There’s something I don’t say out loud enough… but I think a lot of us quietly live inside it.
I’ve noticed a pattern in myself.
When pressure rises… I don’t always rise with it.
Sometimes, I look for relief.
And not just rest in a healthy way.
I mean the kind of relief that pulls you out of your reality… even if it’s just in your mind.
When things get heavy, especially financially, emotionally, mentally, my mind drifts.
It starts painting softer lives.
Easier lives.
Lives where I don’t have to think so hard about survival.
And if I’m being completely honest?
Sometimes I find myself daydreaming about being born into wealth.
Into a life where the basics are already handled.
Where I’m not constantly calculating, stretching, figuring things out.
A life where I wake up and my energy isn’t immediately claimed by responsibility.
Where I don’t have to “push through” just to maintain stability.
And in those moments, I imagine a different version of me.
A version who isn’t tired before she even starts.
A version who creates from abundance, not pressure.
A version who builds businesses because she wants to, not because she has to.
I imagine having time.
Space.
Breathing room.
I imagine waking up in a beautiful home surrounded by greenery… not noise, not chaos, not urgency.
I imagine peace.
And I’ve tasted glimpses of that world before.
I remember this one time I had a decor setup at a birthday in one of those quiet, high-end areas around Kiambu.
The kind of place where everything feels… intentional.
The house was massive, yes, but it wasn’t just about the size.
It was the space.
The silence.
The way the land stretched without being interrupted by buildings stacked on top of each other.
The greenery.
God, the greenery.
It felt alive in a way that made me pause.
Like life wasn’t rushing there.
Like people there had time to actually live.
And I remember standing there, taking it all in, and thinking…
“This is how life is supposed to feel.”
Not rushed.
Not suffocating.
Not constantly about making ends meet.
But expansive.
Enjoyable.
Soft.
And that thought has stayed with me.
Because deep down, I’ve always believed that life is meant to be enjoyed.
Not just survived.
Not just endured.
Enjoyed.
But then reality pulls me back.
Bills.
Responsibilities.
Pressure.
The kind that doesn’t ask if you’re ready.
The kind that doesn’t care how you feel.
And that’s when the shift happens.
Because when that pressure rises…
My mind doesn’t always go to, “Let me push through.”
Sometimes it goes to:
“Maybe I should reach out to him…”
“Maybe I need someone to help me…”
“Maybe I just want someone to take care of me for a while…”
“Maybe I’m tired of doing this alone…”
And that’s the part that’s hard to admit.
Because I’ve built so much of my identity around being independent.
Around figuring things out.
Around standing on my own.
I want to be sustainable.
I want to build something that supports me fully.
I want to create a life where I don’t have to depend on anyone.
But there are moments…
Quiet, heavy moments…
Where I crave the opposite.
Where I don’t want to be strong.
Where I don’t want to solve anything.
Where I just want to be held.
Taken care of.
Allowed to soften without worrying about what happens next.
And I don’t think that makes me weak.
I think it makes me human.
Because independence is powerful…
But it can also be exhausting when it’s your only option.
And sometimes, what we call “wanting love” is actually our nervous system asking for relief.
Relief from pressure.
Relief from responsibility.
Relief from always having to be the one who figures it out.
And instead of recognizing it for what it is…
We start attaching it to people.
We start thinking:
“If I had someone… maybe this would feel easier.”
“If someone supported me… maybe I wouldn’t feel this overwhelmed.”
“If I wasn’t doing this alone… maybe I wouldn’t want to escape so much.”
But here’s what I’ve been realizing.
That feeling?
It doesn’t come from a lack of capability.
It comes from accumulated pressure.
From carrying too much for too long without enough support, structure, or stability.
So your mind does the only thing it knows how to do to protect you.
It looks for exits.
For softness.
For relief.
And sometimes that relief looks like:
Daydreaming about a different life.
Romanticizing being taken care of.
Reaching back to people who feel familiar.
Avoiding the very things that would move you forward.
Not because you’re lazy.
Not because you’re unserious.
But because you’re overwhelmed.
And overwhelmed people don’t perform at their highest level.
They cope.
That’s the truth we don’t talk about enough.
Because from the outside, it can look like inconsistency.
Like distraction.
Like “falling off.”
But internally?
It’s a nervous system trying to regulate itself.
Trying to find safety.
Trying to breathe.
And I’ve had to sit with that version of myself without judging her.
The version that wants an easier life.
The version that envies people who didn’t have to struggle the same way.
The version that sometimes whispers,
“I’m tired of this.”
Because ignoring her doesn’t make her disappear.
It just makes her louder.
So instead, I’ve been asking myself better questions.
Not, “Why am I like this?”
But, “What do I actually need in these moments?”
Is it really a person?
Or is it support?
Is it really escape?
Or is it rest?
Is it really that I want someone to take over my life…
Or that I want a life that doesn’t constantly feel like survival?
And those questions have been changing things for me.
Because I’ve realized…
I don’t actually want to be saved.
I want to feel safe.
There’s a difference.
Being saved is temporary.
It depends on someone else.
But feeling safe?
That’s something you can build.
Slowly.
Intentionally.
Practically.
And maybe that’s where the real work is.
Not in shaming ourselves for wanting softness.
But in creating a life where softness can exist without us having to abandon ourselves to get it.
A life where we’re not constantly running from pressure…
But also not drowning in it.
A life where rest isn’t something we escape into…
But something we’re allowed to have.
Because the truth is…
Running toward relief every time things get hard will always cost you momentum.
It pulls you out of your path.
Breaks your rhythm.
Keeps you starting over.
But ignoring your need for relief?
That costs you too.
It leads to burnout.
Resentment.
Emotional exhaustion.
So the answer isn’t to become harder.
Or to shame yourself into “pushing through.”
It’s to build a life that holds both.
Structure and softness.
Discipline and rest.
Independence and support.
Because you’re allowed to want a beautiful life.
You’re allowed to crave peace, greenery, space, ease.
You’re allowed to not want to struggle forever.
That doesn’t make you entitled.
It makes you aware.
But the path to that life won’t come from escaping your current one.
It comes from slowly, consistently building something that reduces the pressure over time.
So your nervous system doesn’t have to keep looking for exits.
And I’m still learning this.
Still catching myself when my mind drifts into “what if my life was easier…”
Still pulling myself back gently instead of harshly.
Still reminding myself that I’m not behind…
I’m just carrying a lot.
But I’m also building something.
Even when it feels slow.
Even when it doesn’t feel glamorous.
Even when I wish it looked different.
Because maybe the goal isn’t to never crave relief.
Maybe the goal is to create a life where you don’t constantly need to escape from it.
And that shift?
It feels more honest.
More sustainable.
More mine.
If you’ve ever found yourself wanting an easier life…
If you’ve ever envied people who seem like they don’t have to struggle…
If you’ve ever just wanted someone to take care of you so you could finally breathe…
You’re not alone.
You’re not weak.
You’re human.
But maybe this is your reminder too…
That the life you’re craving?
It’s not as far as it feels.
And you don’t have to abandon yourself to get there.
You just have to build it…
One steady step at a time.
