Welcome again to Thursday Chronicles, the official stress-relief column for every tired Nigerian soul trying to find meaning between debit alerts and career growth. If you’re currently holding your back like a grandparent at age 24, or if you’ve said “I just want to sleep” more than you’ve said “I love you” this year, this one is specially cooked for you.
Once upon a time, rest used to be normal. Something you did naturally. You came back from school, dropped your bag, and slept like a baby. No guilt, no planning, no alarms. You would wake up, eat rice, watch Super Story, and sleep again. Life was soft. Rest was free.
Now? Rest is luxury. You have to “schedule” it. Book it like a flight. Announce it like an achievement. You sleep for six hours and wake up feeling like you just committed a crime. You try to nap and your brain starts listing all your to-dos in alphabetical order. You lie down and suddenly remember you haven’t replied that email, you haven’t finished that proposal, and you forgot to call your cousin whose mother’s goat died.
Even weekends aren’t safe anymore. You tell yourself, “Saturday, I will rest.” But Saturday arrives with events, weddings, laundry, catch-up tasks, group meetings, and unexpected “Are you home?” visitors. Sunday becomes your only hope, and before you blink, it’s Sunday evening and the anxiety of Monday has already packed its bags and moved into your chest.
Why is it that in this generation, sleeping feels like a guilty pleasure? If you rest too much, people start looking at you like you’re unserious. If you dare say, “I’m taking the weekend off,” someone will remind you, “You’re resting while your mates are grinding?” Please, why must we suffer to prove ambition?
Work-life balance in Nigeria is now a fairytale. Many of us are working two jobs, managing side hustles, helping our families, looking for new opportunities, and still trying to be emotionally available in our relationships. You close from work at 5pm, but somehow you’re still replying work messages at 10:37pm, whispering into your phone like you’re hiding from EFCC.
And even when you finally try to rest, your environment doesn’t agree. NEPA takes light. Your neighbour plays Fuji at full volume. Someone knocks at your door to borrow pepper. You try to sleep again, and boom, mosquitoes organize a conference around your ear.
Then there’s the internet. Ah. Social media is the biggest enemy of rest. You say, “Let me check Twitter before I sleep,” and suddenly it’s 2am and you’re reading about why Pluto is no longer a planet. You want to sleep, but the fear of missing out keeps your eyes open. Meanwhile, your phone battery is dying and so is your will to live.
And let’s not forget the mental pressure. Rest isn’t just about sleeping, it’s about peace of mind. But how can you rest when your head is full of deadlines, heartbreak, expectations, and future plans that are not future-ing? You lie in bed and replay every embarrassing thing you’ve done since 2013. You think about your age, your income, your goals, your weight, your account balance, and boom, you’re more exhausted than before you lay down.
But here’s the thing: rest is not laziness. Rest is survival. You can’t “hustle” your way into good health. You can’t “grind” your way into sanity. Even machines break down — you, a full human being with emotions and problems, deserve to pause. If you don’t rest, your body will rest for you —forcefully, with ambulance drama.
It’s okay to say no. To shut down. To put your phone on “Do Not Disturb.” To sleep without feeling unproductive. To log out. To take a walk with no destination. To eat food and lie down for two hours. You’re not wasting time, you’re charging your battery.
Nobody gets a medal for burning out. Nobody claps for the most exhausted person. And no, the world won’t collapse if you take a nap. Nigeria will still be Nigeria when you wake up.
Thanks for staying awake long enough to enjoy another episode of Thursday Chronicles.
If your to-do list is longer than your hairline, and you’re tired but pretending to be fine, I see you. I salute you. And I beg you, go and sleep this weekend. We need you alive, not trending on Twitter as “Gone too soon.”
Catch you next Thursday, same gist table, same tired laugh, same honest cruise. Until then, may rest locate you like a surprise credit alert.
