a key part of cultivating empathy, connection, and identity.

For parents raising adopted children, we can learn to create space for exploration, build connections across differences, and help our kids feel at home in the fullness of who they are.

When Fatherhood Reawakens Adoption Grief

One of the things we touched on in this conversation, and that I’d explored in a previous episode with Christelle Pellecuer, was the concept of delayed adoption grief. She talked about how becoming a parent brought back unexpected feelings of loss and longing for the family she never knew. So I asked Sam, now a new dad himself, if fatherhood stirred anything similar for him. He shared that for years he’d felt some curiosity about his biological parents, but he also carried a quiet concern: would looking for answers somehow hurt the parents who had raised him so well? That tension held him back. Becoming a new dad brought another practical issue. When the medical staff asked about family health history, he was without answers. His wife could easily fill in her side. He couldn’t. That gap sparked a deeper need to know.

His adoptive mom had always told him, “If and when you’re ready, I’ll give you the information.” But as Sam said, “That’s different in theory than it is in practice.” Life was shifting; he’d gotten married, graduated from his master’s program, moved states, and now had a child. While his parents were beaming with pride over their growing family, Sam was also quietly wondering how and when to say, “By the way, I want to find out about my biological family.” Then came an unexpected twist: his oldest biological brother found him and reached out on Instagram. The timing was right. He didn’t have to initiate the conversation with his parents before finding his siblings; the door opened on its own. But it was still a shock. Sam had never asked about his biological family, so he had no idea they existed. And now he was forming relationships with brothers he’d never met.

Sam with his brothers; reunited after 34 years

They began texting, and now they talk often. For Sam’s 34th birthday, they met in person for the first time in Puerto Rico. Seeing each other’s faces, the idiosyncrasies, and the mannerisms… I imagined it was like looking in a mirror (they look so much alike). His wife, understandably cautious, reminded him to be careful. But that first meeting was full of connection and warmth. Still, questions lingered: Do we keep this going? Do we try to be a family? Or was this a beautiful one-time reunion? As the relationship grew, he eventually shared the news with his parents. Telling his mom was hard, but she knew it was coming. His dad listened; his little sister jokingly asked, “I’m still number one, right?” (Of course!) There was a lot to navigate, but also a sense of blessing. As Sam put it, he was gaining new family members while raising a new life of his own.

Sam hasn’t met his biological parents yet. He still wrestles with questions: Are they okay? Would reconnecting with them bring emotional or financial responsibility he’s not prepared for? There is still so much to think through. Sam continues to walk the complex, beautiful path of belonging to his adoptive family, his biological one, and the one he’s building as a father. It’s not clean or easy, but it’s real. And it’s a reminder that the journey of adoption doesn’t end in childhood. It transforms, reappears, and deepens over time, especially when life comes full circle.

The “Why Me?” Question

The reality of the situation propelled me to ask if there was ever grief in knowing his biological brothers got to stay with their mom, while he didn’t. That layered ache of realizing you were the one given up, even when others weren’t. His answer was honest and deeply introspective. He admitted that, on some level, at first, he may have shielded himself from that kind of pain by assuming that there weren’t any siblings at all. It was easier to believe he was the only one. But when he did learn about his brothers and heard about how they grew up, a stark contrast emerged. Sam was raised in a home filled with consistent love, safety, and support. His brothers, on the other hand, shared stories of running home from elementary school and hiding from difficult situations. It was a lot. Sam said he held back in those early conversations, quietly noticing the dichotomy between their experiences and his own. “I was very sheltered,” he told me. “If I were younger, maybe it would’ve been more difficult to hear. But as a grown man, I’m very grateful.”

Sam repeatedly returned to a posture of gratitude: for his adoptive parents, for the life he’s had, and even for the decision his biological mother made. When the time comes for them to meet, Sam said, “I’ll definitely say thank you for giving me up for adoption and giving me the opportunities that I have.” What struck me most was his ability to honor both truths: the love and safety he’s always known, and the existence of another family story he’s only recently begun to explore. He’s not rushing that process either. He hasn’t met his bio-mom yet, but she knows they’re all in contact now, and for the moment, that’s enough. As Sam put it, “I have a mother. I have a really good family.” And adding another maternal connection isn’t something he’s ready for just yet. And that’s okay. It’s a complex space to hold, and I know it will take a lot of emotional strength to navigate. My prayer is that he has even more grace when that time comes.

The First Months of Fatherhood

When I asked Sam how becoming a dad has impacted his adoption journey, he shared a beautiful reflection. His son is five months old, almost the same age Sam was when he was adopted. During a recent visit, his mom pointed out, “You’re getting to experience things we didn’t get to with you.”
Now, as he cares for his son, Sam sees just how much love is invested in those early months. “They’re helpless creatures,” he said, “so we get to pour a lot of love.” He and his wife also hope to adopt one day, continuing the legacy that shaped his own life. It’s clear that fatherhood has deepened Sam’s gratitude and brought his story full circle.

