Hi, my name is Fọlá Ayeni, and if no one has ever told you this before, let me be the first:
Your dreams are valid—even if they scare everyone else.

I’m a fashion designer today, running my own label and dressing clients in Lagos, Johannesburg, and even Paris.
But just a few years ago, I was sitting in a Law classroom, silently dying inside, chasing a dream that wasn’t mine.

I’m writing this for anyone who feels torn between what they love and what they’ve been told to do. This is my real story—of fear, of failure, of faith, and of finally walking my own path.
If even one person reads this and feels less alone, then sharing it will have been worth it.

## A Name That Wasn’t Mine

"My daughter the lawyer!"

My father used to beam with pride when introducing me to friends, his voice booming like a preacher delivering a sermon. He would pause and give them time to process it, to let the words soak in. I was meant to be the family’s first lawyer. The "legacy child."
But I had a secret:

I never wanted to be a lawyer.

Growing up in Surulere, Lagos, I was that child who cut up old wrappers to make doll clothes. My friends would spend time memorizing multiplication tables, and I’d be sketching gowns with broomsticks in the sand. When I was 12, I took apart my mother’s church dress and redesigned it into something sleeker. She beat me. And then she wore it three times that year.

But passion, in my world, was a dangerous word.
It meant rebellion.
It meant you didn’t respect the people who raised you.
It meant you were selfish.

And selfish children didn’t survive in homes where sacrifices were made for them.

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## The Weight of Obedience

When I gained admission to the University of Ibadan to study Law, the entire neighborhood celebrated. My mother danced with tears in her eyes. My father held my hand tightly at the bus park like he was sending me to war.

I remember sitting in my first Constitutional Law class feeling… suffocated. The professor’s voice echoed, but my mind wandered. I imagined what the lecturer might look like in a sharply tailored agbada I had seen on Instagram that morning. I couldn’t focus.

In the dorms, while my friends discussed their internships at courts, I browsed Pinterest boards on evening wear designs and watched YouTube videos on fashion sketching.
I started sketching designs on the back pages of my law textbooks.

But I still played the part. Attended lectures. Submitted assignments. Smiled during moot court sessions.
Because the idea of failing… the idea of disappointing my parents… felt heavier than the textbooks I carried.

I wasn’t living. I was performing.

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## Double Life

It started with a flyer I found pinned to the university notice board:
"Weekend Fashion Sketching Classes – No Experience Needed"

I stood there staring at it for minutes, heart pounding. It felt like the universe had dropped me a lifeline.

That Saturday, I told my roommate I was going to study at Kenneth Dike Library. Instead, I boarded a bus to Bodija for my first class.

It was magic.

The instructor, Madam Kehinde, was strict but passionate. She called my first sketch “raw but bold.” I stayed after class, soaking in every word she spoke. For the first time in years, I felt alive. Free.

I began juggling two lives:
Law by day. Fashion by weekend.

I skipped department tutorials to sew. I told my parents I needed extra cash for law books when I was really buying fabrics.
At night, I stitched and sketched under a dim flashlight. I prayed they’d never find out.

But double lives are never sustainable.

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## Chapter 4: Collapse

In my 3rd year, the pressure finally got to me. I was tired. My grades slipped.
I missed a final exam because I had a design delivery to make for a client’s graduation.

When the results came out, I saw an F in Jurisprudence.

I sat alone at the campus chapel that night, shivering—not from the cold, but from fear. Fear of what my family would say. Fear of being branded a failure. Fear of facing the truth that I no longer wanted this path.

My father came to campus the following week. I still remember the look in his eyes: betrayal.

"All this time… you were lying to us?"

He didn’t shout. That made it worse. He just turned and walked away.

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## The Confession

The confrontation at home was brutal.

My uncles were called. My aunt wailed like I’d died.
"You want to disgrace us because you saw some tailors on Instagram?"

"You think sewing clothes is a future?"

"Do you know how many people are looking for this opportunity you want to waste?"

I stood there, trembling. Tears burned down my cheeks, but I didn't move.

Then I said the words I had never said before:

"I don’t want to be a lawyer. I want to be a fashion designer."

The silence afterward was louder than any insult they hurled. My mother cried. My father walked out again.

I didn’t sleep that night. But I finally felt at peace.

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## Starting from Scratch

Leaving Law School wasn’t just a decision—it was an act of war against the expectations that raised me.

I took on freelance tutoring to pay my fees at a fashion school in Yaba. I commuted from Mushin in molues and keke, clutching my sketches like they were diamonds.

The first months were hell. I made ugly clothes. I got mocked at the academy for being too “bookish.” My hands hurt. My spirit bruised.

But I kept going.

I volunteered to style local beauty pageants for free. I sewed clothes for Instagram influencers hoping for a tag. I marketed at bus stops, DM’d random brands, begged for chances.

And slowly… it began to change.

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## Fọlá Threads is Born

The first breakthrough came when a popular lifestyle blogger wore one of my Ankara jackets and tagged me. Orders started coming in—small at first, then in dozens.

I registered my business as Fọlá Threads—named after my late grandmother who used to sew with her bare hands.

A year later, I showcased a mini-collection at GTBank Fashion Weekend.

Then came an invite to a showcase in South Africa.
Then Paris.

Each time I stepped onto a new platform, I whispered thanks to the version of myself who didn’t give up.
The version who said “no” when everyone expected “yes.”

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## Chapter 8: Coming Full Circle

Last year, my parents finally attended one of my fashion shows.

My mother wore one of my designs. My father wore a plain black agbada and sat in the front row like a silent monument.

After the show, he hugged me.
His voice cracked when he said:
"You’ve done well. I didn’t understand then. But I see it now."

It was the approval I no longer needed… but had always longed for.

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## Epilogue: For the Ones Still Hiding

If you are reading this, torn between who you are and who they want you to be—please listen to this:

Your life is not a debt. It is a canvas.

I don’t blame my parents. They gave me what they knew: stability, safety, structure.
But I gave myself something more: freedom.

And it’s worth everything.

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## 🎥 Interactive Video Adaptation:

Title: "What If She Stayed a Lawyer?"

* Scene 1: High school student receives university acceptance for Law.
* Viewers choose: Accept (Law path) or Decline and pursue Fashion
* Two timelines show:

* One path where she graduates but feels numb and empty.
* The other path shows struggle, but fulfillment and impact.
Final prompt: “Which would you* choose if fear wasn’t holding you back?”

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## 🎯 Lessons for SpeakOX Readers

* Your gift is valid, even if it’s not academic.
* Living someone else’s dream is slow death.
* Family may not understand now—but they often will later.
* You don’t have to be rich to begin—just bold enough.

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## 💬 Call to Action:

👉 Are you walking a path that feels borrowed?
👉 Have you ever abandoned expectations to pursue passion?

Share your story anonymously on [SpeakOX.com](https://www.speakox.com/story/create) and let your voice guide others.

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