When you’re dating someone with a child, love isn’t just about the two of you; it’s about learning to share space, affection, and decision-making with a third (or fourth) person who didn’t choose you.
From discipline drama to silent resentment from kids, these Nigerians open up about how dating someone with children forced them to confront boundaries they didn’t know existed.
“I got scolded for shouting at her son ”— Femi*, 32
Femi* met his coursemate in grad school, and what started as casual flirty banter quickly became a situationship. She had a sweet, giggly toddler whose father was out of the picture, but he didn’t flinch.
“At first, it was just vibes. I’d drop by her place to study or eat, and the boy would run into my arms, screaming my name. We became close fast. I’d play games with him, help with homework and sometimes pick him up from school when she had to be somewhere. He wasn’t my child, but it never felt like a burden. I genuinely liked the boy.
Then one day, I came over to work on an assignment with her. Her son was home and kept interrupting us with tantrums — whining, crying, throwing toys. She tried to calm him, but he wasn’t listening. I was stressed, the deadline was close, and in that moment of frustration, I raised my voice and threatened to whoop him if he didn’t stop.
The silence that followed was insane. He immediately calmed down and sat by the wall. She didn’t say anything; she just gave him his tablet and told him to behave. I didn’t think much of it. But later that night, she sent me a long epistle. She said she didn’t appreciate how I shouted at her son and that I crossed a line by trying to discipline him.
I was shocked. I thought we were all in this together. I’d never been anything but kind and present in that boy’s life. I apologised, but something shifted. It felt like she saw me as an outsider, not someone she was building something with.
We fizzled out not long after. The incident exposed the fact that, even with all my efforts, I didn’t have a say in how she raised her child. It made me realise that loving someone with a kid is not just about willingness, it’s about being trusted with the most sensitive parts of their lives. Since then, I haven’t dated anyone with a child. I’m not sure I have it in me.”
“He said I didn’t love his child enough” — Lami*, 30
Lami* started dating her old secondary school mate in 2020, two years after he lost his wife during childbirth. By then, his daughter lived with her grandmother and only visited occasionally.
“I genuinely liked Tade* in school, but we never dated. Life happened, and we crossed paths after he lost his wife. He was thoughtful, emotionally present and never rushed me into anything. He told me everything about what happened to his late wife, so I didn’t feel like he was hiding grief under the carpet. His daughter came around occasionally — holidays, sometimes weekends — but she wasn’t a permanent fixture.
Still, I tried to be careful. I wasn’t hostile, but I didn’t get too involved either. I’d buy gifts, play a bit, make small talk, but I didn’t lean into the ‘mummy’ role. I just didn’t feel like it was my place. I knew the emotional dynamics of mothering a child who still had her maternal family involved could get tricky.
He eventually brought it up. One night, he said, ‘I can see you love me, but I don’t feel like you love her.’ Hearing those words hurt because I cared; I just didn’t want to overstep. He said he wanted someone who could be a mother figure to his child. I understood. I just wasn’t sure I was that person.
I’m not the wicked stepmother type. I could never maltreat a child, but I also know a child deserves more than polite affection. That little girl lost her mum in the most tragic way. I didn’t want to pretend I could fill those shoes when I knew I couldn’t. We never had a big breakup fight; we just stopped trying.”
“Their dad said I was trying to replace him” — Wale*, 44
Wale* had always been great with kids. Before switching jobs, he worked as a school administrator for some time. So, he wasn’t fazed when he met his girlfriend, a single mum of two teenagers.
“Her kids were 13 and 15, and from the start, we just clicked. I knew how to talk to teenagers without acting like a know-it-all. I listened more than I spoke, gave them space, and didn’t force bonding. Eventually, we built something real. They’d invite me to their school events, ask for advice about uni, and I started feeling like family.
But the problem came from their dad. According to my girlfriend, he never got over the divorce. At first, he ignored the fact that she was dating. Then, he went berserk once he found out I was spending time with the kids. He called her at odd hours, accusing her of trying to ‘replace him’. He even told her I was brainwashing the kids.
It got really messy. He involved his family and made noise about how he was still alive and didn’t want another man acting like a father to his children. At some point, he started showing up unannounced when the kids were with us, asking to take them out or inspecting who was around.
The kids were confused and torn. Their mum tried to shield them, but there was too much drama. I didn’t want them growing up in that kind of back-and-forth, so I stepped back a little. Eventually, we got married, and the drama died down, maybe because he saw we weren’t just dating casually. He still acts weird sometimes, but I don’t let it get to me. The kids are still in my life. I don’t try to be their dad. They already have one. But I’m there and take my role as stepdad seriously.”
“I felt like the villain in their eyes, even though I genuinely cared about their mum” — Henry*, 52
When Henry* started dating a widow with two grown children, he wasn’t trying to play daddy. He just wanted companionship after a lonely divorce. But her kids made it clear that they wanted no part of him.
“She was a beautiful woman; graceful, intelligent, warm-hearted. We connected instantly. I’d lost my marriage years before and was finally ready to love again. She made me feel like myself.
But her children…God. The oldest was around 22, the youngest about 18. Every time I visited, they’d greet me without eye contact, mutter something like ‘good evening’ and disappear. If I arrived before their mum returned, I’d be left alone in the parlour like an intruder.
She tried her best to make things easier. She’d tell them, ‘Greet Mr Henry properly,’ or invite them to sit with us. But they wouldn’t even pretend to care. The looks they gave me felt like knives. It was as if they blamed me for taking up space that still belonged to someone else.
Then, one day, she asked me to talk with them about taking their studies seriously. I didn’t want to, but I agreed because I cared about her. It was a disaster. They looked at me like, ‘Who are you to talk to us?’ The energy in that room was so hostile, I wanted the floor to swallow me.
After that, I started declining visits. I loved their mum, but I couldn’t deal with being the object of silent hostility every time. We eventually ended things. To this day, I wonder if we could have survived it if the children had been more open. I wish they had given me a chance.”
“He kept saying his son was ‘fine with it,’ but the boy never said a word to me”— Sarah*, 29
Sarah* had always been open to dating someone with kids. But nothing could have prepared her for how invisible she’d feel in her last relationship.
“I once dated a 38-year-old single dad, who was the most attentive man I’d ever been with. From the beginning, he told me he shared custody of his 11-year-old son. He said the boy understood his dating life and had no issues. But the few times I visited, and his son was around, I got this cold wall of silence. The boy wouldn’t talk to me, make eye contact, or even respond when I greeted him. It wasn’t rude; it was like I simply didn’t exist.
At first, I tried to rationalise it. He was just a child, maybe shy. But I started to feel weird in that house. I’d bring small gifts and ask about his day, but nothing changed. I talked to his dad, but he dismissed it. ‘He’s just quiet,’ he’d say. He likes you, he told me.’ But actions speak louder than words, and the boy’s disposition said otherwise.
I wanted to feel like a part of something, not like a visitor on probation. I wasn’t trying to replace his mum, but I wanted at least a cordial relationship. Eventually, I left. I realised no matter what, he would always pick his son over me, which I completely understood. I wouldn’t also pick a stranger over my child. But yeah, I wish it worked out.”
*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the subjects.
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