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Every week, 91���� spotlights the unfiltered stories of women navigating life, love, identity and everything in between. 

What She Said will give women the mic to speak freely, honestly and openly, without shame about sex, politics, family, survival, and everything else life throws our way. 

Being the in a Nigerian home comes with invisible scars. You’re expected to grow up before your time, hold the family together, and sacrifice your own dreams in the process. This week on What She Said, a 27-year-old woman shares how she refused to let that script define her. From shielding her siblings as a child to building a career that’s now taking her to Japan, she tells us why choosing herself first wasn’t selfish; it was survival.

What was growing up like for you?

My childhood wasn’t really a childhood. My house was like living inside a ticking time bomb. You don’t know when it’ll go off, but you know it will.

My father had an anger problem; anything could set him off. If the food isn’t salty enough, the generator isn’t starting, or even NEPA taking the light, you’ll hear him raise his voice, and everybody will panic because anything could come after that. 

My mother was quiet, but she absorbed everything. She endured and endured. Sometimes she’d shout back, but mostly she just… took it.

That left me, the first daughter, to pick up the pieces. My siblings were much younger then. Anytime a fight started, I’d gather them into my room, put on a film for them on our small DVD player, or tell them stories so they won’t focus on what was happening downstairs. At 10, I was already doing the job of a parent.

I don’t think people understand how heavy it is when you’re the first daughter in that kind of home. You grow up too fast. Your mates are outside playing ten-ten, and you’re inside trying to calculate if food will be left for dinner or how to keep your siblings from crying.

Do you remember the moment you got fed up?

Very clearly. I was about 15. One night, my dad was in one of his moods. I don’t even remember what started it, but I remember him breaking a chair in the sitting room. My brother was crying, and I just stood there thinking, “If I don’t leave this house, this man will kill us, maybe not physically, but inside.”

That day, I promised myself two things: I would leave, and I would find a way to bring my siblings with me whenever I could.

How did you plan to escape?

There was no plan exactly. I just took my studies very seriously. It was the only path I saw in front of me. I was the girl who always read with a torch when NEPA took light. My father didn’t believe in sending girls to university; he used to say, “After all this schooling, you will still end up in the kitchen.” My mother was too tired to fight him.

So it was on me. I threw myself into schoolwork, telling myself I’d get scholarships. I applied to everything. If there was one flyer pasted on a wall about bursaries, you’d see methere. Even when I knew I didn’t meet all the requirements, I’d still apply.

Eventually, I got lucky. A state government scholarship covered my tuition, and a foundation scholarship later helped me pay some bills. For pocket money, I hustled. I braided hair, sold clothes, and even did private lessons for kids around campus. It wasn’t glamorous, but it kept me afloat.

What She Said: He Raped Me and I Tried to Kill Myself Three Times

What was leaving home for uni like?

Ah. That one was bittersweet. On one hand, I finally breathed fresh air. For the first time in years, I could sleep through the night without someone shouting in the background. On the other hand, my siblings were still there, and that guilt nearly overwhelmed me.

During my first week in uni, I cried every night. I’d be in my hostel bunk, looking at my small rechargeable lantern, thinking, “You left them. You’re free now, but they’re still in it.”

But then, I reminded myself: “If you don’t make it, nobody makes it.” That became my mantra. If I failed, we’d all be trapped.

Did you ever feel resentment from your siblings because you left?

Yes, and it still comes up sometimes. They were young, so from their perspective, I “escaped” and left them to face the fire alone. Some of them even told me years later that they felt abandoned.

It used to break my heart. I wanted to shake them and say, “I didn’t leave you, I left for you!” But I’ve learned to stop taking it personally. Trauma affects people differently, and everyone processes it in their own way.

And your mum? What’s your relationship like now?

That one is complicated. I love her, but I also resent her. I know she was also a victim, but part of me still blames her for not leaving, for not protecting us better. For looking at me, a child, to do the shielding she couldn’t do.

Sometimes when we talk on the phone, I feel both love and anger in the same breath.

After uni, how did you find your footing?

By God’s grace and stubbornness, I got into a graduate trainee program in my final year. It was competitive — thousands applied, and they picked maybe 40. I still don’t know how I made it, but that job changed my life.

Straight out of uni, I had a steady income. My first salary? I cried. It wasn’t even much, but it felt like freedom. I sent money home immediately, paying my siblings’ fees, buying foodstuffs, and even helping with rent.

But if I’m being honest, it wasn’t just love pushing me; it was guilt. Whenever I sat in an air-conditioned office, I’d think of my siblings sweating in that same house I ran from. Every time I ate chicken, I’d remember nights when we shared one egg between three people. That guilt haunted me.

Did the guilt ever stop?

No. It still pricks me, but I’ve learned to balance it. Back then, I used to deprive myself of joy just so I could send more money. One day, my friend told me, “If you don’t enjoy this money, your siblings will finish it, and you’ll still be empty.” That one touched me.

Since then, I have allowed myself small joys: a new dress, a weekend trip, and takeout food. At first, it felt like the greatest sin. But now, it feels like living.

This month, we’re exploring a feature on the Rage of an Eldest Daughter. If you’re interested in sharing your experience, let us know . 

So how’s life now, at 27?

Sweet, peaceful. My house is my safe space. There’s no shouting and no fear. I work in tech now, and the money is good. I buy myself things my 15-year-old self would never have believed.

The biggest news is my transfer to our Japan office. When HR told me, I cried. It wasn’t just a career milestone; it was proof-proof that all the suffering, all the nights reading by torch, all the guilt-it wasn’t for nothing.

I’m happy for you. How are your siblings now?

Better. My sister is finishing NYSC, and my brother is in uni. I cover their fees, support them, and show up for them. Some of them are proud of me, some still have quiet resentment, but I don’t let it swallow me anymore. I know I’ve done my best.

If you could go back, would you still choose yourself first?

A thousand times, yes. I wouldn’t even be here talking to you if I didn’t. I’d probably still be stuck in that house, bitter, broken, angry at the world.

Choosing myself wasn’t selfish. It was survival. And now, finally, it’s freedom.

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