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Gaya

Like most people who struggled with insecurities, I grew up being a people pleaser. I said yes to almost everything and everyone. I struggled with the word “no” and always felt terrible and guilty whenever I had to say it, even when it came at my own expense.

In my opinion, I come from a middle-class family. Not the most privileged, but definitely more comfortable than many people around me. Somehow, though, <a href="https://aura.ng/culture/why-keeping-friends-as-an-adult-is-harder-than-anyone-warned-you">my friends</a> thought I was born with a silver spoon. For the longest time, I blamed myself for giving them that impression. Maybe I had been living a <a href="https://aura.ng/fashion/abeg-how-much-does-the-lagos-baddie-lifestyle-really-cost-">fake life</a> all along…

In secondary school, my friends always came to me for provisions. In fact, my dorm mistress would send people to ask me for toiletries whenever theirs finished, and there was no break or visiting day in sight. Then on visiting days, teachers actually directed students to my car if their parents didn’t show up. Everyone just knew my mum always cooked enough food and was always happy to share.

All these, among other little things, made my friends see me as a <a href="https://aura.ng/the-streets/does-the-middle-class-in-nigeria-still-exist-">nepo baby</a>. What they didn’t understand was that my parents simply made sure I was never stranded. Coupled with my insecurities—because of how skinny and tall I was—I had become a chronic "yes-man." I just wanted people to like me. I always wanted to be needed.

Now that I’m in university and I’ve grown to like my body (yes, I said that), coupled with a lot of character development, of course, I no longer feel the urge to please absolutely anyone. Like a reckless pendulum, I’ve swung to the opposite extreme of genuinely not caring what anybody thinks. People who only met me in university find it hard to believe that, back in secondary school, my friends didn’t even have to bully me to collect my snacks or my last notepad.

One of the greatest lessons saying “no” has taught me is that it takes more than playing the generous friend to build true and meaningful relationships. At first, I was too scared to start saying no to my <a href="https://aura.ng/life-and-love/stop-choosing-between-friends-and-love-what-sisters-before-misters-really-means">closest friends</a> because I thought I would hurt people who had been with me since way back. But the first time I tried it, I was unpleasantly surprised by their reactions. Rather than being hurt, they were angry.

That was when it quickly dawned on me that it had become an entitlement problem. My benevolence had become their birthright, and it turned out they didn't really care for me beyond what they could take from me. Honestly, I was deeply hurt.

But like my mummy always says, it is a sign of weakness to stay hurt for too long. So, once I got over it, I made a promise to myself that I would never build another relationship—not romantic, not platonic—on the faulty foundation of materialism. Instead, money should only ever be a bonus.

It should also be a two-way street. Let us both gift each other thoughtful and meaningful things. Let us both show up for each other in ways that matter. Not one person perpetually gives while the other only ever <a href="https://aura.ng/the-streets/dear-broke-young-nigerian-i-see-you-i-am-you-">collects</a>.

I thought ‘no’ would just protect my account balance. Instead, it exposed who actually valued me—and who just valued my availability.


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