We all have parts of ourselves that we fight with—habits, thoughts, and impulses that we've clung to for so long that they feel like home, even when they cause more harm than good. Some of us struggle with self-esteem, perfectionism, and the need to please. But for me, it has always been defensiveness.

And I named mine Kovu. Sounds creepy, but it is what is.

This is a love letter to the part of me that fought to protect me even when I didn't need it. A part of myself that stood guard when I felt vulnerable, but in doing so, built walls that kept me stranded. Many of us have our own Kovu—our internal defense mechanisms, our ways of shielding ourselves from the outside world. Well, this is mine. 

My Dearest Kovu,

It's funny how I've given you a name, given how much you've urged me over the years. But, to be fair, you've been a constant in my life and it feels only right to properly acknowledge you. You are the shadow I can never quite shake, the voice I hear before I speak. You are my ever-present shadow, my self-appointed lawyer, my quick-witted guardian, and my relentless friend.

I have loved you. Fiercely, without question, without pause. I've held you close like armor, allowing you to wrap yourself around me and whisper sweet nothings in my ear. I've needed, sought, and relied on you when the world felt too sharp, when words felt like knives, and the slightest criticism sent a tremble through my body. You protected me from feeling small and weak. Whenever someone questioned me—my decisions, my abilities, my value—you were there, ready to attack before I felt the sting.

And yet, Kovu, I wonder if you have loved me back. Or have you merely enjoyed the fight?

I think back to when I first started working at the bank, a place where you had to do everything correctly all the time. I recall walking into the office feeling like I had to prove myself before anyone gave me a cause to. I recall your gentle hold on my shoulders, already whispering to me that I needed to be careful. That every word, every look, every small comment was something to decipher and plan for. I convinced myself I was being observed, judged, and scrutinized. And since I believed in it, I felt it.

Every conversation with my colleagues felt like a quiet fight, every piece of feedback felt like an accusation, and every innocent joke felt like a jab. Their ideas were not intended to help me improve; rather, they were intended to tear me down and highlight my shortcomings. And you, my dearest Kovu, would not stand for that. You told me to be prepared. To defend myself. To never let my guard down. And so I did. I spoke too quickly, prepared explanations before I was even asked to explain, and braced myself before the words arrived. I was so intent on not making a mistake that I never considered whether I was stopping myself from being better.

And that, I think, is your cruelest trick—you made me believe I was strong when, in reality, I was a scaredy-cat. But I won’t also deny the safety u wrapped me with, and that my love, made me impossible to reach. 

And I let you. Oh, how I let you. Because the thought of standing there, unprotected, defenseless, and exposed—horrified me. I believed that if I admitted my mistakes and allowed someone to correct me without a fight, I would crumble. That they would see me as weak, that I would shrink into nothingness.

But now, Kovu, I'm wondering whether I've merely been shrinking beneath you.

You've held me so tight that I've forgotten what it's like to be soft. To allow someone to finish their sentence without my heart racing and tongue already crafting a retort. To hear, "You could have done this better," without feeling as if I'm being told, "You are not enough." You made every moment feel like a battle, even when no one else was fighting. I've let you protect me, stand in front of me, and speak on my behalf.

But what if I told you, I didn’t need protecting? 

And although I love you. I feel like, I have no idea who I am without you. And that Kovu, makes me tired. 

What if my colleagues weren't judging me as harshly as I assumed? What if they weren't looking for my shortcomings, but simply trying to help? What if all of the time I spent creating my defenses, preparing my reasons, bracing for impact—what if all of them were unnecessary?

I am so tired of feeling like I have to defend my every move. I am tired of pushing away hands that were only trying to guide me. I am tired of turning simple moments into something bigger, heavier, and unnecessary. I am weary of thinking that being wrong equates to being unworthy.

Now, Kovu, can you see what you've done to me?

You've made me so terrified of being misunderstood that I haven't given anyone the chance to understand me. You've made me so terrified of being seen as weak that I've shut myself off from the teachings that may have made me stronger. You have turned conversations into battlegrounds, turned advice into criticism, and innocent words into weapons.

And the worst part?

You have convinced me that I am nothing without you.

That without you, I'll be defenseless, lost, and vulnerable. I won't know how to respond if someone questions me. That I will crumble if someone challenges me. That I will shrink, weaken, and break easily.

But I refuse to believe that any longer.

I don't want to live this any longer, always on edge and ready to fight. I don't want to assume the worst in people and alienate those who are merely trying to help. I don't want to lose connections because I'm too busy protecting myself from phantom wounds.

I want to listen. I want to hear what others are saying without feeling the need to defend myself before they've even finished speaking. I want to deal with criticism without tearing myself apart. I want to be able to say, "You're correct." I could have done it better without feeling as though I had lost something.

But, Kovu, I need space to do that.

I am not saying goodbye to you. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. I know there will be times when I will need you when you will be the voice that tells me to stand my ground and not allow anyone to take advantage of me. I understand that you are not entirely bad. You have a place. You have your moments.

You cannot, however, be my only voice.

You cannot be the first thing I hear in my head when someone challenges me. You cannot be the one who dominates every conversation, every disagreement, every moment of growth. You cannot be the only thing that protects me because sometimes, Kovu, you are not protecting me at all. Sometimes, you are just keeping me stuck.

So I am asking you—gently—to step aside. To allow me to try something fresh. To allow me to be wrong without coming apart. To allow me to accept feedback without feeling attacked. To allow me to learn without fear. 

Kovu, I do not hate you. I have no regrets about the years I spent with you. You've been a part of me for a long time, and perhaps you will always be. But I can't let you control my life anymore.

I am prepared to discover who I am without you in the driver's seat.

And maybe, just maybe, I will be fine.

With love,

Chiamaka Okafor.