In February 2024, I decided to take an intentional break from the working world. I deliberately chose to pause. While it was an intentional choice, it was also in many ways involuntary; because my body, mind and spirit were utterly exhausted! Which in turn, affected my productivity, and overall emotional and mental wellbeing. It saddens me that I had to get to this point before I actually paused. That I was so careless with myself and with my body — this temple that has been my constant companion through it all. I should have listened to my body earlier; because truth be told, for several years it had been whispering to me to slow down and recalibrate.

I first started thinking about taking a career break in 2021. I was serious about it too and I started putting my finances in order, to enable me to do this. I even told my then line manager that after I was done with the project that I was leading at the time, I was going to leave the organisation. Not to take up another job, but to rest. He teased me about ‘experiencing a mid-life crisis’ and we both laughed about it. As I was finishing things up and preparing for my exit, I was headhunted by another organisation to take up a more senior leadership role. Whilst everything in my body, spirit, and intuition screamed noooo! After lots of internal deliberation and external consultation; I took up the job. Also, who declines a job offer that has literally been handed to you on a silver platter, so that you can take a break and rest? I am an African after all. So, I did the ‘sensible’, pragmatic thing like the ‘good African’ that I am. It turned out to be a big mistake. Certainly one of my worst career decisions. It nearly broke me.

However, it was a lesson learnt. Whilst I always intellectually knew to trust my gut and intuition, and to pay attention to my body; it gave me a practical dose of this important life lesson. Perhaps, the universe understood that the only way I would pause, is if I nearly broke. It also taught me to trust my inner compass; because the truth is, my inner voice had always been very clear on what needed to be done. Instead, I kept consulting and seeking for answers externally, while diminishing my own inner voice. As I came to later recognize, there was also an element of ego and an over-emphasis on my professional identity. The ego part was a fear of becoming irrelevant. What if people (i.e. my professional circle) forgot about me? I had to have a serious conversation with myself and come to the conclusion that: if my relevance as a human being, was pegged on my profession; then there was a big problem. Also, perhaps becoming irrelevant in that space was not all bad. Maybe it would force me to chart an entirely different path; one that better aligned with my calling and my life’s divine purpose.

The identity part was: who and what am I without my job? It had been a core part of my identity for so long, that I did not know how to exist without it. It doesn’t help that society over-glorifies professional identity. For example, whenever you meet someone new, one of the first questions they (or you) will ask is, “what do you do?” I actively reject that nowadays. I will instead say to someone that I am meeting for the first time, “tell me about yourself.” Very often they will still tell me about their professional self, first; but at least, it gives leeway for the person to reveal to me whatever aspects of themselves they would want to. Similarly, whenever people are introducing themselves, they frequently start with or amplify their professional credentials, or what they do for a living. I was one of those people too. It literally took the guidance of a career coach to help me craft a different identity for myself. The irony that it took a career coach to help me stop identifying with my career, is not lost on me. So nowadays if you asked me “what do you do?” I would say something like this:

“As a human being, I love and value spending time in nature, and taking care of my physical, emotional, mental and spiritual wellbeing. I am deeply committed to trying to maintain a sense of restfulness and peace in this chaotic world. I consider my life’s work to be about correcting injustice, specifically related to gender inequity in Africa. I have young nieces and nephews and I have a vision where they can grow up in a world that allows them to live as their true selves, and know they are as worthy as anyone else; without the burden of archaic and oppressive expectations thrust on them. This is something I’ve always been passionate about, and I’ve connected it to my prior career in research. However, at this point in my life, I’m working to make it my central focus and not just study it, but take action.”

I’d like to pause here and acknowledge my privilege which enabled me to take this intentional break. Particularly, that for a long time, I had steady income sources that enabled me to plan ahead and have the financial security to do this. I recognize that many others might not have similar socioeconomic stability, and have to work for survival. Of course, it also helped that I do not have dependents, especially children. However, since having children (or not) is an individual choice; I do not regard my child-free status as a privilege. We all make our life choices, and have to lie on the bed that we make. I am also incredibly grateful that for the most part, my parents, now officially senior citizens, are still able to work and provide for themselves. Hence, do not depend on me. The reality is though, many of us who could and probably should take a pause, do not do so. Either because of our egos, or a mentality and fear of scarcity. I remember once trying to convince someone to take a few days off to go on a meditation retreat. Their response was: “I can’t even imagine taking 10 days out of my life, I’m too busy.” As life would have it, some months down the line, due to no fault of their own, they fell into a deep depression and were practically immobilized for nearly two years. Unable to work or do much else. Life forced them to pause. In this time of involuntary pause, the sky did not fall in, and the world did not collapse. They came out on the other side of it, and life continued. So, often, it is our egos that make us think that we are so needed, and that people cannot do without our active presence or involvement.

Now back to my time of rest. When I took the break, I did not think it as brave. I was simply doing what I needed to do for myself. It was only afterwards, when several people commented that I was brave to do so; that I realized, the decision had taken courage. One person even asked me to write a book, on how to step away from the busyness, so that others can learn from me. Perhaps I will one day. Until that time, let me share a few things that I have learnt from my time of repose:

Choosing rest does not make you lazy, it makes you human. It means that you honour all aspects of yourself and you prioritize your self-care. We have been conditioned to view rest as laziness; but the truth is, our bodies are designed to rest. It is in rest that clarity emerges and creativity is born. It is in rest, that we re-energize so that we can be the best version of ourselves; and give from a place of abundance and overflow, not of scarcity. For me personally, this interval of rest has allowed me the stillness that I desperately needed to even just think; because frankly, in the chaos of delivering on work demands and chasing funding, having the space to actually think had become a luxury. It gave me the calm that I needed to contemplate what my path (both personal and professional) could look like moving forward, in a way that feels meaningfully aligned. It has been a season of unlearning and relearning; and intentionally working towards building the life and legacy that I desire.

When you choose rest, you will also need to block out many external voices and have firm boundaries. I found that several people had an opinion on how I should spend my time while on a break. Some thought I should write a book or just write more. Others thought I should take up consultancies. Yet others thought I should apply for jobs because anyway recruitment processes take so long; and so, by the time I was ‘ready to go back to work’, is when the shortlisting would be happening. I made polite noises about all these suggestions, knowing fully well that I would ignore them all. I was baffled that people suddenly thought I lacked the brain capacity and self-agency, to determine for myself what to do with my own personal time. Like I was able to get to the decision to take a career break all on my own, but where I would fail was in figuring out how to spend my time. Some of the noise, particularly from family members, will come from a place of care. Nonetheless, these are the ones you have to be most firm with. Because ultimately, whilst they are coming from a place of genuine care, what they do, is project their anxiety on you and take away your peace.

If you are like me, who had been on the constant go for over 15 years, you will, literally, have to (re)learn how to rest. You will have to consciously teach yourself to rest, and do so guilt-free. So be kind, patient and gentle with yourself. I really struggled with this one. It was only after my career coach reassured me that she had seen this repeatedly, especially with people who had been in high-stress or high-level jobs; that I calmed down. As she explained, I was like a sailor who had spent over a decade out at sea. I would not be able to get rid of my sea legs, as soon as I stepped on land. It would take some time. In other words, you cannot go from 100 to zero. And just because you have decided to take a career break, does not mean that your mind and body will immediately follow suit. Frankly, it took me about five months before I started feeling truly rested. So, for anyone out there considering taking an intentional pause from the working world, I recommend no less than six months.