What I Wish More People Knew About Adoptees

As we wrapped up our conversation on adoption, I asked Sam what is one thing he wishes more people understood about adoptees, especially those just beginning to reconnect with their past? His answer? “I wish there was more adoption.” He wasn’t talking about adoption as charity or rescue, but as a natural expression of love, especially from people who are pro-life. “If you’re pro-life,” he said, “you should be pro-life in every component, not just before the baby’s born.” He shared how working with foster youth in San Diego has shown him just how vibrant and full of life these kids are. Sam grew up in a loving, safe, and nurturing home, and he wants people to understand that adopted children can, and often do, experience deep, lasting love.

As an adoptive mom myself, I took the moment to be honest about a fear I carry: that one day my child might look back and feel grief for a loss I couldn’t prevent and, worse, that I could somehow become a source of that pain unintentionally. I asked Sam what advice he had for parents like me trying to hold space for both love and grief without getting swallowed up by guilt. His tender response was, “Just do your absolute best.” The reminders Sam’s mom gave him about being chosen is the outlook he carries till this day. Even during the difficult teenage years, those words stuck with me. And now, as a parent himself, that same legacy of love is something he’s passing on to his own child. “You’re pouring out love,” he said, “and it doesn’t matter how you came about that love; it’s real. It’s true. And your child will carry that with them.”

Wearing Many Hats: From MC to Purpose-Driven Investor

Next, we get down to business. When Sam told me he was a DJ, in addition to being a brand developer and real estate investor, I had to pause for a moment. “Really, Sam?” Back in college, he juggled athletics, student government, and fraternity life, leaving little time for a traditional job. To make money, he started MC’ing trade shows and hosting events. After undergrad (where he was pre-med and even took the MCAT), he moved to San Diego and launched a staffing business that provided MCs and brand models for companies. That early hustle laid the groundwork for his DJ and MC company, which has since grown into a full-scale production business. He now has a team of ten DJs, and they’re performing at weddings and corporate events throughout Mexico and the Caribbean. That’s his “fun business,” he told me — one he doesn’t plan to sell anytime soon.

On the other side of the spectrum is Pivotal Investment, which Sam calls his “ultimate” venture. It’s been a slow build, initially funded from his own capital, but it carries a clear mission: helping people invest with purpose. The goal isn’t just to buy apartment complexes or industrial buildings for a return on investment. It’s to create what he called “societal dividends.”
So, when Pivotal acquires a property, they don’t just renovate and raise the rent. They hand residents folders filled with resources, including how to build credit, how to prepare for homeownership, and other practical tools. Sam wishes more people had access to these resources. It’s personal for him because he learned a lot of these lessons the hard way throughout his twenties. And he knows most people don’t get this kind of education, especially not in school.

Building With Purpose: Where Creativity Meets Community Impact

With such a multidimensional vision, I asked Sam how he manages to blend all his passions — real estate, brand building, and justice — into a single cohesive mission. According to him, it’s still a work in progress, he admitted, but it’s fueled by a clear desire to bridge the gap between creativity and impact. Brand building is where he lights up. He enjoys making things look sharp and organized. So when he steps into the real estate world, he gets to shake things up. Whether it’s introducing clean visual designs, utilizing AI, or incorporating new technology into development plans, he’s always seeking ways to modernize and elevate.

Under the umbrella of Pivotal Investment, he’s also building out Real Estate Relationships, an educational branch that demystifies commercial real estate. Most people understand residential real estate. But commercial? That’s a whole different beast. Sam is committed to breaking it down, especially for investors and aspiring developers from Black and Brown communities.

He shared how, just a few years ago, he had no idea that regular people (people like him and me) could buy apartment buildings, hotels, or retail strips. It felt like something “other people” did. Now that he knows better, he’s making it his mission to pass that knowledge on. He has been collecting everything he learns, writing it down, turning it into a curriculum, and preparing to teach the next generation of developers, because access changes everything.

Wealth as a Calling: Starting Early, Staying Anchored

Pursuing big goals at an early age requires a great deal of confidence. What was Sam’s? Exposure and perspective. Moving from a public high school to a private university with a $50,000 tuition opened his eyes. He realized that while he was there on scholarship, some of his classmates weren’t. They came from families who had been teaching them about stocks, bonds, and real estate from a young age. Instead of becoming resentful, Sam took it as a challenge. If others were in line to inherit wealth, he decided he’d work hard to be the one creating it for his kids.

The best part is wealth, for him, isn’t about status. It’s about purpose. He told me how, even as a child, he would tell people he wanted to be very wealthy. While that made some people uncomfortable, he stood by it. He wanted to be the person who could write the check, fund the mission, and meet the need, without hesitation. He believes that God placed that desire in his heart not for himself, but for others. He’s simply the steward. It reminded me of a financial class Taiwo and I once took, where the instructor had a powerful reminder framed in his home: everything we have will eventually burn. So, how are we using it now? That’s the lens through which Sam sees wealth. Not ownership, but responsibility. A means to bless, to close gaps, to serve others.

The Mentorship That Found Me — Through Pickleball

Being a mentor requires you to have mentors. So I asked Sam about people who have inspired him apart from his parents. He told me about Adam Robinson, a mentor he met during his master’s program. Adam wasn’t just a successful businessman; he was also the kind of person Sam admired in every facet of life — a solid husband, father, and mentor. Sam’s mentorship with Adam Robinson began unexpectedly. After being ignored a few times, a casual mention of pickleball during a group tour sparked a conversation that led to a meaningful connection. Adam saw that Sam’s ambition wasn’t just about wealth, but impact, and that shared value deepened their bond.

