The Eldest: NO GRACE TO FALL OR FLATER Part 1

In a small, worn down house nestled between rows of modest brick homes, Tayo learned early how to hold things together. At first, they were simple things like balancing a bowl on the table so it didn’t spill when his baby sister flailed, catching his father’s fallen wallet before it hit the floor, plugging the leaky pipe with an old rag until help arrived. Little things. The kinds that feel heroic to a child. But over time, those small acts grew heavier. By the age of ten, he was his mother’s second spine, standing tall when she bent over the bills with tired eyes. By fourteen, he was his father’s echo nodding silently when unspoken regrets weighed down the room like fog. His siblings looked up to him not just with admiration, but expectation. He was the answer key to every unknown, the flashlight during every blackout. “You’re the eldest,” they said, as if it explained everything. And in some tragic way, it did. The world didn’t offer Tayo the luxury of softness. When emotions pressed against his chest, he swallowed them like stones. His tears were privately rationed, shed only behind locked bathroom doors, dissolved before they could reach the sink. Vulnerability was an unpaid debt he could never afford. Everyone leaned on him because he never leaned on anyone. He became fluent in silence. Mastered the art of the strong nod, the reassuring shoulder, the “I’m fine” smile. He learned how to listen so well that people mistook it for peace. But inside, his own voice faded, replaced by echoes of what others needed. College came and went, a blur of sleepless nights and internal wars. He took a job that paid well, not because he loved it, but because it made life easier for everyone else. When his sister called him at 2a.m  crying about her boyfriend, he stayed on the phone until sunrise, never once mentioning his own heartache. When his father had a health scare, Tayo flew home that same night, calm as stone, steady as the sun.But no one asked if he was okay.No one thought he needed asking.Because he was okay. He had to be. Until he wasn’t.One day, Tayo sat alone in his apartment, the silence no longer peaceful but pressing, suffocating. He looked around at the photos on the wall, the untouched dinner on the counter and realized he didn’t remember the last time someone asked him how he was. He couldn’t even remember the last time he asked himself. His strength had become a prison. His shoulders a home for everyone’s storms, but no one had ever offered an umbrella for his own. He broke quietly. No loud cries. No dramatic collapse. Just a slow, surrendering exhale as he allowed himself for the first time to not be okay. And in that moment, something unspoken cracked. Not in him, but around him. Because sometimes the strongest don’t need saving.THEY JUST NEED PERMISSION TO FALL.

Other insights from Ezecyril Cyril Ogbonnia