“Whispers From My Heart” is a sacred space where I pour the unspoken — my healing, my growing, my letting go, my loving. Each poem and love letter is a soft echo of the woman I am becoming: brave, blooming, and beautifully unfinished. These are the whispers born from my deepest battles, my quietest prayers, and my brightest hopes. If you find yourself here, know that you are not alone. Welcome to the parts of me that once hurt, now healing — and the parts of you they just might soothe too.
I knocked on three doors in the valley of my pride, seeking water from wells I already knew were dry. But when you are wedged into the tightest angle of the dark, you learn a profound truth: a corner is never a burial ground. It is an anvil. And i am the iron. I am not casting wishes into the void, I am forging a demand.
He brings me a link. A suggestion. A blueprint for a neatly folded life. A quiet, contained, predictable cage, handed casually to a woman who drinks mortar and breathes steel. My mind knows he is a shallow well. But my tongue is coated in dust, and my skin is begging for the rain.
When a storm rolls in, most herd animals run away, dragging out their time in the freezing rain. But the buffalo turns its head and charges straight into the black clouds. A raw, breathtaking reflection on Father’s Day, childhood wounds, and the quiet, revolutionary realization that our parents are just flawed humans colliding in the dark, living their first time on earth, too.
People will try to sell you on their potential, but the numbers don’t lie. When a potential business partner wanted to take half the profits while pushing all the physical work, utility bills, and marketing onto me, my nervous system sounded the alarm. Here is why I canceled the deal, protected my sanctuary, and ran the other way.
May taught me that I am capable of surviving the quiet. It taught me that my discipline is the highest form of self-love I possess.
So, goodbye, May. You were difficult. You were heavy. You stretched me until I thought my bones would snap. But you didn't break me. You just made me rooted.
And welcome, June.
So, let them talk. Let them act shocked when the woman they used to walk all over suddenly stands up and looks them in the eye. Let them call it a phase. Let them call it bitterness.
I will be over here, sipping my tea in my beautiful, quiet home, watching my bank accounts grow and my peace expand. I have stepped into the dark side, and honestly? The lighting over here is fantastic.
I remember the exact afternoon my bank balance crossed the one million Kenyan Shillings mark.
I was sitting on my sofa. It was a Thursday, I think. My phone buzzed on the coffee table. A bank notification. I picked it up, expecting it to be a tiny payment from a small gig, or maybe a deduction for a bank fee. I unlocked the screen.
Available Balance: KES 1,500,003.72
When I remembered the butterfly pact, my first instinct was to laugh. The universe is so deeply ironic. It waited until the exact moment I completely abandoned the idea of "the one" to send me the exact symbol I used to beg for.
I stood there watching them flutter past the harsh lines of the buildings, and it felt like the universe had briefly peeled back the fabric of reality just to wink at me. It brought me right back to the girl I used to be.
We are raised in the gentle, suffocating religion of being nice. We are taught to be the soft landing pad for everyone else’s hard edges.
But underneath the praise we get for being 'so accommodating,' lies a devastating physiological truth: the body eventually expresses what the mouth refuses to say. When you suppress your boundaries, your immune system pays the toll. Here is an anthem for the women who are finally ready to stop abandoning themselves to keep the peace.
This whole period of my life feels like one long beautiful exhale. I am not angry at the years I spent hustling or the times I forced things. I honor that version of me. Now, I just feel this immense gratitude for having crossed the bridge into this new way of being.
As I navigate these days, I find myself making choices entirely based on this. And the beautiful thing is, by letting the frantic things pass, the gentle things have finally had room to find me.
I want a vast garden. I mean truly vast, not a manicured lawn that looks like it belongs in a magazine, but something that breathes. I want to wake up and step out into a kitchen garden that smells like damp earth, rosemary, and mint.
I want to grow things that nourish me, things that didn’t come out of a grocery store crate with a barcode attached. I see myself rearing chickens and ducks, watching them wander around with their own little dramas.
The biggest lesson of my journey so far is that urgency is usually an illusion born of panic. When we are panicked, we abandon our discernment. We settle for difficult clients because we’re afraid no one else is coming. We stay in draining relationships because we’re afraid of the silence.
But once you trust the pause, you realize that life is trying to lead you into doorways that you’re too busy running past to see. The universe isn't withholding things from you; it’s just waiting for you to stop the frantic interference so it can deliver them to your door. April was my "reboot."
Let’s be real about who I am. I’m not the "soft" girl. I’m not the girl who finds her zen in folding laundry or experimenting with recipes. I hate house chores. I find them soul-sucking, repetitive, and a colossal waste of the brainpower I could be using to run my business.
I’m ambitious. I’m domineering. I like to lead. I like my own space. I’ve already decided I don’t want any more kids. In the traditional marriage market, that makes my "value" plummet, right? I’m "difficult." I’m "not wife material."
"Eyes Without a Spark" is a raw, Afro-soul and R&B journey about the painful realization of one-sided love and the powerful, beautiful choice to finally walk away.
If you've ever poured yourself into someone who couldn't love you back, this song is for you. Here’s to healing, letting go, and finally choosing ourselves.
People think that when you choose this path, the path of logic, structure, and profit, you stop feeling. They think you turn into a robot, or a caricature of a corporate shark.
But that’s not it at all. I haven't stopped feeling. If anything, I feel more deeply than I ever have, because my feelings aren't being constantly drained by people who don't deserve them.
The biggest "profit" of this entire journey hasn't been the money. It’s been the ability to be selective.
In our culture, "choosing yourself" is usually code for being a selfish prick. We’re taught to bend, to compromise, to "read the room," and to adjust our edges so we don’t poke anyone. We’re taught that the ultimate sign of character is how much of yourself you’re willing to sacrifice for the "team" or the "relationship."
But he doesn’t operate on that frequency. He chooses himself in every decision, every boundary, every minute of his day. Not in a loud, obnoxious way. He doesn't announce it. He just… does it. It’s his baseline.
If she were here right now, she would be disgusted with me. She would think I’ve become cynical. She would tell me I’ve sold my soul for a "structure" that doesn't love me back. And she’s right. This structure doesn't love me. But it serves me.
The difference between the "old me" and the "current me" is that the old me needed to feel safe to function. She needed to believe the people around her were "good." She operated on a frequency of trust that was, frankly, a liability.
I wanted to be the woman who was controlled. The one who was rational. The one who could walk into a room and make decisions based on data and strategy rather than the chaotic, vibrating frequency of my own insecurities.
I had built this version of myself brick by painful brick. I thought I was becoming powerful. I thought I was becoming untouchable.
But hearing it from him, in that tone, it didn't feel like a compliment. It felt like a diagnosis.