When it comes to his mentorship style, he’s thoughtful about balancing when to lead and when to give people room to find their way. He doesn’t lead with a “do this” directive. Instead, he creates space. He offers what worked for him and allows others to choose their paths. He likened his style to a blend of a counselor and an attorney: part guidance, part freedom. And perhaps most importantly, he emphasized that mentorship should be a lifelong pursuit. No matter how old or experienced you are, there’s always someone ahead to learn from and someone behind who can benefit from your story.

The Flight That Changed Everything

Sam’s love story began most unexpectedly on a flight from San Diego to Phoenix. He was headed to his cousin’s graduation, while Sarah was en route to Colorado with a layover in between. After a last-minute booking and a lucky seat reassignment, he found himself seated right next to her. Although the flight was short and the conversation stayed platonic, there was a spark. With both phones dead, Sam managed to find her on Facebook and left it in her hands. Days later, she added him, and he didn’t waste a second sliding into her messages.

From there, things picked up. He took her as his plus-one to a wedding, invited her to San Diego before she started medical school, and was impressed when she bought her flight (a total boss move). They spent a week going to Six Flags, church, beach dinners, and meeting friends. Still, Sam wasn’t sure how it would all work with her in Idaho and him in San Diego. But by the end of that week, he asked her to be his girlfriend. Now, they’ve been married for over three years. Here’s a tip for our single folks: get on that flight and slide into that DM. You never know what’s waiting for you on the other side.

Marriage, he shared, has been full of growth. With Sarah about to become an attending physician, Sam feels constantly inspired to level up alongside her. He loves how their relationship pushes them to dream big together and build the life they’ve talked about for years. What surprised him most? The ongoing learning. Because they started long-distance, they became accustomed to asking intentional questions to get to know each other truly. Even now, years later, they’re still learning, still asking, growing.

Travel, Culture, and the Legacy We Leave

As we wrapped up our conversation, I had to ask Sam about something that fascinates me — his love for travel. He’s seen a lot of the world, and what struck me was how even now, as a new dad, he’s not slowing down. His baby boy was barely out of the womb before he’d already been on a flight. The passport stamps this child is about to amass.

He shared how the Caribbean, in particular, has left a strong impression on him. Unlike the more common travel hotspots like Hawaii, he feels the Caribbean offers more cultural depth and flavor (plus, it’s a little more budget-friendly). But what stood out is how Sam and his wife approach travel with intentionality. They’re not just there for the views or the luxuries (though they enjoy those too). They dream of incorporating acts of service into their trips, such as organizing backpack drives and delivering supplies to communities in need before embarking on the “fancy” part of their travels.

That mindset, he said, is something he’s determined to pass on to his children. Yes, they’ll have access to things he didn’t — lounges, comfort, global exposure from a young age — but they’ll also know it comes with a responsibility. He and his wife are grounded in this idea: we are not better than anyone else, but if we’re blessed with resources, we should be a blessing to others. That heart posture, more than any travel itinerary, is what shapes the legacy they’re building.

Rooted in Story, Anchored in Purpose

Finally, we had some reflections. I asked Sam what he would tell his younger self, the version of him just starting, filled with questions and self-doubt. Without hesitation, he said, “Jump in.” That’s the advice he’d give: don’t wait until it all makes sense. Take the leap, even when things feel uncertain. He has learned not to fear the fall, but to keep moving, because many of those ahead of us have done precisely that: fallen, learned, and continued forward.

I followed up with a question for future Sam. What would he want to hear five or ten years from now? His answer was simple but powerful: “You did exactly what you said. You fell a few more times, but you did what needed to be done.” It was such a full-circle moment — acknowledging that progress doesn’t always look perfect, but obedience and forward motion count for something.

When I asked him to leave us with one belief or message he hopes listeners carry from his story, he pointed to the power of people. “Get to know people,” he said. “Everyone has a unique story.” We only scratched the surface of his in this episode, but it’s clear — Sam’s purpose is rooted in connection. It’s about building, not just in business or real estate, but in the community as well. He reminded me that life is not just about platforms or achievements but about people — understanding their stories, investing in them, and walking alongside them.

To Sam, thank you for showing up so thoroughly, for being generous with your story, for letting us see the beauty in your layers, from your adoption journey to the quiet decisions that have shaped your legacy. And shoutout to T-Dawg for being the bridge that brought this episode together.
To everyone listening: if this conversation stirred something in you, pass it on. Please share it. And ask yourself — what part of your own story are you still hiding? What would happen if you gave it some light?

Until next time, stay grounded, stay true to yourself, and keep walking your path.

