But let’s rewind a little.
As a child, I didn’t have many wild dreams. I wasn’t trying to be a pop star or an astronaut. No, my one consistent dream was simple: a swanky penthouse—loft-style, right in the middle of the CBD. Fully paid off, dripping in style, filled with furniture that says “I have arrived.” All by the age of 30.
Cue laugh track.
Not because that dream is ridiculous—it’s not. It’s actually quite reasonable. But now I know that even with all the right ingredients—education, ambition, prayer, and hustle—that dream wasn’t going to magically show up at my door, just because I wanted it to.
Then came university. I blame 90s sitcoms for my unrealistic expectations. I thought it would be frat houses, witty professors, and some sort of charming chaos. Instead, I landed at Nairobi University, where the only frat house was a crowded hostel and witty professors were replaced with “figure it out yourself” vibes.
Still, I believed that if I followed the rules, showed up, and did what I was supposed to, life would return the favor.
Spoiler: it did not.
And then came motherhood.
Oh, motherhood. Nothing quite humbles you like a baby who refuses to sleep even though they are well-fed, clean, warm, and loved. Why are you still awake, tiny human?! Why are you crying at 3:27 AM on a Tuesday?
No amount of Google searches, parenting books, or carefully curated Pinterest boards prepared me for the chaos. And now that they’re teenagers, that imaginary parenting manual has been incinerated. On purpose. By me. With joy.
Even in relationships, I used to think: if I present myself as thoughtful, kind, and emotionally available, then obviously everything will work out beautifully.
Cue second laugh track.
Even now, as I drag myself through particularly tough days with caffeine and blind faith, I’ve finally come to terms with the truth: control is a myth. A very seductive, very persistent myth.
But amidst all this chaos, I’ve picked up a few survival lessons along the way.
Lesson 1: Even the best-laid plans are just fancy guesses.
Plans are great. They help us feel productive and in control. They give structure. They make us look like we know what we’re doing. But spoiler: they’re just… plans.
I could lay out my outfit the night before to save time in the morning. Excellent idea—until the power goes out and I spend 20 minutes boiling water on the stove for a bucket bath like it’s 1897. I could graduate with top honors—yay!—only to spend two years post-graduation perfecting the art of staring into the void because employment ghosted me.
A plan isn’t a guarantee. It’s just a suggestion the universe will politely ignore.
Lesson 2: Disappointment is an awkward but necessary teacher.
I like structure. I like clarity. I like a road map with marked exits and snack stops. So when life decides to swerve off-road and crash into a ditch, I don’t handle it well.
Disappointment feels personal. Like life looked at my effort and said, “Cute, but no.”
But it’s in those “UGH, WHY?!” moments that I’ve learned the most about myself. About how I respond when things fall apart. About how I forgive myself and others for not meeting expectations. About separating actions from character—because one bad moment doesn’t define a person. Or me.
(Still doesn’t mean I like it though.)
Lesson 3: Detach yourself from the outcome. Seriously.
Sounds like something a monk would say, right? But it’s real. We’re taught: Plan + Hard Work = Success. And that math works… sometimes. Other times, not so much.