Different forms of pressure shape our lives in subtle and overt ways, often wearing a friendly face while quietly bruising the human spirit. A few days ago, I came across an emotional post that stirred deep empathy in me. It was a reminder that popularity, success, and perceived strength do not immunize anyone against emotional exhaustion. The post came from a Nollywood actress, Lizzy Gold, whose honest lament exposed how even admiration can become a burden when society refuses to respect personal choices.
Lizzy Gold spoke openly about her relationship status, asking the public to stop pressuring her into marriage simply because she is a mother of two. Despite her growing career and evident success as a woman raising children, she explained that marriage is not part of her present plans. What struck me most was her observation that the pressure intensifies at weddings, particularly those of colleagues, where the familiar and insensitive question is asked: “When is it your turn?” To her, this question is not innocent curiosity but a reminder of how society often measures fulfillment using a narrow and rigid yardstick.
In her words, remaining single is not a sin, and marriage is neither a certificate of morality nor a prerequisite for heaven. Her family, she noted, has never pressured her, even though her younger sister has been married for over a decade. Her message was simple yet profound: fulfillment comes from living truthfully and confidently on one’s own terms, not from performing according to public expectations. That honesty alone dismantles a deeply rooted myth that an unmarried woman is incomplete or defective.
At the heart of this discomfort lies a troubling contradiction. Much of the pressure people experience is often disguised as love, concern, or prayer. What is presented as care is frequently laced with sympathy, contempt, or stigma, sometimes unconsciously. I once asked my mother why people rarely pray silently for those they claim to care about, especially individuals yet to conceive, marry, or “settle.” Instead, such people are publicly reminded of their situation through loud prayers and familiar phrases like “Your time will come” or “God’s time is the best.” While these words may sound comforting, they often reopen wounds rather than heal them.
I explained to her that publicly identifying someone by their perceived lack, even under the guise of prayer, can become a form of emotional pressure. It does little to strengthen their resilience and may instead push them toward desperation and self-doubt. Quiet prayers offered privately are no less powerful, and often far more dignifying. Public attention, when poorly handled, easily slips into stigma and indignity rather than compassion.
Pressure also arrives dressed as humor. Jokes, sarcasm, and casual remarks often sting more deeply than open criticism. When someone celebrates a milestone and the reflexive question is asked, “What about you?” it may be laughed off, but the message is loud and clear. Humor is rarely random; it usually reflects reality as people perceive it. Just as a drama cast relies on fitting characters to make sense, jokes about personal shortcomings reinforce, rather than soften, the shame attached to them.
Another quiet source of pressure is excessive questioning. Repeated inquiries about jobs, relationships, or personal progress often come from curiosity disguised as concern. Questions like “Have you found one yet?” or “Have you tried this place?” can become exhausting reminders of what someone is already painfully aware of. When people have good news, they rarely need prompting; they share it willingly. Silence, too, deserves respect.
Sometimes, pressure is communicated not through words but through actions. Public praise and elaborate celebrations can unintentionally humiliate those struggling. Constantly celebrating a caring husband or a successful child in the presence of someone without such experiences is not empathy; it can feel like mockery or emotional blackmail. Excessive displays of wealth, such as extravagant weddings or public gift-dispensing, also exert pressure by throwing silent challenges at those grappling with basic survival. Such displays often deepen frustration rather than inspire hope.
Cultural norms and social values further entrench these pressures. Society rarely celebrates modest civil servants who live honestly without flamboyance, yet it obsessively praises politicians known for excess and questionable wealth. Ironically, these same figures are condemned verbally while being admired materially. This contradiction sends a confusing message to younger generations, subtly discouraging integrity and glorifying excess. If restraint were admired and moderation respected, many would rethink their priorities and ambitions.
Age comparison is another emotional landmine. Being reminded that a peer has become a governor, senator, or director may seem harmless, but it often unsettles emotions and breeds quiet despair. Even more toxic is the pressure the rich exert on the poor through insensitive behavior. Flaunting wealth in the face of hunger, refusing small help after public displays of abundance, or showcasing luxury without empathy deepens inequality and psychological distress. For someone struggling to survive, such excess feels like an unspoken accusation of failure.
Over time, these pressures return to society in distorted forms. They shape values, attitudes, and ideals that reward materialism and punish patience. It then becomes easier to understand the rise in desperation-driven crimes, ritual practices, depression, broken marriages, and moral compromise.
Sociologist Robert Merton’s strain theory explains how societal pressure to achieve success, without equal access to legitimate means, pushes individuals toward deviant behavior. When success is loudly celebrated but integrity is quietly ignored, strain becomes inevitable.
Research consistently confirms the power of social influence. Solomon Asch demonstrated how individuals abandon personal judgment to conform, while Stanley Milgram showed how obedience can override conscience. More recently, scholars like Jean Twenge and Roy Baumeister have highlighted how constant comparison, intensified by social media, erodes self-esteem and amplifies anxiety. These findings remind us that societal pressure is not a trivial inconvenience; it is a powerful force capable of reshaping identities, decisions, and entire communities.
Perhaps the most sobering truth is that followers often shape leaders just as much as leaders shape followers. When society mocks moderation and worships flamboyance, it pressures leaders to perform wealth rather than pursue substance. In the end, the question is not whether pressure exists, but whether we are willing to rethink how we express care, admiration, and success. A society that learns to respect personal timelines, honor quiet dignity, and value empathy over performance may finally begin to heal its invisible wounds.
Bagudu can be reached at bagudumohammed15197@gmail.com or on 0703 494 3575.