🅻🅸🅽🅺🆂:

Listen: https://mosibyl.podbean.com/e/samwhite2025/
Download: https://mcdn.podbean.com/mf/web/rfkgmdzxkcscdyfi/SAMWHITE2025.mp3
Or on the website: www.mosibyl.com
Read the blog here: https://mosibyl.medium.com/reflections-of-a-grateful-adoptee-41a4bd6213e1
Episode with Christelle: https://www.podbean.com/media/share/pb-xhuk8-15fd6fc

Fatherhood, Feminism, and Faith

사랑, 순종, 그리고 상실| A Candid Conversation — The One with Dr. Ikechukwu Okoro | Episode 20 (2025)

Mo! Sibyl, PhD ~ 모 미영

Jun 16, 2025

“I come from a family of five children. My dad lived outside the country; he visited once a year. Growing up, you understood that this was a sacrifice for everyone’s betterment. Being the fourth child and third boy, I always felt I was the one who was dispensable. When I was naughty, my mom would say, ‘I have three other sons; I’m not counting on you.’ It registered that nobody was giving me handouts. I wasn’t needed, per se. I had to work hard, stand out, and be the good boy. She’d tease, ‘If it were slave trade times, I’d have sold you.’” — Dr. Okoro (2025)

BLOG POST

It’s always a delight when I bring close friends to the podcast, and in this episode, I’m joined by a dear friend of 15 years, Aikay — Dr. Ikechukwu Okoro. I met Aikay during my NYSC days in Ibadan. It’s not every day you find a fellow corps member who shares your love for the satirical madness of Family Guy, so we bonded instantly. Our connection deepened through countless intelligent conversations.

These days, Aikay goes by Dr. Ikechukwu Okoro to his patients — he’s a practicing physician in the UK. One thing about him: you can always count on him to wear his mind out in the open. He calls himself a “common sense advocate” and a self-proclaimed human rights activist. His opinions aren’t just sharp — they’re so pointed, they can make you laugh, gasp, or block him. Sometimes, all three at once. Trust me, you’ll need more than a stethoscope to keep up with him.

The Making of a Vocal Man

Aikay grew up in a family of five children — four boys and a girl. He was the third son and fourth child overall. His father lived outside the country for most of Aikay’s life, visiting only once a year. The rest of the family would occasionally visit as well. However, as he put it, “The family structure is not exactly the same when everyone is not around.” Still, they all understood that his father’s absence was a sacrifice made for the greater good of the family.

Aikay described feeling like the expendable one among his siblings. His position in the family and the way he was spoken to reinforced that idea. “I always felt like I was the one who could be done without,” he admitted. His mother’s teasing remarks, like “I have three other sons,” planted seeds of doubt early on. She would even joke that if he had lived during the time of the slave trade, she would have sold him. As a child, he believed it. Those jokes shaped how he saw himself — expendable and unneeded. That belief pushed him to work harder, to stand out, to be the “good boy,” and to earn his place.

As he grew older, he began to recognize how much he actually resembled his father, not just in appearance, but also in personality. They bonded in their own quiet, unique way. Sadly, Aikay lost his father last year.

I asked him next whether he had given up that deep-seated desire to be accepted, the need to prove he belonged. His answer was honest and insightful. He compared it to what happens when someone grows up poor and then suddenly has money. There’s often a phase of overcompensation, trying to buy everything you once lacked. Eventually, they find that it wasn’t as important as they thought.

After years of trying so hard to belong, he outgrew the desire entirely. He said it plainly: “I really don’t care about people’s opinion, per se, about me. I’ve seen that all my life.” And that’s why he’s so vocal today. His boldness, his bluntness, the way he says exactly what’s on his mind — it all comes from a long history of needing to be seen, until one day he decided he didn’t need permission anymore.

That’s Aikay. Unfiltered, unapologetic, and completely done trying to earn a seat at the table. “A whole lot of who I am today comes from the fact that I have been this person all my life. And at this point, I really don’t care… I can say everything I want.” And he does.

Choosing Medicine and Honoring Legacy

One of the most powerful parts of my conversation with Aikay was hearing the story behind why he chose to study medicine, even though, as he openly confessed, he doesn’t have a “medical bone” or “scientific bone” in his body. Aikay is, at heart, an artist. He draws professionally, and he’s also a writer. His world is firmly rooted in the arts. So, how did someone so deeply passionate about creativity end up in the medical field?

It all traces back to his father, a man Aikay described with a reverent mix of admiration and disbelief. Aikay’s dad saw what many people couldn’t at the time: that Nigeria’s future might not unfold as optimistically as hoped in the wake of its democratic rebirth. Despite no early signs of crisis, his father foresaw instability and urged Aikay to pursue medicine, not to stifle his dreams, but to secure a stable foundation in case those dreams didn’t pay off. “Medicine doesn’t stop you from doing whatever you want to do,” his dad had said. “Have something to fall back on.” Aikay resisted at first, assuming it was just a matter of paternal insistence. But in hindsight, he admits, “I’m glad I took that advice.”

That advice is even more poignant when you consider the incredible story of his father’s own journey. This man never attended secondary school — never saw the four walls of one. He grew up in a mud house, lost his father early, and was sent to Lagos to serve as a houseboy. There, without formal schooling, he taught himself to read and write by using the textbooks of the children he served. He eventually took a typing correspondence course, became one of the typists on Allen Avenue, and began supporting his family.

