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SERIES 8: SILENT STRENGTH  #TheUnseenStruggle They clap when I show up. They rejoice when I perform my duties. They praise me, when I produce. But what about the silent wins? The quiet efforts? The strength it takes just to keep going, When no one’s watching? Sometimes, I look around and wonder, Who would notice if I stopped? Who claps when I don't have it all together? When I’m not achieving, fixing, or saving the day? The truth is, I have become so used to being the one who claps for others, I forgot what it feels like to be celebrated without earning it. When I am the strong one, the dependable one, the background pillar holding up the room, I rarely get a spotlight. But I’ve had victories too. The kind i don’t post. The kind no one asks about. Like choosing to rest instead of breaking. Like forgiving myself. Like showing up with a soft heart after being hurt. Still, the applause is quiet. The room is silent. And it hurts sometimes. Not because I need the world to cheer, But bec...

SERIES 7: THE PRESSURE TO BE PERFECT #TheUnseenStruggle They said I was “the good one.” “The one who never disappoints.” “The example.” And without realizing it, I became trapped in a role I never auditioned for. Perfection wasn’t a choice. It was expected. And when you’re the first daughter, Without abiding by the roles often feels like failure. I learned early how to tuck away flaws. How to smile through pain. How to get it right, or not at all. Because mistakes meant, “You’re slipping.” Because failure meant, “You’re not who we thought you were.” So I chased perfect. In my grades. In my emotions. In how I showed up. Even when it broke me quietly. I’m praised for my composure, But no one sees the anxiety behind it. I’m told I’m responsible, But no one asks, if I’m exhausted. I’m admired for having it together, But they never notice the cracks I hide in silence. Because perfect girls don’t cry. Perfect daughters, don’t fall apart. Perfect sisters, don’t need space. I learned to shrink...

SERIES 6: COMMITMENT They say I’m guarded. I'm scared of love They ask, “Why are you still single?” They don't understand, I'm not just scared of love, I'm scared of losing myself inside it What they don’t know is, I’ve committed to people all my life. To my family. To responsibilities, I didn’t choose. To being dependable when I needed help too. Commitment for me has always looked like, Carrying more than my share, Silencing my voice to keep peace Becoming what others needed, Not who I truly was I’ve loved without being asked. I’ve poured without being filled. I’ve shown up for others when no one showed up for me. So now, when love looks at me, I hesitate. Not because I don’t want it But because I’m afraid it’ll be another place where I disappear to keep peace. Where I shrink again. Where I’ll give more than I receive. I've played parent, Fixer, Therapist  I've been responsible for everyone but myself  So when I imagine commiting to someone new, My heart whispe...

SERIES 5: The Loneliness They Don’t See #TheUnseenStruggle They say I’m never alone. Because I’m always needed. But being needed isn’t the same as being known. And being around people doesn’t mean i feel seen. I laugh with them. Support them. Fix what’s broken. Be the cheerleader, the big sister, the example. But deep down? There’s an ache. A silence that echoes after I hang up. A feeling that I’m there for everyone — but no one knows how to be there for me. No one sees the emptiness sitting beside me  I'm never really off duty Even in Joy, I'm calculating needs Even in silence, I'm carry thoughts for everyone else. I long for a safe space where I don't have to be wise, Or perfect. A person who doesn’t need me to be useful first. Someone who sees me not for what I do, but for who I am. Sometimes I just want to talk not solve. I want to be held not hold with expectations  I want to be heard not managed. But I don’t know how to ask. Because every time I try, it feels like...