I had set an arbitrary timeline for my period of rest. First, it was six months. Then I quickly realized that would not suffice, and so I changed it to 12 months. I was absolutely certain that after 12 months, I would be raring to go back to work. Revitalized, re-energized and ready to get back to it. I wasn’t. Not even close. My hesitation to return to work gave me great anxiety. Had I become lazy? Was I depressed? Was I doomed to never want to work forever and ever? Once again, my career coach came to the rescue. I have always believed that the universe aligns me with the right people for me, as and when I need them. She gave me the perspective that I needed. She also encouraged me to sit with the lack of work motivation and uncertainty that I was feeling; and be okay with it, because it was telling me something. What I realized was: my mind and body associated work with excessively high stress, constant anxiety, burnout, exhaustion, unhealthy competition, on and on. Pray me tell, why would I have any motivation to go back to that? So now, I am in the process of defining for myself what joyful working looks like. Joyful working does not mean that there will never be periods of stress or pressure; but that cannot be the default, the norm. Just as the Kenyan education system had taught me that learning and school should never be fun, and we must always suffer in school; my working life had taught me that work should be joyless, thankless, and mostly stressful and exhausting. I do not know when I started to believe this lie. But I do know that I am trying to redefine this for myself. Just as I have nieces and nephews schooling in Kenya, but in international curricula systems and when I ask them how school is going, they tell me, “school is fun”. I am baffled and wowed in equal measure, that school can be fun. I cannot relate to this. They do, however, teach me that things can be done differently.

On a practical note, I have learnt that sometimes it helps to have an external guide as you navigate new territory (evidenced by the number of times I have mentioned my career coach). So do not be afraid to ask for help. It is also very important to have your finances in order, before taking any long intentional pause from work. It is the only way to enjoy the break. You cannot enjoy extended rest, if you are worrying about survival. It simply cannot work. I am grateful that even before I firmly decided on this intentional pause, I had started putting my finances in order, which has helped sustain me through the break. Of course, it means that some things that I had envisioned as investments for the distant future, have had to kick in much earlier; but I have no regrets. It has been worth every minute. I know that my life is one of abundance and overflow, not of scarcity. So, I have no doubt, that everything that needs to be replenished for the future, will be restored

As I conclude, I leave you with the words of Dr. Thema, “rest is resistance.” In a world that glorifies burnout, and in which exhaustion is viewed as a badge of honour; choosing rest is going against the grain. It is marching to the beat of your own drum. It defies convention. It is choosing life. Additionally, for me, resting is deeply personal. I do it to honour my ancestors. Not only were they forced into unpaid, communal labour, for the benefit of the colonizer; they were literally punished for resting. So, I rest, because they could not. I may not know where my path leads after this period of respite, but I do know that allowing myself this time of pause, has been the best and kindest thing that I could have done for myself. So, my dear reader, give yourself permission to pause today. Even if you cannot take an extended break like I did, you can choose respite for a few minutes every day or every week. To unapologetically take some time out for yourself, as an act of radical self-care.

I wish you rest, ease and calm; and the courage to choose stillness and self-care, even when the world tells you otherwise.

You can also watch/listen to the podcast version of this article on: YouTube, Spotify & Apple Podcasts

I recently wrote a letter to my younger self. I have always been different; and the world can be very unkind to people who do not conform. By the world, I don’t mean this thing out there. It can be your family members, work colleagues, schoolmates, supposed friends, on and on. And the truth is, this can sometimes get heavy. Especially when you’re younger and are still trying to find yourself. I wish when I was a struggling 20-something year old, someone had given me this kind of letter, or said some of these kind and reassuring words to me. It would have made my journey that bit easier. So, what I wish for you who is reading this today, whether it’s for yourself or the younger women in your life; is that these words might resonate and help you somehow. Take from it whatever is useful to you, to help ease your burden.

As for me, this letter is addressed to that young woman who was as much of a warrior as I am today; but was a wounded warrior in so many ways. Warriorhood then, was more of survival and self-protection; not wholeness and living gloriously as I do now. That young woman who, out of insecurity and a need for belonging and validation, allowed so much nonsense into her life; including frankly, nonsense from unworthy men. That young woman whose sense of discernment was still developing, and she was just doing the best she could, with what she had. I celebrate every version of me that has ever existed and that will come to exist. From the insecure young woman who was just trying to navigate life; to the bold, kind, courageous, unapologetically audacious woman; that I am today. I am so deeply grateful for the lessons that I have learnt along the way, and I know there are many more to come. But if I could share some of my learned wisdom with that younger version of myself, or any young woman out there, then this is what I would say to them:

Dear Kui,

If only you could see the phenomenal woman we have become today, you would live your 20s and 30s with so much ease, peace, and gratitude. You would understand that you were beautifully created and that nothing about you is a mistake. Remember all those times you asked: “Why am I like this? Why can’t I be like everyone else?” You cannot see this now, but one day, you will realize that you’re being different was not by error; it was by divine design. Your non-conformity is one of your greatest strengths. You would know that your history is one of abundance, not one of scarcity; and so, no matter what, you will always be fine. You would appreciate that rejection is God’s protection; because believe me, anything you ever wanted that you did not get, turned out to be a bullet dodged or a blessing in disguise. Every ‘no’ was a redirection — the universe’s way of gently pivoting you, towards the path that is intended for you. That the pain and disappointment of the ‘nos’, was in fact, your stepping stone to glory. What is yours will never pass you by. So do not chase things that do not align. Trust the wisdom of the universe. It understands what is best for you, even when you can’t see it.

For as long as you are not causing harm to yourself or others, you owe no one an explanation for your life choices. It is your life. Do not shrink yourself to fit into spaces that were never meant for you anyway. Unapologetically take up space. Live your truth boldly, the world will adjust. You are extraordinary and were always meant to shine. Remember that you are your ancestors’ wildest dreams. You are the descendant of powerful female warriors, who silently endured to protect their families, and ensure your survival. You speak because they were silenced. So, remember that your voice matters, and do not ever silence yourself. Speak courageously, even when you tremble inside and your voice quivers. Whenever you falter and courage fails you, remember Maya Angelou’s words: “I come as one, but stand as 10,000,” because you do stand on the shoulders of great women — queens who protect you, guide and light your path. They bless and sustain you.

Your heightened sense of intuition that troubles you so, will one day become your greatest ally. It is the voice of God within you. It will help you learn discernment, rebuild your self-trust, and restore others. Because of the many missteps along your life’s journey, at some point, your self-trust will be eroded; and self-doubt will become your default. Do not worry though, you will come full circle and you will speak life over yourself. You will realize that everything you need is within you. So, trust your inner compass. It will always guide you in the right direction.

Forgive yourself for the missteps, and they will be many; because every mistake was a lesson learnt. Every pain point was intended to form you, not to break you. And as the saying goes, you did what you knew how to do, when you knew better, you did better. One day you will realize that your wounds, will be healing to others; and that every scar is a story. As someone recently reminded you, the number of your scars, is the number of your victories. So be proud of your scars, they are a testament to your triumphs and resilience. Not only did you survive every storm that you endured, you are thriving.

You are your harshest critic, my dear. For too long, a mirror of wounding, negativity, and endless criticism was held up to you. So, remember to always be kind, patient, and gentle with yourself, as you would a loved one. To only ever use the highest voice with yourself. To be your greatest cheerleader. You will struggle with this, well into your 40s. Not because you dislike yourself; but because society literally teaches women, especially Black women, to hate ourselves. To hate our bodies, our looks and our hair. To constantly self-deprecate; to always feel shame; and to always be against ourselves. But life will be kind to you and surround you with people who will reaffirm you, and give you a different view of yourself. They will hold up to you a different mirror. A mirror that will remind you of your brilliance, and develop your self-love and appreciation. Trust me when I tell you that the universe will align you with the right people for you. A community of people who will pour into you and nourish and restore you. Who will accept you as you are, with your perfect imperfections; and be in awe of your excellence. So, you don’t need to work so hard for acceptance and belonging. It will come. The Divine will never leave you dry. There will be providence in abundance, sometimes from the places you least expect.

Protect your peace. Peace of mind, peace of heart and peace of spirit. Your peace & wellness are far more important than winning. This also means setting firm & clear boundaries; and being intentional about safeguarding them. When you do, those who have long benefitted from your lack of boundaries, will judge you harshly. Expect this and let them. They will label you selfish, self-centred, on and on. Be okay with this and remember that people’s opinion of you is not your business. Also, sanitize the word selfish; because very often, self-care and putting yourself first, is considered selfish by those who lack the ability to make conscious choices. Your intentionality creates discomfort for them, and your shine burns their eyes, but keep shining anyway.