What triggered his decision to go back to school was a moment of provocation. A relative he was sponsoring for school questioned his own educational sacrifice. That stung — and sparked something. Aikay’s father, already in late adolescence, took up A-levels without any prior formal education. From there, he eventually left for the UK and studied medicine.

I was floored. “Who was this man, Aikay?” I asked aloud. It doesn’t sound real? Studying medicine without a secondary school education?

But the story didn’t end there. Aikay’s mother was just as formidable. At a time when she held a master’s degree and a good job in the ministry, she chose to leave it all behind so the family could keep their university quarters when Aikay’s dad left for further studies abroad. She took the fastest job she could, teaching at a staff school. After, she launched into a multi-pronged hustle. At the same time, she ran a poultry, bakery, restaurant, grocery store, and a tailoring business — while raising four toddlers. She would sew at night, as a Nigerian tailor, she tried to meet up with her clients’ demands, all while managing the home and finances. Every naira she made went to keeping the household running and supporting her husband’s education abroad.The respect Aikay’s father had for his mother was immense. And rightly so. “You don’t see this kind of thing anymore,” Aikay reflected. He’s probably right.

The Shift That Living Abroad Sparked in Him

One of the most unexpected takeaways from this conversation with Aikay was how living abroad reshaped his sense of empathy. It wasn’t that he never had it, but now he had seen things from a different perspective, and he explained. His experiences led him to rethink the entire framework of judgment we often use on others, especially when we say things like, “If I were you, I would have done this.”

According to Aikay, that’s a flawed way of thinking. He shared a personal theory — that if you were truly in someone else’s shoes, you would have their biology, experiences, height, complexion, trauma, joy, adrenaline levels, and even name, then you would do exactly what they did. This means you cannot actually be in someone’s shoes. It also means that the things that happen to us are not solely dependent on our choices; there are factors out of our control. He used to think he was invincible; if he was put in any situation, he would be able to overcome it by making the right choices. Now he understands that it’s not all about what we can do; sometimes in life, even when we don’t understand, life just happens.

He backed this up with a striking story. A friend once said he’d happily go to prison for 10 years in exchange for 10 billion Naira. Aikay used that as a launchpad to explain how, instead of complaining endlessly about Nigeria, someone could “disappear” for 10 years and build a medical career. In theory, it sounded airtight — study hard, get into a local medical school, grind for six years, ace your USMLE, move to the U.S., get matched into residency, and within ten years, you could be earning around $350,000 a year. It’s not 10 billion, but it’s still life-changing.

But then his friend reminded him that not everyone processes information the same way. Not everyone can “just pick up a book” and excel. Some people read for hours and still struggle to grasp the material. It was a wake-up call for Aikay. His mental model had been shaped by hard work as the ultimate virtue; he’d grown up seeing it from his dad constantly. But now, he realizes there are layers beneath the surface: psychological, psychiatric, and behavioral hurdles people face, often silently. We assume people are fine because they blend in, but that assumption can be dangerously superficial.

As he reflected on his return visits to Nigeria, it became clear: success often isn’t just about what you did or didn’t do. There’s a divine mystery in how paths unfold. Sometimes, we’re just beneficiaries of someone else’s labor, privilege, or timing. Acknowledging that doesn’t negate hard work; it just puts it in context.

Detours and Survival: How Aikay Ended Up in the Emergency Room

I remember Aikay being a pediatrician, so it was a surprise to learn that he now works in the emergency room. Does he like it there? No. Did he like pediatrics? No. Does he even like medicine? No. So, how did he end up in the emergency room? Here’s how it went.

As we’ve learned, medicine was something he fell into through a series of practical decisions. Aikay had to take several rounds of Nigeria’s postgraduate medical exams called the “primaries.” He first sat for the family medicine exam. After being rejected from all the limited programs available at the time, he tried community medicine, hoping it would be easier — it wasn’t. Still no success. Eventually, a job opened up in a pediatric hospital in Port Harcourt. People usually avoid pediatrics because it is considered a high-risk field. Aikay took it because he needed work. His boss there was kind, the kids were cute, and when asked if he’d consider pediatric residency, he said, “Eh, okay.”

He went on to pass his third set of primaries, this time in pediatrics, and was accepted into the first two interviews he attended. He chose one, started his residency, and that was it. Not because he dreamed of working with children, but because it was a means to an end.

But the grind in Nigeria soon became unsustainable. Resident doctors earned an average of ₦350,000 per month (approximately $230), which had to cover the cost of commuting to work, rent, car maintenance, and living expenses. It’s not a lot. He was being told to “get married,” to “move forward,” but how could he, when he was spending almost 20% of his income a month just on fuel? “I had to survive first before I start attaching titles,” he told me. The math wasn’t mathing.

That’s when Saudi Arabia came into the picture. A wave of Nigerian doctors was heading there, so Aikay followed. It was tough. He knew just enough Arabic to say “As-salamu alaykum,” and that was about it. Patients didn’t speak English. Initially, he wasn’t even seeing patients; instead, he rode in ambulances, helping transfer intubated patients from one hospital to another. Eventually, he picked up just enough medical Arabic to get by, but the cultural gap remained wide.

