DIARY OF A NAIJA MUM: Why should your child live your dreams?

By Benedicta Amirize

There is something I have noticed about many parents, especially in our part of the world.

We love our children deeply. We sacrifice for them. We work endlessly so they can have better lives than we did.

But sometimes, in the middle of that love… we make a quiet mistake.

We try to make our children live the dreams we could not achieve.

I saw this clearly one afternoon at a school meeting.

Parents had been invited to discuss career guidance for the senior students. As usual, the hall was full of anxious mothers and serious-looking fathers who had already decided the future of their children.

Doctor.

Lawyer.

Engineer.

The holy trinity of African parenting.

One mother sitting beside me sighed loudly.

“My daughter must study medicine,” she said confidently.

“Does she want to?” I asked gently.

The woman waved her hand dismissively.

“She doesn’t know what she wants yet. Children don’t know these things.”

I smiled politely but said nothing.

Then the girl walked in. Slim, quiet, with paint stains on her fingers.

Her teacher spoke about her with excitement.

“She is extremely talented in art,” the teacher explained. “Her creativity is remarkable.”

The mother frowned. “Art?” she said like someone had just suggested robbery.

The teacher continued patiently. “We believe she could pursue architecture, design, or fine arts.”

The woman shook her head immediately. “No. My daughter will be a doctor.”

The girl’s shoulders dropped slowly.

That moment stayed with me long after the PTA meeting ended. Because, I have seen this story many times.

Parents carrying broken dreams like heavy luggage, and placing them on the shoulders of their children.

Sometimes the dream is medicine.

Sometimes it is law.

Sometimes it is football, music, or even business.

“I wanted to be a lawyer.”

“I wanted to be a doctor.”

“I wanted to travel the world.”

So the child must now carry that dream… whether it fits them or not.

But dreams are not uniforms.

They cannot be forced on another person.

I remember one evening at home when Daniel was younger.

He was about ten then, sitting quietly at the dining table drawing something complicated in his notebook.

“Daniel,” I asked, “what are you drawing?”

He turned the book toward me proudly.

It was a detailed sketch of a building — windows, stairs, balconies, everything carefully drawn.

“Wow,” I said. “Did someone teach you this?”

“No Mum,” he replied. “I just imagined it.”

I watched him carefully.

At that moment I realized something important.

Children quietly reveal their talents long before they fully understand them.

Our job as parents is to notice, not to control.

Later that evening Becky joined us and looked at the drawing.

“That’s actually good,” she admitted.

High praise coming from Becky.

Daniel grinned.

“Maybe I’ll design houses one day.”

Becky laughed. “Just make sure mine is big.”

We all laughed.

But the moment stayed with me.

Because if I had decided that Daniel must become something else, something I once dreamed about, I might never have seen that spark.

Many children today are quietly suffering because they are living someone else’s dream.

A child who loves music forced into medicine.

A creative child forced into accounting.

A child who loves people forced into engineering.

And the worst part?

The parents think they are helping.

“I want the best for my child.”

“I know what is good for them.”

But the question we rarely ask is this:

What makes the child come alive?

Because success is not only about prestige.

It is about passion.

When a child works in a field they love, their energy multiplies. Their curiosity grows. Their determination becomes natural.

But when a child is forced into a path they hate, everything becomes heavy.

Every lecture feels like punishment.

Every exam feels like torture.

Every success feels empty.

One evening Becky said something interesting.

“Mum, some parents don’t listen to their children at all.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

“My friend wants to study fashion design,” she said. “But her parents say it’s a useless course.”

I shook my head slowly.

“Fashion design built entire industries,” I said. “But many parents still see it as play.”

Becky nodded.

“They say she must become a lawyer.”

“And what does she want?”

“She wants to create clothes.”

I sighed.

That quiet battle happens in many homes.

Dream versus identity.

Control versus discovery.

But here is the truth I have come to understand as a mother.

Children are not empty vessels for our ambitions.

They are individuals.

They come into this world with their own gifts, their own curiosity, their own purpose.

Our responsibility is not to rewrite their story.

Our responsibility is to guide them while they discover it.

Of course, children still need discipline, structure, and wisdom. They cannot simply float through life without direction.

But direction is different from domination.

We must ask questions.

Observe interests.

Encourage strengths.

And allow them space to grow into themselves.

That is how confidence is built.

That is how excellence grows.

Not through pressure… but through purpose.

That night I watched my children talking loudly in the living room, arguing about music, school, and who finished the last juice in the fridge.

I smiled quietly.

They will each choose their path someday.

Daniel with his thoughtful mind.

Becky with her fierce confidence.

Debby with her gentle kindness.

Their dreams may not look like mine.

And that is perfectly okay.

Because the greatest gift a parent can give a child is not control.

It is freedom to become who they were meant to be.