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Nobody prepares you for the moment you realise you've become the backbone of people who never asked your permission to lean on you.
You didn't apply for the role. It just happened.
And somehow, you accepted it.
You're in your late 20s or 30s. You're still figuring yourself out.
You have debt. You have goals that are behind schedule. You have days where your own account balance makes you anxious.
But nobody knows that — because to them, you're the one who "has made it."
So the calls come.
Uncle needs school fees for the last born. Aunty's rent is due. A sibling needs something. A cousin is stranded.
And every time, you find a way — even when you don't know how — because the alternative is the guilt of having said no.
Nigeria does something to you.
It teaches you to carry weight silently.
To smile at the owambe on Saturday when you transferred your last savings on Friday.
To say "I'm fine" like it's a reflex, because vulnerability in this place can be used against you.
And relationships?
God.
You're trying to love somebody while you're emotionally exhausted from being everything to everyone else.
You're trying to be present, to be soft, to be open — but half of you is already spent before you even walk through the door.
Then there's the pressure from people who love you but don't see you.
"When are you getting married?"
"You're not getting younger."
"Your mates are already doing this and that."
As if you're not already doing the work of three people with the peace of none.
At some point, you stop explaining yourself.
Not because you're unbothered — but because you're tired of justifying your timeline to people who've never paid a single bill in your name.
Here's what I want someone to tell every Nigerian adult quietly grinding right now:
The fact that you're still standing — still sending, still giving, still trying — is not small.
In a country that offers very little softness, choosing to remain kind takes a particular kind of strength.
You are not behind.
You are not a failure.
You are a person carrying an enormous amount — most of which was never yours to carry — and still showing up anyway.
That deserves more credit than anyone around you will probably ever give.
So let me be the one to say it:
I see you. Rest when you can. You're doing well. 🤍
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