Following one of the most interesting girls’ trips I’ve ever encountered, I started writing a book. It wasn’t the kind of trip that ends in matching tattoos or Instagram reels — though there was music, wine, and laughter. This was something else entirely. Sacred. Soft. The kind of trip where truth began to loosen from the throat and spill gently across plates and pillow talk. We talked. Really talked. We talked over long lunches, twilight walks, shared desserts and secret smiles. Women began to share what they rarely do — the parts of themselves that sit in silence. Their Chapter Xs.
These were not glossy stories. They were human. Raw. Quietly powerful. Stories shared not for validation, but for connection — to remind us that we are not alone in the stories we hide. That the things we think will exile us from grace might be the very things that tether us to one another.

Until that trip, I often thought I was alone in mine. But now I know better. Even church girls have had one-night stands. And some of the most sexually liberated have been held hostage — emotionally, spiritually — by one man who gripped their entire hearts captive. Cruelly. Quietly. There are thirty-something-year-old virgins. There are also women who cannot conceive, falsely blamed for “ruining” their wombs with too many abortions — never mind that the procedures were forced, after being raped.
Some were raped by their husbands. Others, by trusted confidantes; whilst still some, unspeakably, by men organised by their husbands in acts of depravity twisted into obedience under the guise of “submission.”

You never know what someone has endured. You never know what they’re healing from. And yet — we judge. Take the recent scandal: the CEO and his Head of HR caught canoodling by a random kiss cam at a Coldplay concert.
Yes, the behaviour was condemnable. Of course.
But the glee with which society responded? That’s what broke me.
The memes.
The gleeful judgment.
The public stoning disguised as morality.
Some of the people laughing the loudest have skeletons too — they just haven’t been caught yet.
And because their skeletons are bronze, they feel justified in shaming someone whose skeleton happened to be gold. Public. Glittering. Headline-worthy.
But here’s the truth: All sin is sin. All shame is shame. All brokenness is brokenness. And the only ones we crucify are the ones who got caught. It’s not righteousness that fuels the outrage — it’s relief. Relief that someone else’s scandal is louder than ours. That our secrets stayed hidden. That our own Chapter X didn’t make the front page.

We have forgotten how to see people. We have forgotten that healing looks messy. That mistakes don’t make monsters — they make humans. That the line between grace and grief is paper-thin. This is why we need X-ray vision. Not the kind that exposes others, but the kind that protects your soul from becoming cruel. The intuition. The voice of God. That sacred nudge that says, “Be kind. You don’t know the whole story.” When you’ve lived enough, hurt enough, forgiven enough, your sight sharpens — and you start to see people differently. Not by their headlines, but by their humanity.

So this week, I want to offer you this:
We all have Chapter Xs. We all make the wrong turn at the worst time, and we do our best in the dark. We all carry regrets we pray never become viral content. We all have wounds that haven’t found the words yet. And that’s exactly why we need to love more — not less. If you must look at someone, let it be with your X-ray vision. The kind that sees pain under the performance.
The kind that sees trauma beneath the choices.

The kind that says, “If I had lived their life, I may have made the same decision.”
So here’s my gentle reminder, to you and to me: See clearly. Love deeply. Judge slowly. And let your #Unshakable truth be this:
There is grace even in the unknown. There is strength in your Chapter X.
And there is light in how you choose to see.
‘See’ you next week.

Sally Chiwuzie
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IG Handle: @unshakable.is.a.state.of.mind