Speaking of boundaries, when it comes to romantic relationships, do not accept or reward breadcrumbs. For too long, in your quest for acceptance, belonging, and desire to be loved; you did that. There is no shame in this. These things are a basic human need for everyone. We are wired for deep connection and companionship. But we also live and learn. And what you have learnt over the years is that you, my darling, are a priceless jewel. Any man would be lucky to have you because you are an asset. The question is not whether you are good enough for them but rather; are they worthy of you and all your gifts? You do not say this from a place of arrogance; it is from a place of knowing your worth. From choosing yourself over any man. From honouring your values first, and respecting yourself over any another. You have to commit to yourself first, and know who you are. Your worth is not determined by the validation of men. You honour who you are, and you honour your worth. As you always have done, continue to reject the idea that everything you do as a woman, has to be for the male gaze. Live your life for yourself and on your own terms.

You will learn this later in life but remember that you can be kind and firm; soft and strong; tough and vulnerable. These things can co-exist harmoniously. For too long we shunned softness and vulnerability as weakness. We interpreted it as the world asking us to “be submissive and dim ourselves”. Forgive yourself for this and the exhaustion it brought you. You were in survival mode and this was self-protection. We bless that version of you, for carrying you through that phase of life. But now, we’re in our phase of healing, not survival; and we embrace a gentler version of womanhood. One that embraces all aspects of ourselves and sees the freedom in doing so. Now, we nurture our soul and spirit, where we previously over-exerted our minds and bodies. And remember, healing is a lifelong journey, so be open to whatever it brings your way.

Take care of your physical health. Your physical body is the vessel that carries you through this life. Nourish it well and show it kindness, love and gratitude. Do not stand in front of mirrors pointing out its flaws. It has been your constant companion through it all — the good, the bad and the ugly; always there, never failing you. This body has (literally) taken you to the top of mountains and sustained you through hours-long marathons. So, show it grace, positivity, and deep gratitude. Remember that rest is resistance. In a world that is designed to punish and shun rest, intentionally choosing to pause or slow down is an act of resistance. In a world that glorifies exhaustion and being over-stretched, purposefully choose joy and the soft life. That is, calm over chaos; pleasure over pressure; and serenity over stress. You are not obliged to be in a constant state of fatigue to prove your worth. Exhaustion does not equal productivity, and there is no glory in suffering. You are allowed to just be. Embracing care and rest does not make you lazy; it makes you whole.

Your path to success will not be vertical like a ladder; it will be a lattice with both upward and horizontal movement. But it is your path, designed for you. So, embrace it. I know you like certainty and clarity. You must always have a plan and clear path forward. But sometimes it is okay to sit in the discomfort and uncertainty. To do as Lao-tzu urges us to: “To sit patiently and wait till our mud settles and the water is clear. To remain unmoving until the right action arises by itself.” It took you a while, and you learnt it the hard way; but you slowly appreciated the grey of life, because not everything is black and white.

So, my dear darling, step boldly into your abundance. Do not play small. Your self-acceptance will be your redemption. I celebrate everything about you. I cannot wait to see where life takes you. You are bound for greatness. I wish I could wrap my arms around you and reassure you that everything will be okay; but I have to let you go through the process, because that is part of your forming. All I will say to you is: Always have the courage to be yourself. As I pen off, I leave you with the words of Andre De Shields: “There is no one like you, there has never been anyone like you, there shall never be anyone like you. Therefore, know yourself, be yourself. Authenticity is everything.”

With deep love and admiration,

Your older self.

This letter was first published on my podcast Konversations with Kui. Available on YouTube, Spotify and Apple Podcasts

A woman’s worth — redefining the narrative

In the second solo episode of my podcast, Konversations with Kui; I focused on a topic that is incredibly close to my heart. That is, how we define a woman’s worth. More specifically, why do we continue to measure African women’s worth purely based on their marital and motherhood status? Why does society’s approval of women, hinge on these two things? It is a topic that I have contemplated on for many years; further inspired by a conversation that I once had with a remarkable 7-year-old girl who was my then next-door neighbour. The conversation with this young girl left such an indelible impression on me that I wrote about it. To set the scene for this piece, allow me to recap what I wrote many years ago…

I started off the writing by quoting one of my favourite authors, the brilliant Chimamanda Adichie Ngozi:

“We teach girls to shrink themselves, to make themselves smaller. We say to girls, you can have ambition, but not too much. You should aim to be successful, but not too successful. Otherwise, you will threaten the man. Because I am female, I am expected to aspire to marriage. I am expected to make my life choices always keeping in mind that marriage is the most important. Now marriage can be a source of joy, love and mutual support, but why do we teach girls to aspire to marriage and we don’t teach boys the same? We raise girls to see each other as competitors not for jobs or accomplishments, which I think can be a good thing, but for the attention of men…”

I’ve always loved this quote, but lately it has taken on an even different meaning as a result of my interactions with an amazing seven-year-old girl, who clearly thinks that my life is somehow curious, awkward and insufficient. This is an example of our conversations:

Seven-year-old: Auntie Kui, do you have a husband?

Me: No, I don’t.

Seven-year-old: So, you just live in this ‘big house’ of yours all alone? You don’t get lonely? You should get a husband…

Right.

I can’t quite remember what my response to her was, but I remember fumbling for something intelligent sounding to say, and eventually being grateful that I had some chocolate nearby that I could distract her with.

This was another one of our conversations:

Seven-year-old old: How old are you Auntie Kui?

Me: Old enough.

Seven-year-old: Are you like in your 30’s?

Me: Yes.

Seven-year-old: And you don’t have a baby yet? (then she proceeds to tell me…) When I am 30, my [first] baby will be six years old.

Me: (Slightly taken aback and wondering how to proceed with this conversation ask…) you’ve even already planned it?

Seven-year-old: (Ignores my above question, because really Auntie Kui who would not have already planned for something like that by the time they were seven years of age?! She probably inwardly rolled her eyes at me at this stage).

Me: (In an attempt to kill the conversation, say in my most adult-like voice) you’re too young to be thinking about babies. Having babies is not a bad thing, but you should be thinking about other things like your education. (At this point I’m feeling very pleased with myself thinking that I’ve of course ended this conversation but alas!)

Seven-year-old: What if you get to like 110 years old and you don’t have babies?

Me: (Stifling a chuckle and unsure how to respond) Have you ever heard of anyone who died because they didn’t have babies? (Surely this must have now killed this conversation…but no…Miss seven-year-old is a smarty-pants and always has a comeback!)

Seven-year-old: Well, I don’t know! (said in that tone of…duh?! I’m only seven, how do you expect me to have such information)

Fair enough. Maybe there are people who have died because they never had children — even I, who was then in my 30’s — did not have this information.

Whenever I interacted with this young girl I was simply amazed at her confidence, and I often thought to myself “one day, she will make a phenomenal leader or trail-blazer in whatever field she chooses.” But seemingly, her greatest and primary aspiration in life was to get a husband and have some babies. Whilst her aspirations are fair, and she is certainly entitled to make her own life choices without others, including myself, imposing our views and values on her; this saddens me.

I am no stranger to these sorts of views about marriage and babies. I get them all the time from the older generation and from some of my misguided peers. However, when it comes from a seven-year-old girl, it simply saddens me. What does it say about our society that young girls who have not yet even reached puberty, are already worrying about having husbands and children? More importantly, that they perceive those who do not have these things as somehow lacking or ‘abnormal’? It is saddening that we are teaching our girls that their self-worth is pegged only or primarily, on being either a wife or a mother. That these girls will not grow up to view themselves as worthy human beings in and of themselves, unless their identity is attached to having a husband and/or children.

