I do not remember when I first learned that life was supposed to be hard but somehow, I just knew.

Like many of us, especially in Nigeria, I inherited this quietly in the way we applauded people for “suffering and smiling.” Our parents wore their sacrifices like uniforms, and society taught us that ease was laziness, that softness was weakness. We were raised to survive, to hustle, to push through, and to wear our pain as proof of our strength. However, what happens when survival becomes such a familiar habit that we no longer know how to live without it?

In many African homes, endurance is praised. We worship it and say things like:

“At least you have a job, even if the pay is small. Manage it.”
“Marriage is not sweet all the time. Just endure, you will be fine.”
“Our parents did not have it easy; why should we?”

From childhood, we are taught to adjust and not ask why. To shrink our dreams, silence our discomfort, and stay in places that drain us because “others have it worse.” We romanticize the long-suffering characters: the woman who stayed, the man who worked himself sick, the child who never complained. The truth is, not every storm is meant to be weathered or survived. Some are signs we need to leave the sea altogether.

I know people who have not taken a proper holiday in years. Not because they could not afford it, but because something in them believed they had not earned rest. Their lives are structured around struggle, as if rest, joy, or softness would somehow betray those who had it harder. I understand.

So many of us are stuck in survival mode. Even when our circumstances change, our minds do not. We do not trust ease. We reject help. We constantly brace for the next blow. We say, “I just want peace,” but when it comes, we sabotage it because we do not know how to exist in the absence of chaos.

Unlearning survival does not mean forgetting where we come from. It means recognizing that resilience is not the only way to prove we are worthy of life. It is okay to say:

“I do not want to hustle endlessly.”
“I deserve rest without guilt.”
“I want joy that does not require pain as a prelude.”

It is okay to heal. To dream bigger. To refuse to carry what generations before us had no choice but to endure.

Imagine an Africa where we are not just known for surviving, but for thriving. Where we teach children that gentleness is strength. Where we praise people not only for staying but for leaving what breaks them. Where success is not measured by suffering alone, but by freedom, peace, and presence.

We are the generation that can break the chain, the ones who can say, “I am allowed to want more than just to survive.” We are reclaiming our right to live and to thrive, not because of what we have endured, but because life itself is reason enough.

Give yourself permission not to survive, but to truly live, simply because you are.