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Is your WhatsApp group suddenly silent? Are invites to Afrobeats nights drying up? Trauma dumping might be the culprit. Let’s share a story to unpack this relationship killer and learn how to keep your connections
The sun dipped low over the Lagos skyline, casting a warm, golden hue that mingled with the lively atmosphere of Eko Hotel’s rooftop bar.
The city sprawled beneath me, a patchwork of bustling streets and towering structures, the sounds of laughter and music wafting up like the scent of suya from the food stalls nearby. 
My friend’s promotion was the reason for this gathering—an occasion worthy of celebration, yet here I was, standing at the edge of the terrace, my palms sweaty around a glass of palm wine, about to spill my emotional guts like an overripe mango.
“Have you ever felt like the universe was just conspiring against you?” I began, my voice tinged with an earnestness that I could now feel was overwhelming.
My friends, a collection of bright-eyed Nigerians and wide-eyed expatriates, turned towards me, their expressions moving between genuine concern and the polite attention of a life-long audience to a monologue.
I Was Fully Ready to Trauma Dump Them
“First, there’s the visa issue—three months of paperwork only to be told my documents were incomplete. I mean, I provided every last detail, including my primary school report card. Do you remember Mrs. Adeola? That time she called me a goat for not finishing my math homework? Well, it’s all coming back to haunt me.” As the words spilled forth, I couldn’t help but notice the small bites of grilled plantain and spicy chicken wings beginning to arrive at the table, vibrant and tantalizing.
My friends’ eyes darted toward the food, and I could sense the polite urge to shift focus. Yet I plowed ahead, fueled by an emotional cocktail of frustration and vulnerability. “And my family—don’t get me started.
You know how every family has that one aunt? Mine’s a full-time drama queen, always asking about my love life like I’m a contestant on a reality show. ‘When are you getting married? Are you still single?’ It’s like she’s reading from a script!” I gestured wildly, nearly spilling my drink.
The atmosphere shifted slightly, my friends’ laughter fading as they attempted to guide my tribulations. But as I looked at their faces, I realized the weight of my words was beginning to cloud the cheerful ambiance.
They were here to celebrate, not to bear the burden of my woes. The realization crashed into me like a wave, and I found myself stumbling over the next line, my laughter unable to pierce through the heavy air.
“Look, I didn’t mean to trauma dump on you all. I just…” I trailed off, feeling the heat of embarrassment creep up my neck, the thrill of sharing my struggles dissipating into a poignant silence.
At that moment, Chidi, my friend with an infectious smile and a knack for defusing tension, leaned forward. “Hey, we all have our struggles. I mean, remember that time I tried to impress the lady at the bar with a dance move and ended up falling flat on my face?” He mimicked an exaggerated fall, complete with flailing arms, and laughter erupted around the table, breaking the tension like a crack of thunder on a dry day.
“Maybe we should share our stories, but let’s keep it light,” suggested Amina, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “How about a round of ‘What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done?’”
With a collective sigh of relief, we began to trade tales of awkward moments—the time Tunde accidentally texted his boss instead of his crush or when Fatima tripped over her own feet while trying to give a presentation.
Each story brought us closer, laughter weaving through the air like the smoke from the small barbecues lining the street below, infusing our gathering with warmth and camaraderie.
As the small chops finally arrived—golden-brown puff-puff, crispy spring rolls, and spicy meat skewers—I realized that the emotional yam I had tried to pound had transformed into something deliciously smooth, something that brought us together rather than pulled us apart.
The air was alive again with light-hearted banter and clinking glasses, toasts made to dreams and the chaos of life, and the night stretched ahead, an open canvas ready to be painted with our laughter and connection.
With the city sprawling beneath us and the stars beginning to twinkle like diamonds in the deepening sky, I felt a gentle reminder that while my struggles were real, so too were the bonds of friendship—strong enough to hold the weight of my stories, if only I allowed them to.
So, How Do You Stop Trauma Dumping?
Trauma dumping is when you offload heavy personal issues faster than a Lagos danfo driver changes lanes. This habit turns casual catch-ups into impromptu therapy sessions.
Breaking the trauma-dumping habit is like learning to eat pap without sugar – it takes time, but your health (and relationships) will thank you. Start by being as mindful of your words as you are of your Ankara choices.
Before you spill your guts, ask yourself: “Is this the right time to discuss my immigration woes, or did my friend just want to know if I prefer suya or kilos?” Consider journaling your feelings or joining a support group for fellow diasporans.
Remember, your therapist is trained to handle your traumas, unlike your cousin who just wanted to know if you’re bringing jollof or fried rice to the next family function.
Building Healthier Communication Habits
Transforming from a trauma dumper to a balanced communicator is like switching from garri to quinoa – it’s an adjustment, but it’s good for everyone. Learn to read the room like you read flight prices – carefully and with consideration.
Practice active listening and show as much interest in other’s lives as you do in finding the best African grocery store in your city. It’s not about never sharing your problems; it’s about doing so appropriately.
Try this groundbreaking technique: “Eh, bros, my mind heavy small. You get time to make we yarn?” You’ll be surprised how much people appreciate being asked before you drop your emotional baggage on them like it’s excess luggage at Murtala Muhammed Airport.
In Conclusion
Recognizing and stopping trauma dumping can be the difference between being the life of the owambe and the person everyone avoids like spoiled egusi.
By being more mindful of how and when we share our struggles, we can build stronger, more balanced relationships in the diaspora.
Remember, your traumas are as valid as your auntie’s opinion on your life choices, but so are other people’s boundaries. Let’s save the dumping for our Ghana-must-go bags and keep our sharing as balanced as a perfectly made Chapman.
READ: Toxic Friendships: 7 Red Flags in Social Media Interactions
Is your WhatsApp group chat more draining than a Lagos traffic jam? You might be dealing with toxic friendships online. Let’s dive into the seven red flags that’ll have you hitting “mute” faster than you can say “jollof rice.”
