Anonymous Read👇 I am a 32-year-old woman, and I think my family loves me more for what I can do for them than for who I am. I grew up in a family where we were taught that when one person succeeds, everybody has succeeded. I believed it. In fact, I still believe in helping family. But lately, I have started wondering if being a good daughter means sacrificing my own happiness until there is nothing left of me. I was the first child to graduate from university. The first to get a good job. The first to move into a decent apartment and buy a car. When it happened, my parents were so proud of me. My mother would tell everyone in the village, “That is my daughter.” But nobody told me that success would come with so many bills. My younger brother needed school fees. I paid. My sister wanted to start a business. I contributed. My father needed money for a family matter. I sent it. My mother needed money for her church contribution. I couldn't say no. Soon, I became the person everybody called before making any financial decision. Last December, I finally decided to travel for a holiday. It was the first time in years I had planned something just for myself. I had saved for months, and I was excited. Three days before my trip, my younger brother called. He had gotten into trouble with some people he owed money. He needed ₦450,000 urgently. I told him I didn't have it. That evening, my mother called me crying. She asked if I wanted my brother to be disgraced. My father said he never expected me to become so selfish after everything they had done for me. I cancelled my trip and sent the money. Nobody asked how I felt. Nobody asked what I had sacrificed. Two weeks ago, I fell ill and had to spend some time in the hospital. I didn't tell my family immediately because I didn't want them to worry. When I eventually told my mother, the first thing she asked was whether I could still send the money I had promised my sister. I laughed when she said it, but after the call ended, I cried like a child. The most painful part is that I don't think my family is wicked. I think they have simply become so used to my strength that they have forgotten I am human too. Now, I am considering buying a house, but I haven't told anybody because I already know what will happen. Someone will need a room. Someone will need money. Someone will have an opinion about how I should spend my own money. Sometimes, I wish I could lose everything for just one year. Not because I want to suffer, but because I want to know who would still call to check on me if I had nothing left to give. Then I feel guilty for even thinking that way.