Still, Saudi surprised him. He expected a cold, rigid place, based on what he’d read online, but instead found some of the kindest people he’d ever met. That same shock came earlier in his life during the NYSC when he was posted to Ibadan. As an easterner, he was taught to be wary of Yoruba people. But what he found in Ibadan was a culture of humility, respect, and openness. To conclude his thoughts, he offers some unpopular advice. Many Nigerians don’t appreciate the NYSC and often don’t think it’s worth their time, but Aikay believes it’s very instrumental in experiencing different cultures firsthand, rather than through people’s word of mouth. “Go somewhere else; it might change your view of things,” he says nicely.

Accountability Isn’t Chauvinism — It’s Love

This part of the conversation is going to spark a mix of reactions. I teased my guest, Aikay, about the perception many have of him being chauvinistic. We’ve certainly sparred over this topic more than once, and I wasn’t going to let him off easy. But Aikay, as always, met the moment with a challenge: define chauvinism. What does it actually mean?

Pulling an Uno Reverse, I asked him what he thought people misunderstood about his stance on women, and his answer was clear: he believes in holding everyone accountable — equally. And for that, he claims, he’s often mislabeled. In fact, he went as far as saying he considers himself “one of the very few true feminists that exist in the world today,” by his definition of feminism, justice, fairness, equity, and accountability across the board.

To him, letting something slide just to avoid being called a chauvinist isn’t love — it’s negligence. He anchored his reasoning in scripture, referencing 1 Corinthians 13. Love, he said, is patient, kind, and does not rejoice in wrongdoing. So when he sees someone doing something he believes is wrong, like dressing inappropriately for a given occasion, he speaks up. Not because he wants to police people, but because, in his view, accountability is an expression of love.

One example he gave that made us both laugh (but also stirred the pot) was his “house help test” for defining indecent dressing. According to him, if a 22-year-old voluptuous house help wore something revealing in front of a woman’s husband, that woman would likely call it inappropriate. But when it’s that same woman dressing in a similar way, she justifies it as “my body, my choice.” Aikay’s point was that deep down, we often know what’s inappropriate; we just choose when and how to acknowledge it, depending on who’s involved.

Even with such strong views, I still feel safe around him. He’s someone I know would fight for my rights and protect me if it came down to it, despite our differences.

Ambition, Marriage, and Mutual Understanding

Now, the spark that made me bring Aikay on the podcast was a particular post I shared online that really triggered him. The post said, “There are many women who would love to sit at home and do nothing. Brothers, marry those women and leave ambitious women alone.” It went on to say that some women have a calling from God outside of marriage and that husbands who stifle their wives’ growth would answer to God for hindering His work.

Aikay boldly disagreed with this. Of course, on face value this seems very chauvinistic. But he went on to explain, and I started to understand. For him, the problem started right at the first slide. To him, it implied that women who stay at home lack ambition. He illustrated his point with a metaphor: “If you don’t like taking siestas at noon, don’t marry someone who takes siestas. Don’t call us who take siestas lazy.” His issue was the false equivalence. Staying at home doesn’t mean lacking drive. Homemaking, he argued, is an ambition for some women, and it’s unfair to frame them as less-than simply because their goals don’t align with mainstream career pursuits.

His second point was about the structure of marriage. Yes, marriage should bring out the best in both parties. But, he emphasized, it should function as a single, synchronized unit. If one person’s ambition — no matter how noble — starts to fracture that unity, then something’s gone wrong. Agree or not, Aikay brought clarity and conviction to a topic that’s often muddied by extremes.

Circling back to my original question, while I understood Aikay’s perception in a general sense, I had to offer a counterperspective, highlighting how tradition can sometimes become a trap.

For example, marrying a woman with vision and then trying to “clip her wings” in the name of structural submission. That this isn’t mutual decision-making, even referencing the Proverbs 31 woman from the Bible, who was both business-savvy and family-oriented. Ambition isn’t unbiblical; it’s misalignment and ego that cause disturbance. I believe the author of the post was likely speaking to men who marry ambitious women, knowing they’re “destined for greatness,” but then try to derail them due to their own discomfort in leadership.

Aikay initially had an issue with the word “ambition,” preferring “white-collar career path.” He emphasized that anyone can have ambition regardless of their career. Still, I argue that this post was targeted at a specific set of men — the ones who try to subdue their wives solely based on their egos.

Aikay’s perspective, however, is just as relevant. He argued that while men with those ego issues exist, there still has to be an understanding of not letting ambition ruin the family unit. During our conversation, he referenced a strategy that ChatGPT generated to destroy the world. One of the strategies it suggested was destroying the family unit. “I’ll weaken families. I’ll subtly erode the value of strong family units, stable relationships, and mentorship.” While ambition is something worth celebrating, he said, if something you’re doing is detrimental to the family unit, then it’s wrong.

We then shifted to the crucial aspect of pre-marital understanding. Aikay stressed that nobody becomes ambitious in marriage. An ambitious woman, he pointed out, was likely ambitious from her school days — a class prefect, a school prefect, active in university societies. This ambition is visible long before marriage. So, a man who marries her should have dated her long enough to know this about her.

