This week, something happened that’s been sitting heavy on my chest. I want to share it—not for pity, not for attention—but because someone out there might have felt the same way. And like me, maybe they’ve been made to feel like they’re wrong for simply feeling overlooked.
So here’s the story.
My cousin recently graduated from high school and celebrated his birthday in the same week. That’s a beautiful double win, and I was happy for him—even if we don’t really know each other. In fact, the last time we had a proper conversation was years ago. But still, I thought, “Good for him.”
Soon enough, my phone was filled with family statuses. Everyone—cousins, uncles, aunties—was posting him, celebrating him, sending long warm wishes. And while I smiled at first, a quiet pain began creeping in. The kind you can’t easily explain.
Because when it was my turn—my graduation, my birthday—where were those posts? Where was that same energy from my cousins?
One of my cousins, who posted him proudly, never even acknowledged my graduation. I had greeted her months ago on WhatsApp—no reply. I’d watch her statuses, she’d ignore mine. Eventually, I stopped seeing hers. That silence became too loud.
And here’s the kicker: instead of anyone noticing that, my mother turned around and scolded me for not wishing her (the cousin) a happy birthday or posting a picture. I tried to explain how I felt. Why I didn’t want to pretend. Why I was tired of clapping for people who never clap for me.
But suddenly, I was “talking rubbish.” I was “too logical.” I was “shouting.” I was “unreasonable.” My dad is not even speaking to me.😔
In that moment, I wasn’t a person with feelings—I was the villain in the story.
But here's the truth I need to speak:
I’m not selfish for wanting mutual love.
I’m not rude for protecting my peace.
And I’m not mean for finally stopping the cycle of performative celebration.
Too often in African families, we’re told that “family is family.” That cousins must stick together. That distance doesn’t matter. But what happens when the only thing bonding us is our parents’ friendship? What happens when the kids were never close, never taught to connect—just thrown into rooms and told to “go play”?
That’s not connection. That’s assumption.
Now, we’re older, and that distance has grown. We don’t talk. We don’t check in. And yet I’m expected to perform affection I’ve never received.
I used to try. I really did. I’d initiate conversations. I’d watch statuses. I’d greet people warmly. But when your love is ignored long enough, you stop pouring from that cup. You protect your spirit instead.
And yes, I’ve now chosen to ignore them. Not with hate. But with clarity. If my celebration is always one-sided, if I’m only seen when I don't perform, then I have to choose peace over performance.
So, if you’ve ever been in this space—misunderstood, guilt-tripped, called too cold for setting emotional boundaries—this post is for you.
It’s okay to stop clapping for people who never clapped for you.
It’s okay to want reciprocity.
It’s okay to protect your heart—even from family.
You’re not too logical. You’re just no longer blind.
And that’s a power no one can take from you.
Written by Lilo Phedra
A truth-teller. A boundary-setter. And a believer in mutual love.
No comments:
Post a Comment