I’ve always been that emotional, independent type, the kind of person who couldn’t wait to have a space of their own. From my final year in school, I was already telling myself, “Once I graduate, I’m moving out. I want my own liberty.” I believed that living with my parents was limiting me. Too many rules, too many watchful eyes. “Don’t go out,” “Come back early,” “Why are you dressed like that?” It felt like I was missing out on a life I deserved to explore.
So, when NYSC came, I saw it as my first taste of freedom. I had my own place. I could come and go as I liked. No one to monitor me. I was living the dream… or so I thought.
But life outside humbled me, quickly.
From buying gas to paying for water, dealing with unstable NEPA, buying units every few days, buying foodstuff that magically finishes in two days, and sorting out everything by myself, I began to feel the weight of what I had once wished for. Freedom wasn’t free. In fact, it was expensive. Emotionally, mentally, and definitely financially.
There were days I sat in the dark because I forgot to buy units. Nights when I had no power to cook, and no one to ask, “Have you eaten?” It was in those quiet moments I started to remember the things I ran from. And I realized… maybe it wasn’t restriction. Maybe it was love, just dressed in a form I didn’t recognize at the time.
Now, I’m back in my parents’ house. Nobody chased me. Nobody begged me. I just realized that there is love here. Real, simple love. Not the loud kind but the kind that covers you, supports you, and quietly makes your life easier.
The truth is, we often romanticize independence without preparing for the cost. And sometimes, it takes stepping out to really appreciate what you had. My time away during NYSC didn’t break me, but it taught me. It reminded me that home, for all its chaos and curfews, holds a kind of comfort the world can’t give.
We joke a lot about “leaving the trenches” and escaping our parents’ house, as if once we cross the gate, peace and soft life will greet us. But what nobody really prepares you for is how cold and lonely the outside can be, especially when there’s no one to lean on, no one to fill in the little gaps life throws at you.
Home may not be perfect. Nigerian homes especially can be noisy, dramatic, and full of unsolicited advice. But behind that noise, there’s warmth. There’s security. There’s someone always checking in, even if it’s not in the way we expect. Someone noticing when you’re too quiet. Someone making sure there’s food, even when they say, “Better go and cook for yourself.”
And when you’ve experienced both worlds, you begin to understand. Outside has its moments, yes. But the peace that comes from knowing you are cared for, without having to explain, without having to ask, is priceless.
So here I am. Back home. Not defeated. Not lost. Just a little more aware, and a lot more grateful.
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