Every week, Zikoko spotlights the unfiltered stories of women navigating life, love, identity and everything in between.
What She Said will give women the mic to speak freely, honestly and openly, without shame about sex, politics, family, survival, and everything else life throws our way.
This week, Crystal*, 27, from Port Harcourt, shares how giving too much of herself in university left her emotionally, financially, and physically drained and how hitting rock bottom forced her to rebuild from nothing. She reflects on people-pleasing, boundaries, queerness, and the lessons she wishes she could tell her younger self.
What was university life like for you? Who were you then?
Back in university, I was that person who liked to help in any way I could. I opened my home to people who needed a place to stay. I wasn’t an introvert or extrovert, just somewhere in between, an ambivert who could blend into most spaces. Football connected me to even more people. I formed the first female football team in ABSU, and before I knew it, I was coaching girls, organising training, and being the person people gravitated toward. That’s how I became a bit popular.
That sounds nice and fulfilling.
It was. I was the dependable friend. The one everyone came to with their crises, their financial troubles, their heartbreaks, even their exam panic. I didn’t think of it as a burden at the time. I thought that was what made me good. I was young, queer, still figuring myself out, and I felt like being useful made me worthy.
Then what happened?
Something slowly started happening. A friend would ask me to explain a course to them. Another would need money. Someone else would need emotional support. Before I knew it, I had become the person everyone came to for everything. It started to feel like I didn’t have the option to stop.
It clicked when one girl made herself my best friend. She drained me emotionally, financially, and academically. We were in the same department, and during exams she would sit by me, distract me, and rely on me to carry her through. Outside of exams, she always wanted to move as a pair. Then there was the money—small, small things that added up. She would guilt-trip me into helping. I didn’t realise how much it took from me until much later. She sold me this idea of keeping my mysteriousness if I wanted, but that I should learn to have fun, like, “Let’s loosen you up.”
Not long after her, everybody came to me. If they needed money, they came. If they needed a place to sleep, they came. If they needed emotional support, it was me again. But when I slipped into depression, when I genuinely needed someone, not one person showed up.
I’m sorry. What was happening with you at that point?
I started drinking too much. People judged me. They criticised me so badly that I eventually saw a therapist and a psychiatrist. It was very bad, emotionally, psychologically, and financially. I didn’t even recognise myself.
Do you know why you stepped so deeply into that caregiver role?
It was how I was raised. I grew up being the person who did everything. From cleaning, caring, and fixing everything. I react badly to dirt, so even in the hostel, people used it against me. They’d do everything and leave the work for me. I was raised to care about everyone’s feelings first. So in school, that translated into becoming the one who always sorted things out.
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At what point did it stop feeling like helping and start feeling like a trap?
When people started expecting it. When it became my reputation. “Go to Crystal, she’ll solve it.” One girl had lost her accommodation after graduating, and people told her, “Just go to her. She’ll house you.”
For once, I couldn’t come through; they labelled me everything under the sun. I was suddenly stingy, wicked, or acting brand new. I realised I had been boxed into a role I didn’t even know I was playing.
Did you stop being a “Yes woman”?
I was scared that if I stopped, people would say I’d been fake all along, that I only helped to be liked. So I kept going, even when it was killing me.
At some point, they actually created a WhatsApp group just to talk about me. An association of bad friends gathered to drag me. That broke me.
What did overextending yourself do to your own life?
It destroyed it. I wasn’t looking after myself. I lost focus. I went from an A student to a B, then a C, then a D. I remember one day thinking, Crystal, you’ve lost yourself. My self-esteem dropped. I was stressed, burnt out, and academically gone. I thought I was impacting lives, but looking back, those people weren’t worth it. That realisation pushed me into human rights work later, but at the time, it was just pain.
Did you ever warn yourself, even a little?
Yes. I prayed about it. I talked to myself. I felt something was wrong, but I still kept going because it was all I knew.
What was the lowest point for you?
When drugs entered the picture, my so-called friends introduced me to smoking. I lost focus, abandoned my studies, and my finances scattered. Then my rent expired, and I had nowhere to go.
Funny enough, people I’d housed before had empty beds, but they refused to help. Some even wanted me to beg and grovel. These were people who’d eaten my food, worn my clothes, and slept in my room. Instead of support, they judged me. Again.
When did it finally hit you that you were truly alone?
When I couldn’t get food. Not even food. I realised I had mingled with the wrong crowd. That was my awakening. From there, I started rewriting my story.
How did all of that make you feel?
Angry. Embarrassed. Foolish. Betrayed. All the bad emotions you can think of, and eventually, severe depression followed. I wasn’t myself for years.
I’m sorry. How has all this changed your approach to friendship?
Now, I’m sceptical. I’m scared to invest in anyone. I’ve seen shege. I know what neglect feels like. I value friendships, yes, but I need proof that it won’t end the same way.
If you could rewrite anything, what would you do differently?
I would have invested in myself. All the money I spent fueling friendships, I should have used to look good, eat well, enjoy myself, book a hotel room and rest, anything. I would’ve closed my doors more. I would’ve chosen quality people. I regret wasting my time on people who added nothing to my life.
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How did all this shape your life at the time?
It changed my whole life trajectory. Academically, emotionally, and financially, everything took a hit. I entered adulthood empty. I was doing anything just to survive. I finished school but owed tuition, so I couldn’t go for NYSC. I watched my peers move on with their lives while I was stuck with no job, no support system, no money, no direction. I was alone. Completely.
How did you eventually begin climbing out of that place?
I changed my circle. Completely. I started following changemakers in the queer community, people who were doing the kind of work I admired. I learnt digital skills. I built capacity. Then I started an online consultancy for NGOs, small businesses, and startups, helping them build trust and visibility with clear, authentic communication. Storytelling, social media strategy, creative campaign ideas, all the things I’m naturally good at.
This December makes it a year. And honestly, it has given me visibility and credibility I didn’t expect. I volunteer now as a Communications person for a queer organisation. I’m a poet, a facilitator, a queer advocate. I’m not where I want to be yet, but I’m not empty anymore.
What boundary is hardest for you now?
Access. People having free access to me, using friendship to exploit me. Even family. The hardest boundary was saying no and not becoming the yes-person again.
Did your queerness affect the kind of relationships you had?
Yes. Most people who did this to me were queer too. Because as a masc-presenting woman, you know the struggles, family issues, money, and shelter, so we leaned on each other a lot. My queerness shaped how much I gave, because community felt like survival.
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When you look back at university, to the girl who gave and gave and gave, how do you feel toward her now?
I feel sad for her. She thought love was earned through labour. She thought saving other people would save her, too. If I could speak to her now, I’d tell her, “No one is coming to save you but you. Be there for yourself first. You are enough. Stop breaking your back for people who won’t lift a finger for you. You’re brave. You can do anything. Wealth is calling your name.”
And what would you tell young queer women who are giving too much of themselves?
Look for the warning signs early. Check your circle often. Don’t let people overuse you. Build relationships that bring peace, money, joy, and boost your self-worth. Sieve your circle. Protect yourself. You deserve that.
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