SERIES 4: ALWAYS THE STRONG ONE They call me strong. And I smile. But they don’t see the shaking hands behind that smile. They don’t see the nights I pray for strength because even I, don't know how I’m still standing. They say, “i am the strong one,  i’ll be fine.” But what if I’m not fine? What if I’m tired of being the one who never crumbles? What if strength has become a silent sentence to hold it all together while falling apart inside? I hold space for others, check in on everyone, show up, speak peace, fix things. And when I break? Silence. Because no one expects the strong one to bleed. No one checks the foundation until it cracks. I am the one they call first The one who listens, fixes, prays, gives. The one who can’t afford to crash because if i fall, everything else might fall with me. So i keep going. Wiping tears while helping others dry theirs. Smiling through storms. Showing up even when you feel invisible. But inside, I’m exhausted. I’m screaming in places where my ...

SERIES 3: TRADED PURPOSE They said I was selfless. They called me reliable. They praised my strength.. But what they didn’t see Was the pile of dreams I folded. They didn’t mean to overlook it, But life happened… and I adjusted. Because they needed me. Because someone had to be responsible. Because being the first daughter meant I had to sacrifice. So, I put my dreams on hold. I wanted to study more  But I paused school. I wanted to travel — But I turned down the chance. I wanted to write that book — But I shelved my passion. I told myself, “One day.” And in between the one days and maybe laters, Life whispered, “Not now. They need you first.” So I pushed my dreams aside. I postponed growth. I took the job that helped everyone else survive. I poured out… Until I forgot what I even wanted. Not because I didn’t believe in my dreams. But because I was taught that duty comes before desire. I celebrate others… while grieving my own delay. I clap for them… while wondering when it’ll be m...

SERIES 2: THE UNVOICED WEIGHT They never told me. There was no announcement. No one asked, “Are you ready?” It just happened. From the moment I arrived, I started carrying the weight. Not physical weight—but invisible ones: Unseen expectations. Unspoken assignments. Silent responsibilities. Emotionally. Mentally. Spiritually. I’ve learned to sacrifice... quietly. To say, “I’m fine” even when I’m not. To become the unofficial parent. The fixer. The example. The listener. The one they lean on. Even when I’m collapsing inside. I was never allowed to fall apart. I learned in silence that my feelings could wait. So I carried it all: Every “please help me” answered, While guilty for every “No” I whispered. Every unvoiced request, I saw it. I felt it. I fixed it. I carried family secrets in my chest like sacred trust. I solved problems I didn’t cause. And I wore responsibility like it was stitched into my identity. Like an armor but it gets heavy. Now? I’m tired. Tired of being the one who ho...

Series 1: FEAR #The unseen struggle# Fear of failing them. Fear of not meeting expectations. Fear of being unavailable. Fear of breaking down. Fear of the waiting seasons. Fear of, “Will I ever be enough?” Fear of, “Will they still trust me if I fail?” The silent fear of “What if I let them down?” You don't talk about it much but it's always there. Always sitting quietly in the corners of your decisions. What if I fail my parents? What if I fail my siblings? What if I fail the version of myself that's always been “the strong one”? Every step is carefully calculated. If I choose to be different, will I be seen as irresponsible? If I say no, will I disappoint them? Will this choice make them proud? I carry their expectations like a personal assignment. And when things go wrong, I ask myself, “Was it my fault?” Even when it wasn’t. Most times, saying "No" brings guilt. Not because I did wrong, But because I was taught that being unavailable, is the same as failing. S...

There are stories we carry for years before we find the words to write them. For me, ADA (The First Daughter) started as a quiet ache — a longing to give voice to the weight that so many women, especially first daughters, carry without recognition. In many African homes, especially in Nigeria, the “first daughter” is more than just a child. She becomes the second mother, the silent pillar, the fixer, the forgiver, the sacrifice. And yet… she is often unseen, unheard, and unmet in her own need for support. I wrote ADA for the girls who became women too early. For the daughters who gave when they had nothing left. For the women who smiled when they were breaking. And for the ones who are still holding it all together… quietly. Most importantly, I wrote it for healing. I wrote it because I believe that God sees the quiet strength we often dismiss — and He uses it for something glorious. ADA is not just fiction. It is faith. It is a reminder that even in silence, God sees, God knows, and G...