I imagine that marriage with the right partner and motherhood, can be sources of immense joy and fulfilment. However, these two things cannot and should not be the yardstick with which we measure women’s worth. To quote Chimamanda again, “[We] speak of the title Mrs. as though those who are not Mrs. have somehow failed at something. Mrs. can be a choice, but to infuse it with as much value as our culture does, is disturbing.” Perhaps, even more frustrating is that all too often it is women themselves who propagate this very flawed way of thinking. We are a long way from achieving gender equity in many aspects both here in my country Kenya and globally. Nonetheless, many women have gone ahead of us and fought tireless battles — sometimes at great personal cost — to improve our status. It is because of them that we enjoy many previously unavailable opportunities such as equal access to education, improved political agency, better access to leadership spaces, the ability to work outside the home, own businesses and so much more. Yet we, women who are fortunate enough to enjoy these and many other opportunities, make a mockery of the sacrifices and efforts of our predecessors, by reducing women’s worth solely to their ability to “snag a man and have babies”.

So, this is my plea to all people out there raising daughters (and sons): Teach your children that girls and women are worthy human beings in and of themselves. And whilst marriage and motherhood can be great things, it is ultimately a choice. Let them know that choosing a different path does not make them any less worthy nor does it invalidate their contribution to society. Teach them that, in addition to being mothers and wives should they so choose, they can be so much more. That they can go against the grain and be anything that they want to be, in whichever field they choose. But mostly, teach them to value themselves just as they are, so that they do not rely on external factors to define their self-worth.

Now, back to my reflection on the podcast: I wrote that piece, about 9 years ago now, in response to the conversations with the young girl; because I was really trying to make sense of why we socialize our girls in this way, and hopefully start a conversation around it. To understand why we reduce and narrow women & girl’s value to only these two things. In my view, marriage and motherhood is only one part of a woman’s identity. It is not their entire existence. I think we do women a great disservice when we completely minimize all other aspects of their lives and over-glorify this one aspect. Women are whole and worthy beings in and of themselves, and do not require external validation to be so; not even from a wedding ring or womb that has carried children.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I have said this before and I will say it again: I have absolutely nothing against marriage or motherhood. What I have a problem with is people acting as though there is only one way to live life; and then shaming and judging those of us who live differently or make different choices. Just as we are diverse as human beings; there are multiple ways to live life. Each with its joys and sorrows. For example, while it would be wonderful to have a life partner to share the burdens of life with; I love that — as an unmarried, child-free woman — I have a lot of freedom and independence. I can choose how I organize my own life; I have the freedom to make my own financial decisions; I have the freedom to choose where I live and work; I have the freedom to decide how I spend my time and with whom; if and when I travel; and I can independently make so many choices and decisions without having to factor in anyone else.

To me, the freedom that comes with being single is a gift that we so often undervalue, because we (ourselves and society at large); are always so focused on what we don’t have. While doing life alone can sometimes get lonely, chosen solitude can be restorative. You get to choose when and how you interact with the world; and you build a supportive community of care around you who become your chosen family. I, for example, am surrounded by such wonderful friends who enrich my life in so many ways.

So to me, there is no right or wrong way, there is just life. And our job is to live our best lives, regardless of where in the life course we find ourselves; whether we’re gloriously single, married, dating, waiting patiently, parenting alone, co-parenting or whatever else. Live as authentically and as fully as you can wherever you find yourself in life. Choose to write the narrative of your own life, do not let others define it for you. It is your life. And as my father once told me, “learn to block out the noise because there will always be plenty of it.”

I want to wrap up by sharing some advice that a dear friend of mine once gave me. He said to me: “You know Kui, you need to treat romantic relationships and marriage like icing on a cake. Let’s say for example, a chocolate cake or a fruit cake. Even without any icing, that cake would still be whole and delicious; and you will still thoroughly enjoy it. Now you could choose to add icing to that cake, which might make it a bit sweeter, but even without it, that cake is still whole. You can eat a cake without icing and enjoy it, but the reverse is not true.” And so, my dear reader, it is my sincere hope for you that you will not make something that should be the icing on your cake, to be the centre of your entire life. Ask yourself, what would your life look like, if your worth was not tied to external validation?

If you enjoyed this reflection of a woman’s worth or it resonated with you, you can find the full video episode of Konversations with Kui on YouTube; or on Spotify and Apple Podcasts for the audio versions.

May we all find freedom in living our truth, and courage in vulnerability.

Four years ago in 2021, the idea of doing a podcast came to mind. However, I am an overthinker. So, it became a typical case of ‘over-analysis leads to paralysis’; and the more I learnt about podcasts, the more paralysed I felt. As it turns out, it is important to trust the process and timing of your life; because this year (2025), everything aligned to turn my long-held desire into an actual reality. I am deeply grateful.

Konversations with Kui is an intimate podcast and a safe space for hard truths and radical vulnerability; where we have real conversations about the lives we’re living. It is my personal offering — a passion project that has given me immense joy. A way of ushering in a new season of my life with intentionality, softness and truth. This podcast marks a milestone: a bold step into a phase where I fully embody my voice, hold space for others, and amplify alternative narratives in African adulthood and womanhood. I seek to build a community centred on the authentic and vulnerable stories of Africans; fostering a culture where no topic is too taboo for open, honest discussion. I welcome you to journey with me.

In the first episode, I explain the why of the podcast. In truth, this podcast was born out of frustration. On October 5th 2020, almost exactly 5 years ago, when I was in my late 30s; I wrote an open letter to the older, unmarried, child-free African woman. I was deeply moved by the response that I got to the letter. When I published the letter, it was honestly just a “little bit of a rant” out of frustration, and I wasn’t expecting anything much from it. However, it ended up having nearly 4500 views, and I got private messages from women from all over including non-African women. I had women from as far as India and the Indian Diaspora saying to me, “thank you for giving us a voice.” I even had an African man reach out to me and tell me how he and his wife had been shamed and stigmatized for being child-free; despite the fact that they were actually struggling to conceive. No one cared about their backstory. All they got was shame, stigma, unkindness, and judgment.

So, this is where the story of the podcast begins. After the response to my article, it occurred to me that for both African women and men, we lack a safe space to have authentic conversations about the difficult realities of the lives that we’re living. I, for one, was just fed up of the unkindness that is shown to women like me. I was fed up of people’s opinions and judgements about our lives. But beyond discussing it with my female friends who are in a similar situation, there was no real mainstream space to commune; and do so with honesty, vulnerability and authenticity. A place where we can pause and speak truthfully about the things we often keep hidden away.

Since my years of frustration, I have journeyed into a space of a lot more softness and vulnerability. While this has sometimes been uncomfortable, especially because I have a strong personality, it has been truly transformative. The focus now is much less external and a lot more internal with constant, deep introspection. I am truly in a season of unearthing my soul; welcoming vulnerability as strength and not weakness; reconnecting with myself; and embracing my authenticity in all its forms, including my perfect imperfections.

A wise woman once said to me that my wounds will give healing to others. I believe this to be true. So, this podcast is intended to be a shared safe space, where we interrogate our wounds that will become the redemption for others. In this space, strength meets softness. Here, vulnerability and openness are not only welcome, they are celebrated. So, I invite you to come and journey with me as we explore and unpack our lived realities. Not the lives that society expects us to live, full of impositions and judgements; but those that we’re currently existing in, and experiencing with all the joys, sorrows and everything in between. The podcast will be a space for solo reflections, deep dialogue & conversations, laughter, and maybe even tears. If this resonates with you, find Konversations with Kui on You Tube for the full video episodes. Or on Spotify and Apple Podcasts for those who prefer to listen to audio versions.

Below is the letter that started this whole journey…

To the 30-Something African, Unmarried, Childless Woman
I am in my late 30s. I’ve always been a high achiever, I have a great career, and I’m highly educated — I attained my PhD when I was 32. I am generally well-accomplished in many aspects of my life. In other words, I live a happy, whole, and healthy life.

However, I am unmarried and do not have children. And because of this, and given the African society that I live in, I am constantly made to feel like my life is not worthy. As if my life is somehow not valid, like I am not really living, like I will only understand “what living really means” once I get a husband and a child.

I remember, toward the end of my PhD when life was highly stressful, an Auntie ridiculing me and telling me (in my native language, Kikuyu) that I do not know what stress is, and I will only ever understand stress when “I get a home,” meaning — when I get married. I was puzzled. I’d always considered myself as having a home, and one that I happened to love dearly. My place of peace and solace that I could retreat to and catch my breath from the chaos of the world. But apparently all I had was a structure that I resided in, nothing to be proud of. I wondered what made my feelings of stress any less valid, just because I wasn’t married.

