“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.
Have you ever felt like your own panic was your biggest opponent? I just realized that often, all that worrying serves no one. I'm sharing my journey of setting a powerful boundary against anxiety, choosing to trust an 'Unseen Current' instead. From a lost note to an M-Pesa mishap, discover how these moments became lessons in letting go and reclaiming peace.
"Healed Girls Still Cry" is a song dedicated to anyone who thought healing meant you had to stop hurting completely. Society tells us that once we've "moved on," we shouldn't shed another tear. But the truth is, healing isn't linear. Crying doesn't mean you're broken; it means you are finally safe enough to feel.
Motherhood doesn't always come with a picture-perfect plan, a white picket fence, or a "ready-made family." I wrote "You Were My Yes" as a deeply personal letter to my son, and to every single mother who has ever cried in the dark out of guilt for the things they couldn't provide.
The woman who entered June, holding onto the frayed edges of hope, quietly wishing life would finally rescue her, was not the same woman who walked out of it. She walked out with a shovel in her hand, dust on her boots, and a quiet, fierce certainty in her gaze. She was building her own exit, even while everyone else kept calling it a dead end. And she was not stopping.
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.
"This Little Feeling" is a late-night, vulnerable R&B confession about the anxiety of letting your guard down, overthinking every text, and finally admitting that a "little feeling" has turned into something you can't ignore.
I am tearing through cupboards, hunting for sugar, for salt, for a thick, heavy carb to swallow so my chest will stop caving in. I turn on the television... It doesn't work. 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."