It all started from the corner of my tiny living room, one wooden table, one loyal hand mixer, and a dream that didn’t even know what it could become yet. Morning after morning, sunlight would fall on that corner as if reminding me, “Start again.” And I always did.
ToluwahCakes didn’t begin in a shop or a planned workspace. It began beside my sofa in my living room, with bowls stacked on the floor, sugar stored in small containers, and my hand mixer humming loudly as if it had its own heartbeat.
Those early days were simple but full of meaning. My fingers would ache from holding the mixer, yet the smell of vanilla and fresh butter made everything feel worthwhile. Neighbors, church members, and friends were my first customers, people who didn’t just buy cakes, but believed in my effort.
As orders grew, that little corner became busier than the whole room. Flour coated the floor permanently. My table creaked under the weight of bowls, trays, and hope. Sometimes the hand mixer got so hot I would place it on the table and pray it didn’t finally give up on me, but it finally did.
But that corner was more than a workspace. It was where I cried from stress. Where I prayed for strength. Where I celebrated small wins. And where I discovered how far passion can take someone who refuses to give up.
When business improved, people kept asking, “When are you moving to a shop?” I would laugh and say, “Soon,” even though the thought scared me. I wanted growth, but I never thought about how emotional it would feel to leave the place where everything began.
Eventually, I found a bigger space, a real shop. Bright, open, and full of possibilities. I painted it, cleaned it, built shelves, and proudly wrote the name “ToluwahCakes” on the wall. For the first time, the dream felt official. Like something that had grown legs.
But even after all the preparation, I still hadn’t arranged my tools and ingredients. Maybe because a part of me wasn’t ready. Maybe because stepping into a new beginning is exciting… but closing the chapter behind it is emotional.
The night before I planned to move fully into the shop, I went back to that familiar corner in my living room. I sat down quietly, letting memories fill the space around me.
That corner had carried me. It had given me room to grow. It had seen my worst days and my proudest days.
Leaving it felt like leaving a piece of my history behind.
And that was when the truth finally settled in my heart:
Every new beginning comes from another beginning’s end. And sometimes, endings feel heavier than expected.
The next morning, before heading to the shop to arrange my tools and ingredients, I stood in front of that corner one last time.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Not because I was leaving a part of myself there… but because that little corner built the version of me who was now ready for something bigger.
When I locked the door and walked out, I carried the memory with me. And when I stepped into the new shop, with its clean walls, fresh paint, and empty shelves waiting for my tools, I finally smiled.
