A PUBLIC APOLOGY TO MY WIFE WITH SINCERE REFLECTION.

 

A PUBLIC APOLOGY TO MY WIFE WITH SINCERE REFLECTION.

It was not the first time I felt hurt, but yesterday, I allowed my pain to speak louder than my faith, my wounds to roar louder than wisdom, and my anger to run swifter than grace. I sat behind the screen and poured out venom on the woman who has stood by me in ways only Heaven can fully comprehend. And for that, I am deeply sorry.

My name is Ikechukwu Frank. I have lived with a spinal cord injury—C4C5—for the past eight years. It has been a journey marked by pain, patience, perseverance, and sometimes pride. But nothing prepared me for the emotional unraveling I experienced yesterday, where I used my blog—a platform meant for healing, insight, and hope—to lash out at the one person who has been my silent anchor through the storms.

I Lambasted My Wife—And I Was Wrong

I am writing today not to save face, but to bare my heart. I was wrong to have publicly lambasted my wife in my blog post. I let frustration drown my faith. Yes, pain can provoke, but it must never justify poison. "He that is slow to wrath is of great understanding: but he that is hasty of spirit exalteth folly" (Proverbs 14:29, KJV). I exalted folly by letting my haste become my voice.

Yes, my wife hurt me. Maybe in words, maybe in weariness. Maybe she sighed too long or didn’t answer fast enough when I called. But no matter the expression of her tiredness, what I did yesterday is inexcusable. It is said: “The one who washes your back should never be disgraced, even if they leave a spot.”

A Long Walk Through Eight Years of Pain and Sacrifice

Eight years. That’s how long this journey has been—of being confined, of learning to live without the mobility I once took for granted. But also eight years of someone else stepping in to do what my body no longer could. From birthing me daily through patience, to packing my puppy, brushing my teeth, and cleaning me up, my wife has served like Ruth in Boaz's field—quiet, consistent, and often unnoticed.

“Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing, and obtaineth favour of the Lord” (Proverbs 18:22, KJV). I did not just find a wife. I found a good thing—a woman who carried me when I was too broken to carry myself.

Remembering 2007—Her Dark Valley

I think back to 2007. She lost our baby during delivery. The joy we anticipated became sorrow. She was so sick she nearly died. I remember selling all I had to save her life. But I became weary. After seven months of care, I gave in and took her to her mother's place. I sent money. I visited when I could. I justified my weariness.

Now, I see clearer than ever—if I grew tired after just seven months of tending to her in her illness, who am I to judge her weariness after eight years of serving me faithfully, tirelessly, and often thanklessly? “Before you remove the speck from another’s eye, remove the log from yours.”

Eight years is no joke. It’s not a phase. It’s a marathon of emotion, sacrifice, and strength. I’m learning now that love isn't always loud. Sometimes it is silent, soaking pillows at night with tears nobody sees. Sometimes it is the woman who wakes up when I call—not because she isn’t exhausted—but because she chooses me again and again.

My Daughter Sleeps Deeply; My Wife Never Sleeps on Duty

My daughter is a deep sleeper. Most times when I called for help in the night, it was my wife who roused her, who ensured I wasn’t left groaning in the dark. Behind my every comfort has been her unnoticed labor. Behind my every strength has been her silent suffering. And yet, I chose to put her down publicly—for a moment of pain.

“Even if the chicken scratches at your yam, don’t cook it with the feathers still on.” I cooked her image in haste without first separating the pain from the reality. I know better now. And I say: My dear wife, I am sorry.

To My Pastored Members Who Saw My Flesh, Not My Faith

What added salt to the wound yesterday was the painful truth that most of those who advised and corrected me were people from my former church—the ones I pastored, mentored, and led. They did not know the private battles behind the pulpit. They didn’t know the secrets I kept, nor the sacrifices she made for me behind the scenes. But they saw my error—and they corrected me, not with judgment, but with love.

To all of you—especially my spiritual mother, the Kano Regional Mission Coordinator, and my dear brother Pastor Michael Ayemoba—thank you. You gave me counsel like Nathan did to David: not to condemn but to redeem. “Faithful are the wounds of a friend; but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful” (Proverbs 27:6, KJV). You wounded me with truth, and I am better for it.

Marriage Is Not a Contract—It Is a Covenant

I am learning that marriage is not about perfection, but perseverance. Not about fantasy, but faith. Not just about romance, but responsibility. What my wife and I share is not a mere contract to be fulfilled, but a covenant to be honored, especially in adversity.

“It is good for a man that he bear the yoke in his youth” (Lamentations 3:27, KJV). But what about the woman who bears the yoke of care in her youth, midlife, and beyond? She has borne my yoke as though it were her assignment from God—and perhaps it truly is.

There is a saying: “The one who bathes you in secret should not be shamed in public.” Yesterday, I broke that rule. Today, I make it right.

A Pledge for the Future: No More Public Dishonor

I have learned my lesson. No matter the emotions boiling in my heart, I must never again use my public platform to dishonor the private rock of my life. My words have weight. My voice has reach. And I must never use either to cast shame on the one who has clothed my shame for years.

“A wise man holdeth his peace: a fool uttereth all his mind” (Proverbs 29:11, KJV). Yesterday I was the fool. Today I choose to be wise.

To my dear wife: I will spend the rest of my life repaying you with respect, not regrets. With honor, not humiliation. With patience, not provocation. You are not perfect—but neither am I. And yet, in your imperfections, you have modeled to me the strength of a thousand saints.

To Men Like Me: Let This Be a Lesson

To all husbands—especially those confined by illness, injury, or hardship—learn from me. Do not bite the hand that bathes you. When frustration comes, speak to God, not the internet. Vent to Heaven, not on your wife. Remember her sacrifices. Count her labors. Honor her journey.

Even Christ, when hurt, did not revile in return. “Who, when he was reviled, reviled not again” (1 Peter 2:23, KJV). If our Lord could withhold judgment on the cross, we too must learn restraint in our moments of pain.

Closing Thoughts and Final Thank You

To my wife: thank you for eight years of unseen servanthood. For dressing me, feeding me, comforting me, carrying me when I could not carry myself. For waking up my daughter when I needed help. For being there even when I failed to see it.

To everyone who counseled me yesterday—especially my spiritual family and friends—thank you for not letting me sink into pride. You have helped me walk back into wisdom.

To those who read my words yesterday, please forgive me. What you saw was not a reflection of the godly man I strive to be. It was a moment of brokenness, not of belief. But this write-up is my restoration.

And finally, to every wounded heart reading this: “A soft answer turneth away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger” (Proverbs 15:1, KJV). May your words bring healing, not hurt.

I am sorry. I am learning. I will do better.