The Weight We Carry, A Story Most Never See.

It’s easy to point finger, it's easy to say, “You didn’t show up.” “You missed the meeting.” “You didn’t reply.” “You’re inconsistent.” “You don’t care enough.” It’s easy because making assumptions requires no effort.What’s harder is asking why. What’s rarer is pausing long enough to consider that life, for many people, is not smooth, predictable, or forgiving. Most people never see the weight behind the silence. They don’t see the chaos behind calm replies or the lack of replies. They don’t see the nights you cry quietly, not because you want attention, but because you’re trying to survive without breaking. They don’t see the exhaustion that settles into your bones after giving too much of yourself to too many places. They don’t see the thousand tabs open in your mind, school deadlines, work expectations, unpaid responsibilities, personal dreams, leadership roles, family pressure, and the quiet fear of not becoming who you hope to be, they only see the outcome, not the process.Let me tell you a real story.Just a few weeks ago, I had a full academic day. Lectures stacked on lectures. Conversations layered on responsibilities. By the time I was done, my body was drained, my head heavy, and my energy was gone. I didn’t feel well. Still, I held on because later that same day, I was scheduled for an important meeting with the CEO of a big organization in Nigeria. I cared, I was committed, I wanted to show up. But life doesn’t always match our intentions.My phone battery died. I searched desperately for a place to charge it, moving around with a tired body and a restless mind. When I finally found somewhere and plugged it in, exhaustion won. I laid down for “just a minute.” And I slept.The next morning, I woke up to a message: “You’ve received a strike.” No question, No curiosity, No room for explanation, just judgment, just a mark. I smiled and said nothing. Not because it didn’t hurt, but because, strangely, I felt relief. Sometimes it feels easier to be misunderstood than to keep explaining yourself to people who only value results, not humanity. Sometimes silence feels lighter than defending a truth no one is ready to hear.<img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/Screenshot_20260111-200617.jpg"/>And this isn’t just my story. I know many young people like me, students, creatives, techies, dreamers juggling school, work, side hustles, ministry, leadership roles, and family expectations all at once. Carrying responsibilities far heavier than their age suggests. Yet, we still show up. Maybe not perfectly. Maybe not consistently. But we try.At a youth congress I attended recently, I met a young man on the verge of giving up. I saw it in his eyes before he even spoke, the quiet resignation, the tired hope. His words stayed with me: “I own my life. Nobody cares. So why should I keep trying?”He wasn’t lazy, he wasn’t unserious, he was tired, tired of effort without reward, tired of blame for things beyond his control, tired of trying again and again with nothing to show for it.Another young person asked me during a webinar, “What’s the point of trying again when there’s no guarantee it will work?” What’s the solution when you keep trying and still end up failing?I didn’t have perfect answers. I still don’t. But I told him the only honest thing I could say: “Your time will come.” keep trying.Sometimes, that’s all we need to hear that our effort is not wasted, that the story isn’t over yet, and that delay is not denial.I often get messages too: “You said you’d fix the business task.” “You didn’t complete the platform setup.”And I sigh, not because I don’t care, but because I am just one person, trying to keep many boats from sinking at the same time.Being a student is hard. You’re caught between expectation and identity—building a future while still figuring out who you are. Trying to be excellent, dependable, strong, and present while silently learning your limits. Trying to give your best in spaces that rarely ask if you’re okay.There are moments when fear creeps in when you wonder if you’ll fail, if you’ll disappoint everyone, if the pressure will finally break you. Moments when everything feels like too much. And just when you think you’ve managed to hold it together, someone adds another expectation, another deadline, another criticism.The hardest part is when you finally choose your mental health., when you pause to protect your peace. When you step back to breathe.People still don’t understand, They say, “But you promised.” “You said you’d be there.”And while they may be right, they forget one thing, you are human. Not a machine. Not endlessly available. Not immune to burnout. You are trying.And yet, despite the weight, the tiredness, the emotional strain, we rise again. We apologize. We restart. We adjust. We fight forward. Because deep down, we know what we’re building is bigger than the pressure of today.So to anyone who has ever been misunderstood, judged, or wrongly labeled, I see you. I feel you. I am you. Let this be your reminder: It’s okay to pause. It’s okay to say, “I can’t today.” It’s okay to disappoint someone to protect your peace. It’s okay to grow slowly. It’s okay to be a work in progress.But please, don’t give up.<img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/ChatGPT_Image_Jan_11_2026_07_58_32_PM.png"/>One day, the tears, the sacrifices, the missed calls, the late nights, the quiet resilience, it will all make sense. One day, someone will say, “Thank you for not giving up.”So if you know someone juggling too much, give them grace. Reach out with understanding, not judgment. Not everyone who disappears is careless, some are overwhelmed, trying their best in a world that rarely stops to ask why.To every young person trying to balance it all: Your effort is seen. Your sacrifices matter, and your time is coming.Let’s give each other more patience, more empathy, more understanding, because behind every “I’m sorry I missed it” is a story worth hearing. And until that day comes, keep going. At your pace. In your way. With your heart intact. Because you matter, even when they don’t see it.

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