After a long debate (and we spent a lot of time on this), we agreed it’s on a case-by-case basis. Sometimes it genuinely affects the family, but other times it stems from competition, an inferiority complex, ego, or even insecurities, like a husband being uncomfortable with his wife getting admiration at work. He proudly shared that he is a huge supporter and “cheerleader” for his wife, a medical doctor who was the best graduate student in her class. “Why?” He asks, “Because it is to the glory of the entire unit.”

In addition to this, sometimes new, unforeseen issues arise, like a child with special needs, then adjustments may be necessary. But springing up new “passions” that disrupt agreed-upon family plans is not ideal.

Ultimately, our conversation circled back to the importance of transparent communication and mutual understanding before and during marriage. It’s about agreeing on shared goals and supporting each other’s aspirations, without allowing ego or unforeseen expectations to derail what was once a clear path, while also making sure the family is growing together.

Let Your Body Grieve

Despite all the fun, we didn’t drift too much from this month’s theme: fathers. Aikay lost his dad recently and I was curious to know what he had learnt about grief since that time. “There is no formula,” Aikay said plainly. “Just grieve.” Whether it’s crying, isolating, or taking time to yourself, grief should be met with support, not shame. He made it clear that grieving looks different for everyone, and that difference should be honored. There’s no weakness in expressing it. “Men grieve too,” he added. “Men are more emotional than people would want to believe.”

He described how people cope in various ways: some become rebellious at work, some withdraw, and some cry constantly. Others swing to the other extreme — appearing overly cheerful, drinking, or distracting themselves in vague, unhealthy ways. His advice? Don’t repress it, but don’t turn to anything destructive either. “Just let it go. Pray about it, be open, and let your body handle it.”

Aikay gave an analogy that made perfect sense. He compared it to pregnancy — how each woman experiences it differently, with unique signs, timings, and rhythms. That’s how grief is. “However it is, your body… whatever it is at that point in time, you want to let it.” Discipline has its place when you’re training your body away from indulgence. But not during grief. “Grief is not one of the times you train your body. Grief is one of the times you let your body be.”

So if you want to cry, cry. If you want to sleep, sleep. If all your body knows to do is be still in sadness, allow it.

A Final Goodbye, Without Regret

Then came one of the most moving parts of our talk. I asked Aikay what he would say if he had one more conversation with his dad. Fortunately, his response was, “I said it to him. That’s why I was happy.”

Just weeks before his dad passed, they had a chance meeting in Lagos. Aikay had delayed his trip just to ensure they’d see each other. It turned out to be the last time. His father asked him to come over, prayed over him, and poured a whole bottle of anointing oil on him. “I didn’t know that was the last time we were going to see,” Aikay said.

Back in his hotel room, his dad began reflecting with a sense of unfinished business, regretful, wondering what he could have done better. But Aikay wouldn’t let him sit in that. He told him, “You are the best. Nobody has done it like you.” It was the most emotional moment they had ever shared. “You couldn’t have done it any better. You did a good job.”

He reminded his father of the fruit of his labor: three kids doing well — one in the U.S., two in the U.K. “There are so many parents that will look at our family structure and this is their dream,” he told him. “You have achieved things that most people wouldn’t achieve coming from where you came from.” His dad had raised righteous children, made massive sacrifices, lived a fulfilled life, and was respected and loved.

“If you die today, you died a great man,” Aikay told him. “You’ve done it all.”

He tried to get his dad to stop worrying about doing more. “No, relax,” he said. “This is the time we come and take care of you.” After they prayed, his father poured out the remaining oil. Aikay left with it still on him. They continued talking until his dad passed away not too long after. He was 76.

“Don’t Rush It”: Advice for Young Men Navigating Manhood

I couldn’t leave without getting some advice from Aikay for the younger generation. Especially men trying to be good sons, good fathers, or simply good humans. In response, he sings, “Father knows best.” And while we both acknowledged that not everyone has a present or loving father in their life, his point was clear: find someone who can pour wisdom into you. Find a voice of reason you can trust.

He didn’t shy away from acknowledging the mental strain many young people carry today. He’s seen 16-year-olds battling depression and feeling overwhelmed by life, weighed down by expectations and uncertainty. His advice was simple, yet so necessary in a world that often glamorizes fast living: “Don’t be in a rush.”

Aikay emphasized the importance of avoiding irreversible mistakes. He spoke candidly about how some people, including himself, didn’t always make the best choices. “We were just lucky,” he admitted. Things could have easily gone another way, not because of superior decision-making, but sometimes due to sheer grace.

So take your time. Let life unfold. And while you do, there are a few values Aikay believes every young man should prioritize: love for God, love for family, a genuine appreciation for education, respect for humanity, and love for yourself.

He was especially passionate about challenging the idea that “education is a scam.” It’s a narrative gaining traction, and one he finds deeply troubling. In its place, some are turning to shortcuts — fraud, OnlyFans, and other quick fixes that strip away dignity and depth. Education, he insists, is still foundational.

And finally, he circled back to the importance of self-love. If you truly love and respect yourself, you’ll respect others. That’s how you become a better man in this complicated, fast-moving world — not by racing ahead, but by staying grounded in the values that build character over time.

