Soludo Calls For Unity In Building Nigeria

A Story of Success Without Meaning

By Emeka Chiaghanam

Professional woman staring into mirror reflecting career burnout and success without meaning

The Mirror Doesn’t Lie: A Hard Look at Success Without Meaning
The mirror didn’t lie. Not this time. Not when the light hit her face just right, revealing the kind of tired that doesn’t sleep off. Her name was Ada. Thirty-five. Sharp suits. Sharper instincts. VP of Strategy for one of the top firms in Lagos. Her business card looked like power. Her salary? Massive. Her calendar? Brutal.

But that morning, staring into her own eyes, something cracked. It wasn’t dramatic. No tears. No breakdown. Just a stillness. The kind that creeps in when the noise finally pauses and you realise you don’t recognise the woman blinking back at you.

Rewind: Before the Burnout Took Root
Rewind five years. She was broke, hungry, and furious. Her dad had died. Her rent had doubled. Her life felt like a bad punchline. Then came the offer. The job. The money. A friend warned her—"It pays well, but it drains you dry."
She took it anyway. Said it was temporary. Said she’d only stay until she saved enough. Said she’d write her book. Start her NGO. Maybe travel.
She stayed.
Because the money felt like a lifeline. Because poverty teaches you that dreams come second. Because every time she tried to quit, another bonus showed up and whispered, "Just one more year."

The Passion She Left Behind
She used to love words. Used to write poetry in the margins of her notebooks. Now, she wrote reports. Decks. Forecasts. PowerPoint became her pen. Silence became her soundtrack.
People saw her and clapped. "You’re killing it," they said. "You’re goals."

But she was dying inside, slowly. Not in a tragic, movie-scene kind of way. No violins. Just the small, dull ache of selling your time, your soul, one invoice at a time. She looked in the mirror and saw efficiency. Discipline. Success. But not herself.

When Winning Feels Like Losing
Ever feel that?
Like you’re winning, but it doesn’t feel like victory? Like you climbed the ladder, only to realise it was leaning on the wrong wall?
Success without meaning is a trick. A more expensive version of being lost. You still ache, but in designer clothes. You still wake up anxious, but now in silk sheets. And the worst part? No one believes you. Because how could you be unhappy when you’ve "made it"?

The Cost of Becoming
I remember one time, we met at a café in VI. She looked flawless. But the first thing she said, after sitting down, was this: "Do you ever wonder what it cost to become who you are?"
That stayed with me.

She told me she hadn’t written in years. Couldn’t remember the last time she danced without checking the time. Couldn’t remember the last time she didn’t feel tired.
She used to laugh with her chest. Now her laughs came out clipped, like they were being invoiced.
I asked her why she stayed. Why she didn’t leave.
She said, "I think I got addicted to being needed. To being the one who fixed things. To being paid."

The Trap After the Struggle: The Golden Cage
I get it. Money matters. Survival matters. No one wants to be broke. But what happens when you’re no longer broke, and you still feel hollow?
People don’t talk about that part. The trap that comes after the struggle. The golden cage. It’s not made of bars. It’s made of expectations. Of praise. Of fear. Of comfort that numbs.
We love stories of the hustle. The grind. But no one warns you that sometimes, the thing you worked so hard for becomes the thing that buries you.

The Wake-Up Call
One night, she texted me at 2:13am. "I can’t sleep. I’m thinking of quitting."
I told her to breathe.
Two weeks later, she called. Her voice was shaking. She had turned in her resignation.
She said, "I don’t know what I’m doing. But I can’t keep doing that."

Rediscovery and Rebirth
She started slow. Therapy. Walks. Reading. She dug out her old notebooks. The ones with her poems. Some were terrible. Some made her cry. But she wrote again.
She moved into a smaller flat. Sold some of the designer bags. She took freelance gigs. Taught workshops. Started planning her NGO.
It was messy. Uncertain. Sometimes scary. But every morning, she looked in the mirror and saw someone coming back to life.

Facing the Truth
She told me the scariest part wasn’t quitting the job.
It was admitting that the version of her who "had it all" was a version she never really liked.
And maybe that’s the thing.
Maybe we spend so much time trying to build a life that looks good we forget to build one that feels good.

The Real Questions
You ever wonder who you could be if you weren’t trying so hard to impress people who wouldn’t cry at your funeral?
The world rewards performance. Titles. Salary. Applause. But meaning? That’s something you find in quiet moments. In slow mornings. In writing that no one sees. In tears that no one judges.

The Turn
I don’t have answers. But I know this.
If the mirror feels like a stranger, if success feels like a script someone else wrote, it’s not too late.
You can walk away.
Not from money. From meaninglessness.
Not from work. From worshipping it.
You can choose a version of you that doesn’t have to pretend. One that laughs without checking the clock. One that creates, connects, breathes.

Coming Full Circle
I ran into her last month. She was carrying books. She looked tired. But different.
I asked her how she felt.
She said, "Lighter. Broke-er. But real."
And then she laughed. With her chest.
Maybe that’s the win no one claps for. Maybe that’s the kind of wealth we should chase.

Because what’s the point of having it all if you lose yourself trying to keep it?
She took the job for the money. And nearly lost her soul.
But she found herself in the mess.
And this time, when she looked in the mirror, she didn’t look away.