This is only one of many things that I have been told because of my unmarried childless status. I have been labelled, “too picky.” Basically, implying that I should not have standards, or at least have very low standards, when it comes to a decision as important as picking a life partner. Just pick someone, anyone! I have been asked to “tone myself down” (read: shrink myself to conform to society’s expectations of how a woman should behave.). I’ve been told, “ninafunga jam” (literally translates to “causing a traffic jam” — as if my life journey should hinder or block anyone else from walking their own path).

I’ve been asked, “sasa ukisoma hivyo sana utawahi pata bwana?” (meaning, “if you advance so much in your education, will you ever be able to find a husband?”). So again, I should shrink myself and shy away from greatness so as not to intimidate men. And my favourite is: “it is of God.” Marriage and children are of God, therefore anything that does not conform to this is “ungodly.” Another auntie once publicly told me off in front of a crowd of family members, stating loudly that she, and others like her, had made “godly choices” — unlike me.

Incidentally, at least in my case, the brunt of this shaming always comes from fellow women. It is no wonder sometimes people say women are their own worst enemies — we give society the fodder to say so. When it comes from much older women, as vexing as it is, I take a deep breath and remind myself that there is a generational gap in our thinking. But when it comes from my peers, it downright infuriates me because they should know and think better.

I should pause here and clarify that I have nothing against marriage or motherhood (and there is nothing wrong with desiring these things). In fact, the contrary. I believe marriage with the right partner can be a source of joy and fulfilment. And if the joy I derive from spending time with my 10-year-old nephew is anything to go by, I have little doubt that motherhood can be an amazing experience.

Whilst acknowledging the potential benefits of marriage and motherhood, I do not believe it should ever be used as a reason to belittle or stigmatize those who are living alternative lifestyles, whether by choice or by circumstance. Marriage or having children is not an achievement; it is a choice. When we belittle older women who are unmarried or have no children, what we’re saying to them, and other women and girls, is that their sole purpose on this earth is to procreate and be someone’s wife; that they serve no greater purpose beyond this; that they should only ever aspire for these two things, and without accomplishing these, they might as well not exist.

I have seen women spiral into depression because they’re unmarried or don’t have children. Because society has made them believe that they are not “full women” without these things. They feel unworthy, unlovable, and like their lives do not matter. It breaks my heart to see this. Even sadder is the stigma, trauma, and torment that women in marriages who are unable to have children experience, both at the hands of society and sometimes their own families. Even when the issue is with their husband or partner, they’re still often blamed.

I have seen women make questionable choices because any man or husband is better than none, only to spend the next several years living in tears, frustration, and misery. I have also seen newly married women, some of them former friends, look down their noses at me, only to come seeking me out later when they realize that their partner was not a prince charming after all, and marriage wasn’t the bed of roses they thought it would be. I sympathize with these women.

But with women like me, society often judges us so harshly without even knowing our stories. We, too, have stories.

Some are simply stories of choices made, because one prefers one way of life over another — and that is okay too; we do not have to conform to society’s expectations of us. A friend of mine once put it brilliantly, “having children (and marriage) is not a need for every woman, it is an expectation society has of us.” A woman can exercise her freedom of choice and decide not to get married or have children. We all have a right to live our lives as we desire (and no, humanity will not suddenly grind to a screeching halt because some women decide not to have children; there will always be many women out there who will have a strong desire for children).

Other times, the stories are sadder. More traumatic stories of remarkable heartbreak, unimaginable losses, disappointments, perceived failures, and much more, which can lead one to give up on the idea of marriage and motherhood altogether. To this latter group of women, (yes, I know these streets are rough) but I give you Maya Angelou’s words: “Have enough courage to trust love one more time and always one more time.”

The difficulty with being a woman like me — an older, unmarried, childless woman — is that society does not allow us to have a voice. We are considered “subaltern women.” We don’t even understand what “true stress” is, remember? So how can we know of pain, loss, and disappointment? How about we first focus on bagging ourselves a man and popping some babies, so that we can earn the right to be heard?

So, this piece is in honor of all those unheard, voiceless women out there. The ones who society mocks, judges, ridicules, and bashes on the daily, without knowing our stories. The ones who are tired.

And to the rest of society: before you go telling someone that “anafunga jam” or they are “ungodly,” please consider that you know nothing about their life story and that, in fact, it really is none of your business.

For the woman out there who I am writing this for, I don’t know you, but I understand your struggle. I understand the exhaustion of having to survive in a judgmental and insensitive society. But understand this — you are not the problem. Whenever someone tries to put you down because of your marital or child status, remind yourself that the issue is with them and not you. People who are happy and content with their own lives do not go around trying to bring others down. They simply don’t. However, misery loves company. And my own observation is that those people who are always all up in my business, are people whose own lives are not going well. And so, they try to put me down because it makes them feel better about themselves and validates their life choices.

I have learnt to simply not pay attention to this. Your best revenge is to live your best life and to be the fullest and most authentic version of yourself. In other words, unapologetically do you. And always, always hold your head up high, because contrary to the lies that society has told you, you are truly worthy, and you are a jewel. I hope for you all that you truly desire, whatever that may be.

I cannot wait to see where we go with Konversations with Kui. I hope you will join the community, and that each episode leaves you feeling seen, heard, or maybe even challenged in new ways.

A while ago, I had a heated (but friendly and enriching) debate with someone on whether we — women — are our own worst enemies. We will call this other person, Tumi*.

Based on my own life experiences, I was of the opinion that yes, we (sadly) are. As I told Tumi, in my own life, I have stood and succeeded on the shoulders of great women; amazing women who have nurtured me. However, the majority of times when I have been undermined both personally or professionally, has almost always been by a fellow woman. Something that always caused me great dismay, more so as a champion of gender equity. We, as women, already have so many odds stacked against us without even trying. So why pray tell, would you want to be the stumbling block to another woman’s success or thriving? Also, the people in my society and community who have judged me the most, as an older, unmarried, child-free woman, are women. In fact, I have always maintained that women are the greatest gatekeepers of patriarchy.

Tumi pointed out to me that perhaps men judge me too for being older, unmarried and child free; they just don’t say it to my face. Fair enough. However, my response to this was: I have absolutely no problem with that. People’s opinion of me are not my problem. One can think whatever they’d like to think about me, that’s their prerogative. What I do have a real problem with, is when people try to make their opinions of me, my problem. When they feel entitled to bring their opinions and judgments into my personal space; and disrupt my peace and harmony. Like keep your opinions to yourself. This entitlement is what really irks me. And the expectation that I, should not have a right to respond when you bring your judgment my way. I should just smile politely and be the “bigger person”.

Anyway, back to the topic at hand. For me personally, I am of the opinion that (some) women can be very undermining of their fellow women. Worse still, they get away with it because of the focus on addressing male privilege; amplifying homogenous “sisterhood”; and the misguided belief that you cannot be pro-women, and also call out women who cause harm. There’s a notion that these two latter things are mutually exclusive i.e. you are either for or against women without exception. I argue that these two things can and should co-exist. In fact, if we’re sincere about equity and causing no harm, calling out bad behaviour (whether by women or men) is an absolute necessity.

Tumi on the other hand, was strongly (and I mean strongly), against this idea of women being their own worst enemies. In her opinion, we women do ourselves a great disservice when we perpetuate this particular sentiment. Even worse, we give men the chance to use it against us. The men will for example say, “see, women can’t even work together as a team”; or “see all the in-fighting between the women”; and so on. As Tumi rightly pointed out, men also undermine each other all the time, and perhaps far more viciously than women do. The only difference is, they don’t label each other as enemies. The contrary. They will say things like: “that’s just the way the game is” or “it’s just business, it’s not personal” or “it’s just politics” and so on. They simply view it as disagreement and not necessarily enmity. It is not that Tumi thought that women were saints. She too had experienced nastiness from women, and believed in the importance of calling this out. Her problem was with the labeling, specifically how we women label each other and perpetuate this labeling to our detriment.

