FIRST OF ALL?

The Restless First Daughter Who Forgets to Breathe

Before I could write that prayer, I had to tell the truth. Not the polite kind—the real kind.

Truth like: I don’t know how to rest. Even when I’ve met every goal on my to-do list, my mind keeps searching. For a problem. A crack. Something left undone. Because the quiet? It feels suspicious. Like danger in disguise.

I started to notice that the feeling worsens when my mum is around. I still feel guilty saying that, but it’s true. My body tenses like I’m being watched. Judged. Weighed. And I don’t know if the scale will tip in my favor.

I love her. So much. But something about our dynamic makes me shrink myself into usefulness. I don’t know how to unlearn that—yet.

And maybe, somewhere deep down, my brain is still asking:

> – If I stop hustling for approval, will they still love me?
– If I choose myself, will they be disappointed?
– If I pour into something that only feeds me… am I selfish?

That’s why writing this blog… writing my book… even sitting down to study for myself sometimes feels wrong.

There’s a version of me that knows how to be helpful, responsible, needed. But the version of me that wants things just because I want them? She feels like a stranger. A threat.

The other day, my sister came home upset. I had just settled in to study, and I felt this ache—like I needed to rescue her. But the truth is, she didn’t ask to be rescued. She didn’t even want to talk. And when she does, she often shrugs off my advice anyway.

Still, my body was ready to abandon myself and go find her pain.

That moment felt like a tiny kind of war.

I stayed at my desk. I studied. But inside me, something was grieving.

So yes. That’s where the prayer came from.
From the ache of always being “the strong one.” From the fear of letting others down.
From the need to be seen not just as useful—but as worthy. Even when I do nothing.

I’m still learning that I’m allowed to need. Allowed to rest. Allowed to say, “God, I can’t carry it all.”

And He listens.

That’s how I know I’m healing.
Slowly. But truly.

A LETTER TO NEIL GAIMAN

on story, wonder, and finding a place that is mine

This letter marks a quiet beginning.
A soft stake in the ground.
Here, I will no longer write only about the burden and beauty of being the first daughter.
I will also share my spiritual journey—with guidance, with grace,
and with full acceptance of the mantle I have been given.
Most of all, I will begin to write from the place I am learning to choose for myself.
A place that is wholly mine.

Nothing goes better with writing a letter to one of your favourite writers than a cup of tea

“Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he,
I am he who will sustain you.
I have made you and I will carry you;
I will sustain you and I will rescue you.”
— Isaiah 46:4

A PRAYER FOR THE FIRST DAUGHTER WHO TRIES SO HARD

There are days when I forget how to breathe.
Not because I don’t want to,
but because I’ve been holding it in for so long—
holding it together for so long—
that I don’t remember how to just be.

On one of those days, I sat with God.
No performance. No big words. Just a quiet ache.
And from that ache, this prayer found me.

If you’ve been carrying more than you should,
if your soul is tired of being the strong one—
this is for you.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”
— Matthew 11:28 (NIV)

—

A Prayer

Lord,

I am tired of being the one who keeps it together.
The one who remembers everything.
The one who notices what’s off, and carries it quietly.

I don’t want to be bitter—but sometimes I am.
Sometimes I want someone to rescue me the way I keep trying to rescue everyone else.
But I’m scared to ask. Scared to need. Scared that needing too much will make me unlovable.

I don’t want to be resentful—but I feel used.
I feel like a sponge—wrung out and expected to stay absorbent.

I come to You, not with perfection, not with a good attitude, but with my soul undone.

Please make room for me.

Not as a role.
Not as a helper.
But as Your daughter.

Teach me how to breathe again.
Teach me that my softness doesn’t make me irresponsible.
That my rest is not rebellion.
That my silence doesn’t mean I’ve failed.
That I’m not broken for wanting tenderness in return.

Father, reintroduce me to peace.
Let me lie still and know that the world won’t fall apart without me.
Let me believe that I’m not failing if I rest.
Let me experience joy without guilt.
Let me walk light.

And when I forget again—when I start spiraling into over-functioning and overthinking and over-giving—remind me that I am Yours.
Not because of what I do.
But because of who You are.

Amen.

The Burden of Birthright: An Eldest Daughter’s Perspective

Have you ever imagined what people mean when they describe the feelings while ‘standing at a precipice’?

The Oxford dictionary defines precipice as a very steep rock face or cliff, especially a tall one. Standing at a precipice should be super scary then, the force of the unhindered winds attempting to drive me off the edge, the struggle to keep my skirt down, hopefully I have braids or cornrows on that day, if not I would have to struggle with that as well. Then of course, the intense fear that would engulf me on looking down and seeing the height I would would drop from if I fell. The exhilaration of breathing the air, so fresh and clean, I could taste it like a drink of cold water after a day out in March; the wonder that comes from the expansive view, the joy of silence, the sweet melody of the gushing of breeze, the chirping and flapping of birds.

Starting this blog in a world where everyone feels the need to vent their opinions to the hearing of anyone and everyone, feels as daunting as that. I am breathless from anxiety and chilled with excitement-it is freeing to finally get my words out there.

I wrote a poems about 3 years ago titled Birthburden, a spin-off of the word Birthright. I didn’t feel like my place as a first daughter was a right or a privilege, it just felt like a burden.

Overtime, this burden turned into utter resentment and bitterness, frustration even.

So out of exasperation I cried out to God, my creator, to show me what the purpose of this position is. At that point it was the beginning of 2024, I felt the weight of it most, having gone through so many trials and insults- stories I hope I will be lead to share in an inspiring and helpful way as I continue to write this blog.

It seemed there was silence from God concerning this subject. I felt like a sheep lost in the wilderness. No one really seemed to get me. Being a voracious reader, I searched for Christian books on the subject to guide me, to give me the answers I desperately needed.

I even told God that I didn’t want the birthright anymore, that I wanted to be free of the burden of it, because whether my siblings acknowledged it or not, I knew that I was a spiritual gatekeeper of the family- a subject I hope to write about in subsequent posts. I had experienced it, seen it in dreams and felt it in the core of my spirit that I was some kind of shield; taking arrows, covering, standing in the gap, standing at the gate, leading people in, but somehow never being allowed to go in to the city and enjoy the pleasures there in. Forfeiting my birthright would mean I could finally go in and enjoy the pleasures within.

But to what end? For how long before I felt purposeless and began to wander?

So my desperate cry for guidance, for the staff of Moses, distilled into a prayer for God to show me a way to use my writing for his work. To touch lives.

Toni Morrison said, “If there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.”

What qualifies me to give advice on being an Eldest daughter who is a Christian?

God.

He hasn’t call me because I have all my ducks in a row, or I have all the answers; as a matter of fact, I don’t even know what I will write next. But like Moses, He qualifies who He chooses. I didn’t ask for this burden he placed on my heart this year, and the one he placed on me on coming into this world. So as I reluctantly accept the burden, his hand carrying the yoke whilst helping me navigate this gate, I ask everyone who will read this blog to join me on this journey of revelation of what all the fuss is about. From our manufacturer’s standpoint is, of course.

Ndi Ada Chineke!

Here we go…..