A Father’s Hope and the Power of Honest Conversations

As we wrapped up the episode, I asked Aikay a question I love to ask parents: If your children were to listen to this 20 years from now, what would you want them to hear about you? His answer was simple and heartfelt: “That I did good, and they were proud of me.” When I asked him to unpack what “good” meant, he said he hoped his kids would genuinely say, “We love you,” not just out of duty or habit, but because they meant it, and he could see it in their eyes. That alone, he said, would make him a happy man.

And then, in true podcast fashion, I slipped in one final question: What part of today’s conversation surprised you the most? He laughed and said it was the fact that we actually agreed on something. As someone who knows him well — and who knows how opinionated we both are — I had to agree, even though it took us 20 minutes. But it wasn’t about reaching consensus for its own sake. It was a moment of reflection for me, too. Having this conversation with someone who’s known me for 15 years gave me the chance to hear my own values out loud, to test whether they still held water. And to bring them back to Scripture — the objective standard that, for me as a Christian, ultimately matters most.

I also asked him what’s changed about me over the last 15 years, and his answer made me smile. He said not much had changed, this is exactly where he always knew I’d be. That I’d never settle for less than what I had envisioned. He admitted he was a bit surprised at how liberal I’d become, or at least how people-centered I am. And then he said something I’ll never forget — he made a cheeky comment about me being an African woman who speaks Korean and has a white child. It made us both laugh, but the admiration in his tone was clear: that’s who you are. Only you can make it seem so normal, and I admire that so much.”

He reminded me that conversations like these are rarely tidy — but they’re rich, they’re necessary, and they stretch us. And yes, friendship can survive differences, distances, and time.

So if you haven’t listened to the full episode yet, do yourself a favor — go listen. It’s a tribute to the dads we’ve had, the ones we’ve lost, and the fathers we hope to be. Whether you’re grieving, reflecting, or figuring it all out, this one’s for you.

🅻🅸🅽🅺🆂:

Listen: https://mosibyl.podbean.com/e/aikay2025/
Download: https://mcdn.podbean.com/mf/web/kjfe9sfecpxiu332/AIKAY2025.mp3
Or on the website: www.mosibyl.com

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Musings {by Mo}

On Belonging and Advocacy: For Ourselves and Our Children

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내면의 리더| The One with Dr. Brandon Jennings | Episode 23 (2025)

BLOG POST

The Drive to Be Better: Where It All Began

Redefining Competition: A Tool for Growth, Not a Dirty Word

Redefining Masculinity from the Inside Out

Learning by Example: The Role of Influence, Delegation, and Empowerment

From the Classroom to Leadership

No Wasted Steps: How Education Shapes the Journey, Not Just the Destination

Following Amy: How One Mentor Shaped a Career and a Philosophy of Leadership

The Framework That Changed Everything: Why the Five Voices Stuck

Why Feelings Aren’t the F-Word

When the Lightbulb Turns On

Start with Self

Voices Are the Equalizer

A Tribute to Brandon

Fatherhood and the Unexpected Gift of Humility

Marriage, Parenting, and the Work That Shows Up at Home

Leadership, Therapy, and the Work of Becoming

Abilyn: Built with Heart

To all the fathers and father figures listening: Happy Father’s Day. You matter more than you know.

Becoming Dad

아버지란 존재의 의미|Healing the Boy, Raising the Man — The One with Mr. Chris Chime | Episode 22 (2025)

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The Blueprint I Inherited: How My Mother Shaped the Father I Am Today

Real Fatherhood: Presence, Partnership, and Breaking the Cycle

Finding Wholeness in Community

Raising Whole Children Between Two Worlds

Parenting with Patience, Presence, and Precision

What We Keep & What We Unlearn

More on Cultivating Meaningful Connections With His Kids

Drawing the Line: Choosing Your Spouse Without Disrespecting Your Roots

When Love Means Drawing the Line

Returning to the Basics: Family First, Always

Reflections of a Grateful Adoptee

연결된 이야기| On Family, Business & Legacy — The One with Sam White| Episode 21 (2025)

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Chosen Love and a Life of Warmth

Creating Belonging Through Culture and Curiosity

When Fatherhood Reawakens Adoption Grief

The “Why Me?” Question

The First Months of Fatherhood

What I Wish More People Knew About Adoptees

Wearing Many Hats: From MC to Purpose-Driven Investor

Building With Purpose: Where Creativity Meets Community Impact

Wealth as a Calling: Starting Early, Staying Anchored

The Mentorship That Found Me — Through Pickleball

The Flight That Changed Everything

Travel, Culture, and the Legacy We Leave

Rooted in Story, Anchored in Purpose

Fatherhood, Feminism, and Faith

사랑, 순종, 그리고 상실| A Candid Conversation — The One with Dr. Ikechukwu Okoro | Episode 20 (2025)

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The Making of a Vocal Man

Choosing Medicine and Honoring Legacy

The Shift That Living Abroad Sparked in Him

Detours and Survival: How Aikay Ended Up in the Emergency Room

Accountability Isn’t Chauvinism — It’s Love

Ambition, Marriage, and Mutual Understanding

Let Your Body Grieve

A Final Goodbye, Without Regret

“Don’t Rush It”: Advice for Young Men Navigating Manhood

A Father’s Hope and the Power of Honest Conversations