At the end of the long debate, we agreed to disagree. As I said to her, we are a sum of our experiences, and these experiences shape our views. It had, however, been very refreshing to meet an intellectual match and someone who could hold their own in a debate with me. So, I reflected on our conversation long after the fact. And this is what I have now come to realize: That l do agree with Tumi. Like her, I think we should disabuse ourselves of these labels that equally contribute to undermining women. Like her, what I have a problem with, is women undermining other women. In fact, I abhor this. There is no reason for it! You do not even have to uplift, but can you please not be the person who undermines another woman? However, men do equally harmful things to their fellow men, and no one ever says that “men are their own worst enemies”. Human beings are human beings. They are good men and good women, as there are bad men and women. The latter will undercut others regardless of gender. Yet, we have created a special label for the women who do this to their fellow women.

So, thanks to Tumi, I am shifting towards rejecting this statement. It does not change how I feel about women who subvert other women. However, I will not label it as enmity, when I never do the same for men. I’m grateful for that breakfast conversation with Tumi. I am always thankful for enriching conversations that help me rethink my beliefs, or unlearn entrenched views and reconsider alternatives. So perhaps, women are not their own worst enemies. Women are just human beings, flaws and all; and we shouldn’t place them on any moral pedestal. As my favourite author Chimamanda Ngozi aptly reminds us: “Women are not special, we’re just regular human beings.”

Some years ago, I found myself caught up in a “neighbourhood thing.”
The details of which are too petty for me to spend any time and energy trying to describe. But in summary, it involved a water tank (yes, a water tank — laughable, but true) and two fellow tenants.

The irony of the whole thing was that when all the drama started, I was nowhere near my house. In fact, I was on a mini-vacation on the beautiful shores of Lake Naivasha, Kenya, celebrating my birthday and having an awesome time. The downside of this was that in my absence, our caretaker (the equivalent of a groundskeeper in other contexts) — an honest, helpful, hardworking, and trustworthy man — bore the brunt of the attack, to the extent of being threatened with losing his job; as he was perceived to be “on my side.”

Imagine that? Threatening a man’s livelihood over a water tank! This was particularly upsetting for me. It was one thing for these two neighbours to pick on me. In a sense, I was “someone their own size” as a fellow tenant. However, it’s another thing to pick on a more vulnerable person who is just trying to make an honest living and feed his family. Anyway, as soon as I discovered what was going on, I contacted my then landlord, it was his water tank after all. He then contacted the property managers, and the issue was promptly resolved (or so I thought). I returned to enjoying my afternoon margaritas.

Turns out, the tank wasn’t really the issue (the real issue remains a mystery to me). The next thing I knew, there was a full-blown personal attack and character assassination about me posted on our residents’ WhatsApp group. What was most baffling to me is that I rarely ever interacted with these two men. In fact, in the four years that I had lived in my apartment, I can count on one hand the number of times that I directly interacted with them. So, you can imagine my astonishment at this whole scenario. However, as I said, the drama is not important. What is important are the lessons that it reminded me of. Lessons that I have picked up along the way on life’s journey. I want to share them with you, in the hope that they may be of use to you in whatever situations you may be experiencing:

Not every adult is a grown-up.
A insightful woman once told me these words of wisdom. When she said this to me, it was, as my nephew would put it: a mind blow! Previously, I had always made the mistake of assuming that just because I was dealing with a biological adult, they would have the requisite mental competence and emotional maturity, to act and reason like a grown-up. Not always so. It is sometimes the case that you are dealing with a biological adult, but not a grown-up. It is unclear to me whether this lack of “grown-upness” is usually by choice or circumstance. Whatever the case, make peace with the situation and move on from it as best as you can. Trying to reason with such a person is tantamount to attempting to reason with a child who is throwing a tantrum — sense will never prevail.

People who are not at peace with themselves will always try to cause disharmony amongst others.
Have you ever encountered people in life who are always sowing discord? It’s like drama follows them wherever they go. What is important to understand when one gets caught up in this kind of situation is that: it’s not about you.

Whatever is happening is a manifestation of the aggressor’s internal turmoil, misery, and frustration. Or, they are compensating for some internal insecurity. They will try to bully you, discredit you, put you down, insult you, and everything else in-between. Do not allow yourself to be dragged into it. Negativity breeds negativity and such (toxic) people exude harmful energy wherever they go; so, do not make it about you. They must come to the realization that first and foremost; they harm themselves with their negativity. And then, they have to do the required internal work to live a more peaceful life. It is not your battle, leave it be.

Safeguard your personal boundaries.
When someone offers you a gift, you have two options: you can either accept or decline the gift. In the same way, when someone brings toxicity and negativity into your personal space, you can either accept and internalize it, or you can say, “no, thanks.”

I know that this is easier said than done, especially when one is in the midst of the messiness of the situation (and our egos can often get in the way), but learn to say “no, thanks” to toxicity. . Fiercely protect your personal boundaries. Just as you would never allow someone to come into your home or compound and dump their trash or openly defecate in there, do not allow people to dump their negativity into your personal space.

Most importantly: Do the work on you.
The problem with many of us is that we want everyone else (except ourselves), to change. Our gaze is always focused externally instead of looking inward. I suspect it is for this reason that these two men decided to gang up against me and publicly try to discredit me. It was to try and influence the perception that the other neighbours had of me, in an attempt to sway things in their favour. Yet, at no time did they stop to examine or reflect on their own behaviour. I’ve always been a tough cookie, and I generally do not take such behaviour lying down. So, at first, when the character assassination started, I pushed back. But then, I quickly realized (for all the reasons outlined above) that it was a waste of my time and that I needed to be the bigger person and rise above it.

However, the only reason I can do that now; is because I have, and continue, to do the work that is needed to grow and self-evolve. Some years ago, it would have been full-on battle, boxing gloves on, with these two men — aura for aura as the Kenyan Gen-Z would say. Not anymore. So, take the time to do the difficult self-work that is needed to grow yourself. Not only does it make your life so much more peaceful and abundant, it will also serve you well in times of crisis and turmoil.

However, if you forget everything else that I have written here, remember these wise words from Michelle Obama:
“When they go low, we go high.”

This article was first published here: https://www.elephantjournal.com/2020/11/not-every-adult-is-a-grown-up-saying-no-thanks-to-negativity-drama-kui-muraya/

I recently ran a full (42-km) marathon. I’ve been running for a very long time and it always felt joyful. The last couple of years however, running felt more like work than pleasure. So last year, I made a decision that it was time to “retire” and hang up my running shoes. Also, running had become all-consuming and taken away from other things that I equally enjoy like mountain-climbing. My spirit yearned for the mountains, and it was time to get back to that. However, if I was going to be done with running, I needed to finish well. I can’t have run that many years and retire without attempting at least one full marathon. Also, at the back of my mind somewhere, I had always wanted to do a 42@42 (run a full marathon — 42 km, at age 42). This is a thing in Kenya. Everything aligned beautifully. It was meant to be and seemed like a great idea at the time. That is until I started training for it…

Training for a marathon is exactly like doing life. It ranges from utmost joy to pure misery and everything in between. I lost count of the number of mornings I woke up for a training session, and would swear profusely under my breath. Hissing profanities at myself and the gods of crazy that prompted me to make certain life decisions. I wish I was even raising money for some noble, charitable cause; then it would make sense. But noooo! I chose this for no greater good. In fact, I had spent money to pay registration for the damn marathon and bought flight tickets to get me there! Sigh. But I had committed and I was going to finish what I started. As with life, the trick was to find my community and have a solid support system. Every miserable, profanity-laden struggle out of bed, would soon turn to joy, because I had surrounded myself with an amazing running community (shout out to TipwaTipwa Runners and especially the 42-Km Nairobi Marathon crew!). At the end of every training session, I felt good and had a sense of fulfilment. Both in life and in marathons, having community, whatever that means to you, makes the journey bearable and helps you win.

