I spent an afternoon making Nigerian meat pies. I burnt a batch, ignored the recipe, cut corners on the cold butter — and accidentally held up a mirror to my entire life.
I have always loved Nigerian pies. But every time I tried to make them at home, something went wrong — especially the dough. I gave up more times than I can count. I tried buying from vendors, begging them to make it lighter, with more filling, more meat. Nobody ever got it quite right.
So one day I decided: let me just try. Properly. I found a YouTube tutorial, followed every single step, and — I could not believe it — it was perfect. That was my first win. I was so proud of myself.
Then I decided to double it.
Because that's what we do, isn't it? We get one win and immediately think: more. The first batch took so long, so the second time I doubled the ingredients, convinced that more effort would produce more reward.
Except I also left the butter out to soften — because cold butter had been hard to work with the first time. The recipe said cold butter. I thought: close enough. I was wrong. I burnt the first batch. The second and third came out okay, but nothing tasted like that first original one.
You cannot shortcut your way to the original result. The process exists for a reason — every single step of it.
— The lesson the pies taught me
And here is the part that really got me: I saw myself doing it. In real time. I watched myself skip the cold butter step, knowing full well what the recipe said, and I did it anyway. I rationalised it. I called it efficiency. But it wasn't. It was just fear of the hard thing.
The pie was just the mirror.
When my mind started telling me to give up — you're not consistent, someone else can do this better, just stop — I nearly listened. When I spoke it out to my husband hoping for encouragement and got "then don't do it again" instead, I nearly agreed.
But something had shifted in me. Because I've been doing the work on my mind. So instead of throwing the whole thing away, I caught the pattern. And I said to myself: I'll do it again next time.
That was new. That was growth.
But here's where it got really uncomfortable.
I started seeing the pie everywhere. In my business. In my decisions. In my life. I tried to scale from one-to-one coaching to group programmes before I had truly mastered the one-to-one. I got the support structure for the next level before I was genuinely solid at the current one. I built a big team before I had done the foundational work myself — things like showing up consistently on social media, creating content, being visible.
And now? The universe has stripped it back. I am back doing those exact things myself. Editing my own videos. Running my own social media. Learning — properly this time — the things I tried to hand off too soon.
It is not punishment. It is cold butter. The universe is handing it back and saying: do it properly this time.
The Life Lessons From One Afternoon of Baking
You cannot shortcut your way to the original result.
Cold butter is cold butter. Every step of the process matters — including the uncomfortable ones.
Doubling the effort without doubling the knowledge is just doubling the risk.
Scaling a shaky foundation doesn't give you more — it gives you a bigger mess.
Cutting corners is not efficiency. It's avoidance.
We rationalise it, we dress it up — but we're really just afraid of the hard thing.
When you rush the result, you rob yourself of the process.
The first pie was perfect because I was fully present. The second time, I had already left.
Your patterns don't hide. They just change costumes.
What shows up in your kitchen shows up in your business. Same person. Same habits.
Awareness is not enough. You have to act on what you see.
I watched myself cut corners in real time. The work now is closing the gap between knowing and doing.
Everything you want already exists — as a probability.
The destination is not the problem. It is already there, waiting. What blocks us is our refusal to trust the journey — so we rush, we skip steps, we double up before we're ready, and we create the very mess we were trying to avoid. Slowing down is not falling behind. It is the practice of allowing what is already yours to actually arrive.
Oh — and one more thing. My husband hated the burnt batch. My daughter preferred it to the lighter one. And I thought none of them tasted like that very first pie.
Same pie. Three completely different experiences. Which is also a lesson — but that one is for another day. 😄
The perfect pie already exists. It will exist again — when I decide to try, and go through the process.
— Not when the time is right. When I choose to begin.
Where in your life are you leaving the butter out?
Because everything you want is already here — as a possibility, as a probability, as a pie that is waiting to be made. The only question is whether you are willing to slow down, follow the process, and let it become real.
The universe is not withholding it from you. You are rushing past it.
I'm learning. Slowly. Gloriously. One pie at a time.
