Understanding Parents & Redefining Success
What Growing Up Has Taught Me About My Ghanaian Parents’ Sacrifices—and My Own Happiness
As told to Ama Dromo
“Ama, for the longest time, I was sure that my parents would never understand me.
But now that I’m older, I’m starting to understand them.”
That was the first line of her message, simple, soft, but heavy with years of unsaid things.
Raised in a Ghanaian household where love was given in cooked meals, raised eyebrows, and unsolicited life advice. The kind of home where your parents didn’t say “I love you” every day, but they said, “Have you eaten?” and “Text me when you get home.”
Growing up, she always felt like she was living in two different worlds: the world her parents carried from Kade, and the world she was trying to build for herself abroad.
Her parents’ idea of success was straightforward:
Become someone important.
Become someone the family can point to with pride.
Become someone whose name carries weight.
But her idea of success?
It wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t about prestige or titles.
It was about peace. Joy. Waking up excited for her own life.
“My dad talks about his childhood in Kade like it was survival training. I never understood why he pushed me so hard until I realised he wasn’t pushing me — he was protecting me from the life he had to survive.”
That’s the thing about being second-generation:
Your parents raised you with memories, not manuals.
Sacrifices, not explanations.
Hopes, not roadmaps.
And when you’re younger, all you see is pressure.
As you get older, you start to see love.
Real love.
The kind that worked night shifts.
The kind that saved every spare penny.
The kind that said “be the best” because they never had the chance to be.
She told me:
“I used to think they wanted me to live their dream. But now I know they wanted me to live without their fears.”
And slowly, beautifully, they are all learning something:
They don’t need the exact definition of success to love each other well.
She’s learning to honour the sacrifices without losing herself.
They’re learning that joy is also a kind of achievement.
And together, they’re writing a new version of what “making it” means.
“We’re meeting in the middle now. They agree that whatever field I choose, if I’m the best version of myself, they’ll be happy. And I’m realising that if I’m truly happy, they’ll feel like all their sacrifices were worth it.”
This is the quiet evolution of many second-generation homes:
Parents who came from survival and children who are learning to live.
Two worlds trying to meet in the middle with love as the translator.
Sometimes understanding doesn’t happen when you’re young.
Sometimes it blooms slowly, when age softens your view
and wisdom fills in the gaps your parents never knew how to explain.
And that is its own kind of healing.
— Ama Dromo
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