From very early on, I (thankfully) had sufficient foresight to know that training for a full marathon -especially being my first one — was probably not something I would easily achieve on my own. I am a lone wolf in many aspects of my life but I also know my limits. In life, it is important to know what you can do alone, and when to ask for help. So, I enlisted the help of a running coach (shout out Coach Silas!), who gave me a solid training plan and had to put up with my morning grumpiness. I also had two amazing training partners. Here, I want to pause briefly and give one of them, Kahaki Muindi, her flowers: You see, Kahaki is, without a doubt, a fast runner. However, she truly embodies the philosophy of leave no runner behind. She slowed herself down often to accommodate me, sped up when I needed a push, and when she needed to “fly ahead” to meet her own running goals, we would always have a plan in place so that I was not left flailing behind (not least because I have a terrible sense of direction and was bound to get lost somewhere along the long running routes!). I sometimes think that it is providence that we happened to be training for our individual marathons at the same time. Interestingly, despite accommodating me during training, Kahaki run her own marathon in an impressive time of 4hrs 26 minutes! As with life, pausing to help or support others does not dim your own shine, it can only add to your good karma and help you shine brighter. Ergo the wise African saying, “if you want to go fast go alone, but if you want to go far, go with others.” Moral of the story? Whether in life or in marathon training, surround yourself with people who will cheer you on, encourage you, push you when needed, and help you back up when you fall and are discouraged.

Despite one’s best intentions, hard work and preparation; both in life and in marathons, things won’t always go as planned and one has to be flexible and adaptable. Change is the only constant in life. In the latter half of my training, all my old injuries flared up and new ones came. Many times, I was in pain and feeling doubtful as to whether I would achieve my goal. The solid training plan went into disarray and I had to readjust things to accommodate my injuries. The goalpost shifted from finishing the marathon in five hours or less to just finishing. A DNF (did not finish) was my worst nightmare, especially after all the hard work. Thinking of Eliud Kipchoge ordinarily inspires me, but this time round all I could think of was: if even he, the G.O.A.T himself, had a DNF in the last Olympic, then I certainly was not immune to it. Here’s the thing though: In life as in marathons, it is perfectly okay to shift the goalpost. It does not mean that you have failed. In fact, you won from the day you woke up for your very first training session, because you showed up. It simply puts you in the category of those superior species that Charles Darwin described when he said: “It is not the strongest or most intelligent [species] that survive, it is the most adaptable to change”. So I adapted to (unforeseen) change, reduced my running load, slowed my pace further, incorporated a lot more cross training, worked intensely with my physiotherapist, stopped wearing dresses for several weeks because my knees and shins were almost always taped up; and eventually, I made it to the race start line in beautiful Cape Town.

Race day itself was mostly joyful. I was so glad to have made it that far after all the anxiety of the preceding weeks. But there was yet another lesson in flexibility and adaptability to come. I was having a fantastic run. By kilometre 30, I was feeling very confident that I would, after all, achieve my goal of running the marathon in five or less hours. By the 35-km mark, I was still on course to finish within my target time. Then things quickly unravelled. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong in those last seven kilometres. I changed tact to run/walk. At the 5:00hr mark I was at 40-kilometres. I glanced at my watch and felt a tinge of disappointment but quickly readjusted. I told myself, “Okay Kui, we can do this in 5:15hrs, give it a last push!” When I crossed the finish line, I glanced at my watch, 5:16:08. A tear of joy stung my eye. (The official time as per the marathon clock was 5:20:13). I still don’t get the whole 4-minute discrepancy but the point is, I had not done it in 5:00 or 5:15 hours and I was still overwhelmed with joyful emotion at the end. I had overcome intense physical pain and drawn on all my mental fortitude to cross the finish line, and I was damn proud of myself! So, whether in life or in marathons, when you feel beaten down, know that you still have some push in you. Pause if you must. Change tact if it will help. Be okay with some disappointment. But understand that your mental fortitude far supersedes any pain that you might be experiencing. So, dig deep and push on.

In loving memory of my (adopted) sister Muni Maina. Gone way too soon, but forever in our hearts

It’s been 10 years and 3 months. Now, I can visit your grave and not weep. I remember the first time I visited, I was a hot mess! Tears flowed freely and I wondered if I would ever be able to visit again. It felt too raw. But I did, time and again. Now when I visit, I do not cry. Instead, I stand there in quiet contemplation. Sometimes I have a silent conversation (or perhaps monologue?) with you. I tell you that I hope you’re happy wherever you are, I hope you are at peace, and that I miss you. The wound is still there, it just doesn’t feel as raw. I guess time really does make things better.

It’s Christmas Day and the year is 2013. After my usual morning routine, I start off the day by coming to Mombasa hospital to visit you. I’d bought you a Christmas card and I wanted to make sure that I dropped it off that morning, as I wished you a “Merry” Christmas. As merry as it could be given the circumstances. I speak to you for a little while, then head off to church to meet the rest of the family, promising you that I would visit again soon. I felt hopeful leaving the hospital. For starters, you had been moved from the ICU to the general ward. Your personal nurse who we had hired to give you additional care (beyond the general care from the hospital nurses), also said that you were doing well. That you’d had a good night. All positive signs.

I knew you would not be able to read my card — you were barely conscious; but I believed that you felt my presence and heard my voice. Why? I remember the very first time I came to visit you in hospital. I’d been away for work in the U.K. for three months. Your health deteriorated while I was away, and all I knew about your condition was based on the regular updates from other family members. So, when I landed back home, one of the first things I did, was to come and see you. You were still in the ICU at the time. I walked into your room. I had been told you were semi-conscious. To me, it seemed like you were calmly sleeping. Then I said: “Hi Muni, it’s Kui”, and all hell broke loose! You started kicking hard, your arms were flailing, making incomprehensible sounds, machines were beeping everywhere, I burst out crying, nurses ran in and removed me from your room, urging me to calm myself down. It was all very dramatic. But later I thought, “she must have recognized my voice.” Why else the dramatic reaction? So since then, when I visited, I was convinced that you felt my presence and heard my voice. Maybe there was a medical explanation for it all, but I cling to that hope. Because then I know that you heard me tell you over and over, how loved and cherished you were.

Christmas day passed without much ado. It was happy and full of family warmth, but there was a looming cloud with you in the hospital. The following day (Boxing Day), Dad drove to Nairobi/upcountry. This time round, Mum refused to accompany him. She decided to stay back on account of you being in the hospital. Dad was to be back in a few days anyway. Later that day Mum came to visit you in the hospital. I stayed home and said that I would visit you the following day. That visit was not to be. It was late at night and I was just starting to doze off, when Mum knocked on my bedroom door. The hospital had called and wanted us to go in immediately. “Why?” I asked her. “They didn’t say,” she replied. But we both knew. A part of me was holding on to the hope that perhaps your condition had just deteriorated, but the worst had not happened. Yet deep down I knew. It was a very quiet drive to the hospital. At the hospital parking lot, we met Tracy. She had gotten the call too. This confirmed my fears. And when we walked into the ward and I saw the look on your personal carer’s face, I knew. I was gutted. I had really thought you would pull through.

The days that followed were a blur. There was so much to do to give you a befitting funeral. Guests from far and wide were coming home at all hours to comfort us; but I was just tired, overwhelmed, sleep-deprived, and in ‘automatic pilot mode’. Things had to get done. I had never ever imagined having to help pick out your coffin, or the dress that you would be buried in; yet there I was. After that night at the hospital, the night you left us, the next time I truly cried for you again, was during your burial. I finally broke after days of being on ‘autopilot’. The next time I wept for you was when I had to go to your rental house and pack up your stuff. Undoubtedly one of the hardest things that I’ve had to do. I had been fine for most of it, diligently packing things into boxes, until I stepped into your bedroom. Then I couldn’t stop crying. I couldn’t believe that you were really gone. Just like that, your light had dimmed and then completely vanished and you were only 32.

