Subtitle: Breaking Free from the Pressure to Produce, Prove, and Perform

Excerpt: The author talks about her cultural experience of being an only child, her mother's inability to have children, and trauma that has been passed down from one generation to the next. Emphasizes giving up hopes and dreams to God for peace.

Author: Ogo Cathern

There is a faithful family in the local prayer group I belong to. They have a lovely teenage daughter who volunteers to help with childcare whenever we gather.

One day, her mother came into the childcare room while I was there. I made a comment appreciating her daughter’s sacrifice. I expected gratitude.

Instead, her response catapulted me straight back into my childhood.

You see, that lovely girl — like me — is an only child.

And in the Igbo culture, which happens to be my culture, that is not a small thing. It is particularly hard. Especially if the only child is a girl.

In that woman’s response, I saw my mother.

The anguish. The torment. The unspoken shame she carried for having only one child — and a daughter at that. The rejection was real. The religion we professed did not soften the pressure.

I know it. I lived it.

That mother somehow made the situation her daughter’s burden, as though the child possessed some hidden code to unlock another pregnancy. I could see the joy slowly draining from the girl’s face. It was a place I recognized all too well.

Her mother’s need had consumed their whole life.

If you are carrying the weight of your mother’s disappointment, her unmet desires, or the silent shame she never healed from, I want you to hear this clearly: it was never yours to carry. You are not responsible for redeeming what she could not have, become, or fix. You are allowed to be free — even if she never was.

When Toil Becomes an Identity

In my case, some so-called pastors accused me of being the reason my mother could not conceive again. I was labeled. Deliverances were performed. Spiritual rituals were conducted to “cleanse” our home. The medical profession was enlisted. Genuine pastors were consulted.

My mother was almost ready to do anything or go anywhere, as long as it carried the promise of conception.

It was a miserable time for me. It consumed the better part of my growing years.

Mental health was not — and still is not — a core conversation in Nigeria. I am certain that experience affected me in more ways than I may ever fully understand.

But praise God, I am a new creation; old things have passed away and all things have become new (2 Corinthians 5:17).

After many years of trying, my mother had a dream in which her late father told her to stop. Don’t ask me how that works. My guess? It was the mercy of God.

She took heed. She stopped cold turkey.

And almost immediately, the adoption agency she had been in contact with called her. She adopted my wonderful brother when he was just a few days old. He is 20 years old now.

What changed?

One word: Toil.

The Restless Christian

When I look at my life — and the lives of many believers around me — I see a pattern.

We are restless.

Whether baptized in the Holy Spirit with the evidence of speaking in tongues or not, we all seem to have one thing in common: striving. Always reaching. Always pursuing something.

Christians today rarely enjoy God’s peace.

Because we are constantly reaching — whether for a need or a want — worry and anxiety run rampant.

The Lord once spoke to me in prayer after I had a conversation with a friend seeking the blessing of the fruit of the womb. It would have been her third child.

Most believers reference Sarah when praying for such miracles. But the Lord said to me: Most women do not know they are more blessed than Sarah.

Sarah had one son, and she carried him in her eighties. My friend already had two children and carried them in her prime. She was further along in blessing than Sarah ever was — but because she was still reaching, she could not see.

We rarely take note of what we already have.

We are devoid of the spirit of contentment.

Surrender Means Everything

When I first came to God, I thought I could leave my aspirations untouched. I suppose that’s the part of the memo many of us never received.

When we surrender to God, we surrender everything — including our aspirations — for Him to do with as He pleases.

You dreamed of running your business. Owning a home. Becoming a manager. Landing your dream job.

So did the twelve disciples.

But when they said yes to Jesus, they left everything behind (Luke 5:11).

I have come to notice that our aspirations are one of the main outlets through which our peace drains away.

Aspirations can cost us a deep relationship with God.

Dare I say, aspirations may be costing you complete submission.

There is a fear of missing out buried in our souls. So we try to “help” God. In doing so, we grow impatient. Our trust weakens. Anxiety becomes normal.

What we have successfully done is remove ourselves from God’s economy of peace — a gift our loving Father freely gave us (John 14:27).

Perhaps we think He is too slow. Perhaps we believe He doesn’t quite understand how badly we need our dreams to come to pass.

But the real issue is this: we are so married to our aspirations that we draw our identity from them.

Anything short of achieving them makes us feel like failures.

But that is a lie of the enemy.

Our identity and value are in Christ Jesus and nothing else (Galatians 2:20).

Our lives may look unimpressive in the eyes of the world, but that does not mean they are failures before God.

So what if we never get the big house? The managerial title? The version of success we imagined?

Does that mean God is not faithful?

No. He is.

Even if our unmet desires try to convince us otherwise.

Only One Thing Is Needed

At the end of it all, only one thing is needed: to serve God and do His will.

Your job is not to know the way.
Your job is to follow the One who knows the way — every way — and knows exactly how to get you from point A to point B.

Surrender your aspirations. Lay them down.

Not because dreams are evil, but because peace is precious.

Jesus Himself said:

“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear… Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they do not toil nor spin. Yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field… will He not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?” (Matthew 6:25–30)

If your Father is intentional about lilies, how much more intentional is He about you?

I pray you receive the faith to believe.

And the courage to let go.