Morning Tea: The Untold Struggle Behind Every Triumph

By Omasanjuwa Ogharandukun

(Story concept inspired by Juliet Oghanrema)

The First Sip of Reality

“Nobody cares about your story until you win.”

That’s what my mentor once told me. At first, I thought it was just another motivational cliché cooked up for LinkedIn likes. But the words hit different that morning as I sipped my tea, the steam rising like smoke signals from the battlefield of my life.

It was 5:30 a.m. The world was asleep. The birds were on snooze. Even the neighbor’s noisy dog hadn’t started its morning sermon. But me? I was wide awake—armed with ambition, haunted by failure, and sipping tea like it was holy communion.

See, this wasn’t just tea. This was liquid courage. This was the fuel for battles that no one applauded, the quiet wars fought behind closed doors. And as I stared into that cup, I realized something: they’re right. Nobody cares about your struggle. People only gather when the victory is televised.

The Loneliness of the Climb

Let me tell you the truth nobody posts on Instagram: chasing a dream is lonelier than eating at a restaurant where the waiter removes the second chair before you even sit down.

The late nights. The early mornings. The constant whispers:

“Why does she even bother?”

“He’s been trying for years.”

“They’ll never make it.”

It’s easier for people to doubt you than to confront the fact that they gave up on themselves. Your focus becomes a mirror, and not everyone likes the reflection.

At one point, I realized I had become the neighborhood’s favorite punchline. I wasn’t the star; I was the blooper reel. The more I tried, the more people rolled their eyes.

And yet… I kept climbing. Because the view at the top? Worth it.

Wisdom Over Tea & Wrinkles

One evening, after life had thrown its usual left hook, I sat with my grandmother. She held my hands—hands that had seen more struggle than comfort—and she said something that rewired my spirit:

“Remaining where your enemies threw you would mean letting them have the last say in your life. And that’s too much power to give away.”

Boom. Just like that. A whole TED Talk in one sentence.

Grandmothers don’t waste words. They give you proverbs soaked in kerosene—set your soul on fire, make you move. That night, I realized something: staying down was not an option. If they threw me in the mud, I’d build a garden there.

The Joke’s on You

Here’s the hilarious part of chasing greatness: at first, they laugh at you. Then they avoid you. Then suddenly, when things start working, they want to “collaborate.”

I had friends who treated me like expired milk. “We love you, but don’t pour yourself into our glass.” They stopped picking my calls, ghosted my texts.

Then, when the fruits of my hustle started showing, guess who came knocking?

“Hey… long time, no see! Just thought we should catch up.”

Catch up? My friend, the only thing you need to catch up on is Netflix, because this train already left the station.

Struggle in Silence

Sarah, my coffee-drinking partner, once told me something brutal:

“A testimony is pointless if you haven’t triumphed yet. You end up sounding like a victim or a beggar. Better to shut up and keep shooting until you come out on the other side.”

And she was right. Nobody wants a motivational speaker who hasn’t paid their rent. Nobody wants to clap for “potential.” This world is allergic to process but addicted to results.

So, I stopped oversharing my pain. I stopped auditioning for sympathy. Instead, I worked in silence. My enemies couldn’t sabotage what they couldn’t see.

Life’s Comedy Show

You know what life does? It gives you problems you didn’t order. Like showing up at a restaurant, ordering water, and the waiter brings you a bill for champagne.

My mentor once told me:

“Sometimes life invites us to correct things we didn’t mess up, because the mess sits in our lives, and we want space to determine our own fate.”

And that’s the joke. Half the battles we fight aren’t even ours. We’re cleaning up generational messes. We’re sweeping floors we didn’t dirty. But if you don’t clean it, you trip on it.

So, I learned to face the mess. With broom in one hand, ambition in the other.

The Turning Point

Months passed. My silent grind began to shout. Small victories piled up. People who doubted me now asked questions with humble curiosity:

“How did you do it?”

That’s the sweetest revenge: when the same audience that booed you during rehearsal buys tickets for your performance.

I smiled, remembering the solitude, the self-doubt, the mockery. And I replied, “It wasn’t easy. But I kept going. I believed in myself when no one else did.”

Morning Tea Revisited

One morning, much like the first, I sat again with my tea. Only this time, the tea tasted different. Not because the brand had changed, but because I had changed.

The same steam that once symbolized struggle now symbolized triumph. The same dawn that once mocked me with silence now applauded me with possibility.

And as I sipped, I whispered:

“Nobody cares about your story until you win. But once you win, your story becomes an inspiration.”

Lessons for the Reader

Let me break this down for you, reader, the way Vusi would at a business seminar with a mic in one hand and a joke in the other:

Stop announcing your struggle. Work until your results do the talking.

Silence is a strategy. Not everyone deserves front-row seats to your grind.

Rejection is camouflage. People ignoring you now are simply disguising their future applause.

Adversity is gym equipment. Pain builds muscle; don’t quit the workout.

Triumph makes your story worth telling. Nobody reads an unfinished book.

Final Sip

So here I am, still drinking tea every morning. Still rising at ungodly hours. Still navigating silent battles. But now, I do it with a smile—because I know what’s coming.

My grandmother’s wisdom. My mentor’s sharp words. Sarah’s brutal honesty. They all converge into one truth:

Your struggle only matters after you’ve turned it into a story of victory. Until then, sip your tea, shut up, and keep working.