I have written elsewhere that even in the darkness of your passing on, I learnt some valuable lessons. For example, I do not moan about growing older (as many women often do). I know how precious it is, to see another year. You were only one year older than me. When I celebrated my 32nd birthday the year after your death, I was pained by how young you were when you left us. It felt so unjust. I remember one of our last conversations just before I left for the UK. You asked me to bring you back a top. I jokingly said that nowadays I only bring back gifts for the tiny tots, and not the adults. And you went like “aii wooooiye” in your high-pitched voice. I did bring you back a top, three tops in fact. But you never got to wear them. Had I known that would be our last in-person conversation, I would have said so much more.

You were such a kind soul. Always willing to help. Like when our sister’s (Tracy’s) nanny did the thing, and she had to go to work, and had no one to leave the baby with. You jumped in to help her with childcare without a second thought. Speaking of the “baby”, you wouldn’t believe that he is now a grown 13-year-old boy. Taller than all of us, and with a deep voice! I remember how dearly you loved him. How you loved carrying him on your back. It saddens me that he doesn’t remember you. But how could he? He was only three when you left us. In my tribute to you, I promised you that I would tell him about you. I have kept that promise. Like when we went home last Christmas, I pointed to your photo that’s placed on the living room cabinet, and asked him if he knew who you were. He didn’t. So, I explained as best as I could. As he grows, I will tell him more about you. You’d be proud of him. He has turned out to be a good kid.

Muni, you left such a void in our lives. Such emptiness. Whilst time has made it easier to deal with, we still miss you every day. It is my sincere hope that you are happy wherever you are. Lord knows that life wasn’t always kind to you, having been orphaned so young. I hope you found rest. We deeply cherish the memories of you and the time we shared together. Until we meet again, rest well with the angels my darling sister.

Recently someone accused me of something weighty.

My first reaction was one of genuine shock and bafflement because the whole thing was so unexpected — and in my opinion the accusation itself was baseless and ludicrous.

The confusion was quickly followed by anger. Anger for two reasons: First, if you’re going to come at me with an accusation, then at least have some solid evidence to back up your allegation. Personal (mis)interpretations of an innocuous oversight do not count. Furthermore, drawing (false) conclusions on a matter without ever having a conversation with the concerned parties is simply in poor taste. It creates unnecessary tensions and does promote goodwill.

Secondly, just how idle did this person think I was? And relatedly, how important did they think they were that I would spend any of my limited time, energy, and headspace, plotting how to undermine them? Where would I even get the time?

I recently read this somewhere, “Harsh truth, your freedom begins the day you realize no one is thinking about you.” I don’t agree with the entirety of that statement, but I certainly agree with its subtle way of telling people to get over themselves. Case in point: While I was busy struggling to keep my head above water in what turned out to be an extremely overwhelming last quarter of 2022, here was this other person making up all sorts of stories in their head about me and my actions. If only they understood that I barely spared them any thought, life would have been far less agonizing for them. Ultimately, though, this unpleasant incident reminded me of a few worthy lessons that I have learnt along the way.

Let me share these with you:

1. Do not make other people’s crazy about you.

I wish I could remember where I originally heard/read this, so I could give due credit, but my memory fails me. The point is that people will often have their own issues and insecurities that they will attempt to project on you. It is easier for an unhappy person to dump their crazy on you, rather than do the self-work required of them to heal and grow. The latter would require taking an honest and critical look at themselves and their behaviour, and they may not like what they see. So, it’s easier to project. In my case, having remembered this wisdom, I decided that I would need to set clear and firm boundaries with this person. I would safeguard my space and recommit to protecting my peace of mind. And as far as I could control it, this person was not welcome in my space.

2. Relatedly, learn to hand people back their crap.

Here, I like the analogy of a gift. If someone presents you with a gift, you have the option to either accept or reject it. So, whenever someone attempts to hand you a “gift of their crap” or drop it at your doorstep, imagine yourself politely declining it. In your mind (or perhaps overtly if need be), tell them “no, thanks, you can keep your gift.” We have little control over people’s behaviour, actions, or thoughts. However, we have a choice whether we accept their crap or hand it back to them. Again, this is about safeguarding our boundaries and space. Sometimes, the event will be unexpected (as it was in my case), catches us off guard, and we might not immediately reject this gift of crap. But remember, even stores have a 14-day return policy for goods and gifts bought. So, hand it back!

3. The third and important lesson that I relearnt from that incident was: You cannot pay attention to what everyone thinks of you.

And as Prof. Brené Brown advises, we should have a short list of people whose opinion of us matters. In fact, if memory serves me correct, Prof. Brown advises that one should write down this short list and keep it with them in their wallet. I’ve never done this. Mine is a mental list. But one thing I knew for certain was that this particular individual did not feature anywhere on that list — nor were they in the running to be included in it anytime soon. So, I made a clear decision that I was not going to spend any of my time worrying about them and their opinions of me. Don’t get me wrong, it is necessary to be open to receiving feedback from others. After all, no one is perfect, and we all have room for improvement and growth. However, it is equally important to be able to discern the intent behind what is being said to you. And in this case, the accusations and statements were not intended to grow me in any way. In fact, they had little or nothing at all to do with me.

So, for anyone out there who had to endure other people’s crazy in the year 2022, understand that people will judge you based on their limits and personalities (this was another thing I remembered thanks to that incident). So, do not make people’s judgements of you to be your problem; that is their problem.

May 2023 be the year that you stand up for yourself, set clear boundaries, and reaffirm your commitment to safeguarding your soul and protecting your peace of mind. Troubles will always be there. But how you choose to react to those troubles is, to a great extent, within your control. So do not hand over your power to other people. May 2023 be kind to you.

First published here: https://www.elephantjournal.com/2023/03/do-not-make-other-peoples-crazy-about-you/

Dear Fellow Strong African Woman,

I see you. I see you because I am you. I know and understand your struggle. For so long you were made to feel like a misfit, a pariah. “Toe the line”, you were told. Who do you think you are? You’re too loud, too vocal, too audacious, too opinionated, too free-spirited, too visible, too everything that you’re not supposed to be. And for very long, you believed it. You believed your gifts were a curse. You tried to make yourself small to fit in. Until life, or perhaps providence, brought people your way who made you realize that there was absolutely nothing wrong with you. In fact, the contrary! You are an invaluable jewel, and the world is lucky to have you. For what a loss it would be, for the world to be without your wisdom, your compassion, your care, your kindness and generosity, your courage and strength, your intelligence and intellect.

The thing is, the people around us, are the mirrors to our inner being. And when the only thing being mirrored back to you is that there is something ‘wrong’ with you, you are bound to believe it. Even all the self-love in the world will not pull you out of it. You will have eaten up all the lies you were told about yourself, and you will be bloated with this false image of who you are. Eventually, a different mirror is held up to you. Then you start to see a different image of yourself — one of beauty and abundance. And you stop cowering and start roaring!

You were also often told that a woman like you could never find a man. You are ‘too picky’; you are not ‘marriage material’; who would want to marry a woman like you? Understand this: The question is not who would want to marry you; rather, who is worthy of you in all your beauty and brilliance and with all the gifts that you have to offer? You are also not picky. A woman like you, can only be with an extraordinary man (just as you are extraordinary). By definition, extraordinary is rare. The kind of man who is sufficiently secure in himself, that he is not threatened by you and your success. Who does not need you to dim your light, to make his shine brighter. Who does not need you to make yourself small, to make him feel big. Who does not mind taking second stage, if needed, because he knows that he is not defined by his dominance over you. So do not get disillusioned. All the broken paths you have walked on so far, will lead you to him. And even if they don’t, trust that you will be okay. Afterall, it is you — the strong African woman. You have all that you require within you.

For the younger woman reading this, (the younger Kui), it is my sincere hope that this letter saves you the many years it took me to get on the path of true self-appreciation. This is me telling you that it is okay to be you. Exactly as you are. You were never born to fit in, you couldn’t even if you tried because you were born to stand out. You are phenomenal. Nothing about you is, or ever was, a mistake. So, stay beautiful, stay strong.

This article was first published here: https://www.elephantjournal.com/2021/08/a-letter-to-the-strong-african-woman-the-world-is-lucky-to-have-us-kui-muraya/