Sending Money Home Nearly Broke Me — And I Let It

At my peak, I was sending ₦150,000 home every month. Rent for my mother. School fees for two younger siblings. Upkeep for a cousin who was "in between jobs" for three years.

I was in my late twenties, just promoted, finally earning well. And every month before I could breathe, the money was gone.

I never said no. Saying no felt like betraying them. Like saying: the success was mine alone and you cannot share it.

But by 2022 I was taking soft loans to cover my own rent. I had ₦12,000 in savings. I was working 70-hour weeks and could not afford to eat properly.

The breaking point was a Friday when I transferred my last ₦80,000 for my brother's JAMB and missed my own electricity bill. I sat in the dark that night eating bread and thinking: this cannot be love. Love should not require my destruction.

I had the hardest conversation of my life with my mother. I reduced my transfers. I set a fixed family budget. Some people were angry. One uncle stopped greeting me.

But I am still standing. I have savings now. I sleep better.

Family love is real. But so is financial collapse. You are allowed to put on your own oxygen mask first.