I was born in 1996, the first child in a family of five. Looking back now, I honestly feel like my childhood ended before I even had the chance to enjoy it.
In many Nigerian homes, being the firstborn automatically means becoming an extra parent. Nobody asks if you’re ready for it. It just becomes your life.
While other children around me spent evenings playing football outside or watching cartoons, I was helping my mum carry responsibilities that were bigger than my age. I learned how to cook early, not because I was interested, but because somebody had to help. I babysat my siblings, ran errands constantly, and became the person everyone depended on.
People called me “responsible.”
But deep down, I just felt tired.
I still remember carrying my younger brother on my back to the pharmacy one night when he was seriously sick. I couldn’t have been more than nine or ten years old. I remember standing in queues, helping with house chores, and acting older than I really was because there was no room to just be a child.
Then things became harder when my dad lost his job in 2008.
The atmosphere in our house changed completely. You could feel the stress in every conversation. Even though I was only 12 at the time, I noticed how people started looking at me differently, almost like they expected me to become part of the solution somehow.
That pressure followed me into adulthood.
When it was time for university, I studied Nursing. Not because it was my passion, but because it was considered “a good course” that would help the family eventually.
I got scholarships, hustled on the side, and stretched every naira I had.
During NYSC, there were days I trekked long distances just to save transport money so I could eat. Sometimes I skipped meals entirely because I needed to send money home.
But nobody really saw that part.
The only thing I kept hearing was:
“God will bless you.”
“Your siblings are depending on you.”
“You’re the firstborn, you have to be strong.”
Even now that I’m working, the responsibilities never seem to end.
School fees.
Hospital bills.
Rent support.
Family emergencies.
Upkeep money.
Sometimes after helping everyone else, I’m left struggling to take care of myself.
And the hardest part is that firstborns are rarely allowed to complain.
You’re expected to keep going no matter how exhausted you are.
When you break down emotionally, people act surprised because they’ve become so used to seeing you carry everything.
But the truth is, many firstborns are silently drowning.
Some are depressed.
Some are emotionally exhausted.
Some are sacrificing their own dreams just to keep everyone else afloat.
Yet nobody really asks:
“How are you doing?”
Most times, people only call when they need something.
And honestly, that loneliness hurts.
Over the years, I’ve learned something important: sacrifice is good, but it should not destroy your peace completely.
I’m learning to say no sometimes.
I’m learning that being the eldest does not mean I should carry the entire world alone.
I’m learning that I deserve rest too.
If you’re a parent reading this, please don’t place all the emotional and financial weight on one child simply because they were born first.
And if you’re a younger sibling, appreciate your elder siblings more often. Some of them have quietly given up a lot just to make life easier for everyone else.
To every firstborn reading this:
I know how heavy it gets sometimes.
But please remember this, your value is not only in what you provide for others.
You deserve love, peace, happiness, and care too.
