“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 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.
I don’t know what it was about last night. Maybe it was the back pain or maybe it was something quieter, something I hadn’t named yet, something sitting at the back of my mind waiting for a moment like that, when everything is still, when there are no distractions left, when even sleep refuses to take you.
I just found myself staring...
At my curtain, of all things.
I found out by accident. That’s the part that still irritates me when I think about it because I wasn’t supposed to know.
It was almost careless. A half-open document left on a screen that wasn’t meant for me. A conversation thread that wasn’t fully closed. A name I wasn’t supposed to connect to the context that suddenly made too much sense.
I remember the feeling of sinking clarity that unfolds as your mind catches up with what your eyes have already seen. And then, it all clicked.
I gave when I should have kept. I poured it into something that didn’t pour back. And I didn’t notice the imbalance while it was happening. It's funny how normal it felt while it was happening. How reasonable my choices seemed in the moment.
And the worst part? I wasn’t even being asked to. No one forced me into it. No one manipulated me into staying against my will. There was no grand deception that stripped me of choice. I chose it. Over and over again. And that’s what hurt the most later... was what I allowed.
The first crack wasn’t in the system. It didn’t come from him. It came from me. That’s the part I didn’t expect. I found myself, against my own better judgment, comparing. Not him to someone else. But him to something I used to be closer to. A version of myself that didn’t calculate as much.
Because the more I watched him, the more I started seeing something uncomfortable. How often I don’t move like that. How often I calculate longer than necessary. How often I pause where there’s no need for pause. How often I still, even now, run invisible conversations in my head before I act.
So I tested it, and the system held. And that confirmed something I wasn’t entirely ready to accept yet. This wasn’t just working. It was designed to work. And I was functioning exactly as expected within it.
That should have reassured me. It didn’t. Because if something is designed this well, then it existed before me. Which means I didn’t walk into something random. I stepped into something already planned, already thought through. And that brings me back to the same question. What’s the catch?
“This isn’t about interest,” he added.
“Good,” I said. “Because I’m not interested in being interesting.”
“Then we understand each other,” he said.
And just like that, it was decided. Not formally. Not with a contract or agreement or even a clear yes. But something had already been set in motion.
That’s how it started. Not with curiosity. Not with attraction. Not with anything soft or uncertain. With terms.