I’m a PhD student today, and more often than not, it still feels like a dream.
In 2016, I finished secondary school and got into university that same year to study Peace and Conflict. At first, I carried too much confidence. I told myself there was no need to aim for a first class.
Instead, I poured my energy into extracurricular activities and convinced myself I was too smart to read. Back in secondary school, they used to call me most creative, and I let that title get into my head.
Reality struck quickly. My first semester results were poor, and I even had a carryover. By second semester, things got worse. Because I resumed late, I missed orientation and never understood how important those early days were.
By the end of 200 level, my grades had pulled me down badly. Maybe you’ve been there, too: that moment when your smartness no longer carries you, and you realize the system doesn’t bend to your pride.
Things began to change at 300 level. I forced myself to work harder, pay attention in class, and learn from every mistake. Gradually, my CGPA started to rise. Eventually, I graduated with a 3.26 on a 5.00 scale. Not outstanding, but not the worst either.
NYSC came and went, and I pushed on to my Masters. This time, I refused to repeat old mistakes. I attended every class, participated actively, and studied consistently. My lecturers valued participation, so I was rewarded for the effort.
By the end of my program, I finished with flying colors. Seeing my results made me cry tears of joy. My project even got an “A.” That success gave me the courage to pursue a PhD.
But doing a PhD in Nigeria comes with its own weight. Unlike other countries, it is not free. I pay school fees, hustle for survival, and still keep up with heavy academic demands. On some days, the financial burden overwhelms me.
Depression creeps in, and confusion follows. It feels like I have spent all my life in school, hiding from adulthood, yet I am still not fully settled. If you’ve ever felt stuck between surviving and chasing your dream, you know how heavy that balance can be.
Along the way, I tried to pick up new skills, but I overthink everything. I convince myself those skills won’t pay off, so I abandon them. Whenever I spend time outside my PhD work, guilt eats me up.
If the PhD came with funding, many of these struggles would disappear. Instead, I carry the double weight of survival and study.
Behind my smiles, I cry often. People look at me and say, “Wow, you’re doing a PhD at such a young age, that’s amazing.” On the surface, it does look amazing. Deep down, it is heavy.
Expectations press on me, and sometimes I feel like I no longer know who I am or what I want. Maybe you know this feeling,too, that strange emptiness that sits beneath applause.
Still, I hold on to the future I dream about. I don’t want to remain only in academia. My desire is to move into policy, like Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala. I want to lead an institution one day, shape policies that affect everyday lives, and create real impact.
That vision keeps me going, even when depression whispers that I am wasting my time.
Although I love my PhD, it does not always feel like my full dream. Sometimes it feels like part of it belongs to someone else. What I long for most is the freedom that will come when I finally finish.
Not freedom from learning, because I know I will keep chasing knowledge, but freedom to live life more on my own terms.
Until then, I keep pushing. It is hard, but I am still here. And telling this story makes me feel seen.
Thank you so much, Eve.
Have you ever chased a dream that felt both yours and not fully yours? How do you carry the weight of expectations while trying to live on your own terms? Share your story with us, we’d love to hear it.
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