I walked into you carrying numbers in my head, 100K months, profit margins, hamper ideas, brand positioning, aligned clients only. I walked into you thinking strategy would be the loudest thing I learned.
But what you taught me was alignment.
You weren’t about hustle. You were about calibration. And for that, I’m grateful.
I don’t want you raised by pressure.
I don’t want you raised by survival.
I want you raised by me.
And I want to be okay while doing it.
That is the tension.
That is the ache.
Because loving you is not the problem.
Loving you is the easiest part.
Holding everything else at the same time is what terrifies me.
At first, years ago, they would stumble over it. Ask her to repeat it. Shorten it for convenience. Suggest nicknames that made it easier on their tongues. She would correct them gently, then let it go. Now, they paused before saying it.
Her name became a room key. And when she stepped inside, doors did not simply open. Spaces changed to accommodate her...
For a long time, I told myself I was “lazy” when it came to chores. Especially laundry. I would postpone it until the pile stared at me like an accusation. I’d negotiate with myself. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe when the sun is out. Maybe when I feel like it.
But here’s the irony.
I might procrastinate doing laundry, but I’m the biggest critic of how it’s done.
Everything everywhere all at once is overwhelming. But everything chosen intentionally? That’s powerful.
So my verse jump is simple. Just disciplined.
And in 12 months, when I look back, I won’t say: “I wish I had jumped.” I’ll say: “I stayed. I built. And it worked.”
Stay.
Not because it’s easy.
Not because it’s glamorous.
But because one day, you’ll look back and realize that the version of you who stayed…
That’s the version everything was built on.
And she deserves more credit than she’ll ever get.
And while you wait, love yourself the way you hope to be loved. Celebrate your own fire. Honor your own strength. Sit with your pain, but also with your joy. Cry when it hurts, laugh when it delights you, dream when you feel free enough to. Because when you are fully present for yourself, the right love doesn’t have to chase you. It will find its way to the heart that is already whole.
Maybe needing love isn’t good.
Maybe it isn’t bad.
Maybe it isn’t weakness or strength.
Maybe it’s just stitched into us, like hunger, like sleep, like the instinct to reach for warmth when the air turns cold.
And maybe the real question isn’t whether we should want it. Maybe the real question is this: If being human comes with longing built in, why do we keep pretending we’re above it?
There is joy in expansiveness.
In walking without destination.
In sitting with nothing to do and everything to feel.
I want rooms where one chair is enough.
Where light does most of the work.
Where silence isn’t awkward, it’s welcomed.
Thank You January.
Thank you for the money that came.
For the clients that came.
For the mindset shifts that stayed.
I stayed.
I chose.
I committed.
And I’m just getting started.
26 years old. 26 kilos to lose. Starting 26th January 2026. Ending 26th July, my birthday. If repetition is manifestation, then this is me repeating it until my body believes it.
I’m not chasing skinny. I’m choosing consistency, digestion, strength, and peace; one walk, one meal, one day at a time.
More than anything, I want my life to feel intentional.
I want to stop surviving chapters I never meant to live in forever. I want to enjoy what I’m building while I’m building it. I want softness without stagnation. Growth without self-betrayal. Success that doesn’t cost me my health, my joy, or my relationships.
I want 2026 to meet me well, and I want to meet it unafraid.
Let this be the year where my good intentions take root.
Where effort meets grace.
Where I receive what I am finally ready to sustain.
I welcome this year with an open heart.
I am willing to live well.
I am ready to receive.
Amen.
And so it is.
Thank you, 2025.
For everything.
For the good.
For the hard.
For the growth.
For the joy.
For the becoming.
It was an interesting year.
And I’m thankful for all of it.
Maybe that’s why I keep coming back to plumeria in my thoughts. It’s a mirror for the way I’ve been learning to live: with grace, persistence, softness, and subtlety.
To recognize that my value isn’t in the noise I make or the recognition I chase, but in the authenticity I carry. In the small, overlooked gestures of care and attention. In the ability to leave a mark without demanding acknowledgment.
You are allowed to love someone and still choose not to be in their life. You are allowed to wish them happiness without offering access. You are allowed to keep the love and release the relationship.
We struggle with this because we’ve been taught that love must always look like proximity. That caring means staying. That leaving means failing. But sometimes leaving is the most loving thing you can do, for both of you.
What 2025 taught me is that thoughts don’t become things overnight. They become patterns first. Before the job came, I changed how I spoke about work. Before the house, I changed how I treated myself. Before the clients, I changed how I showed up. Before the peace, I changed what I tolerated. Thoughts become things after they become habits, beliefs, boundaries, and choices.
As 2026 approaches, I’m not arriving empty-handed. I’m arriving lighter. With clearer boundaries. A steadier nervous system. A deeper trust in myself. Space where old burdens used to sit.
This isn’t about becoming someone new. It’s about finally stopping the habit of carrying what was never meant to come this far.
Self-gifting, I’ve learned, isn’t about treating yourself occasionally. It’s about consistently choosing yourself in ways that compound. It’s about showing up for your own life the way you show up for everyone else’s.
It’s about recognizing that you don’t need to earn care by suffering first. You don’t need to be on the brink to deserve support. You don’t need permission to prioritize your well-being.
I’ve been thinking a lot about gifts lately, the deeper kind, the ones that whisper, “I see you.” You know, the phrase everyone tosses around: “It’s the thought that counts.”
But here’s the thing I’ve been unraveling in my quiet moments: what if that thought is empty? What if it’s not a thought at all, but just a lazy assumption, a checkbox ticked off without ever really looking at the person you’re giving to?
To be loved is to be seen — and for the first time, I feel fully visible in the most tender, natural way.
Not because I asked for it.
Not because I worked for it.
But because the right hearts recognized me the moment I walked into their line of sight.
To be loved is to be seen.
To be seen is to be known.
To be known is to be cherished.
I don’t know what this is. I don’t know if it is hope, or fear, or a mixture of both sitting on my tongue whenever his name crosses my mind. But it feels like something is shifting. Something I didn’t anticipate. Something I wasn’t ready for.
And God… I’ve tried to fight it. I’ve tried to talk myself out of it, breathe myself out of it, busy myself out of it. But I still find myself checking my phone like a 16-year-old girl waiting for a message she pretends not to care about.
There are women who hustle and then there are women who attract. She became the latter, not because she stopped working hard, but because her energy began doing the heavy lifting.
She no longer chased validation or survival; she embodied worth. Her presence whispered power; her silence drew in what she used to plead for and it all began the moment she started treating her entire life as the masterpiece.
So she began tending to herself the way a mother tends to her child. With patience. With consistency. With presence.
She started feeding herself love in small, steady doses, choosing meals that nourished her body, not punished it. Choosing silence when the world demanded noise. Choosing sleep over endless scrolling. Choosing softness over performance.
From that moment, she began to design joy into her days with the same precision she once reserved for multimillion-shilling projects. Sunday mornings turned into dance breaks in her penthouse, Sauti Sol, Tiwa Savage, Beyoncé, her barefoot rhythm echoing against marble floors. Thursdays after six were art nights on the rooftop, where she painted without rules, poured wine into her favorite glass, and laughed at the chaos of color.
Adriel, my son, my sunrise,
I bless your hands,
that whatever you touch will prosper.
I bless your voice,
that it will carry wisdom, truth, and joy.
I bless your mind,
that it will stay sharp and full of wonder.
I bless your heart,
that it will always know how loved you are.
I bless your steps,
that every path you take will lead to good things.
Safety feels like conversations that don’t end in confusion.
It’s knowing I can speak my mind
without being punished for my honesty.
It’s when someone looks me in the eye
and means what they say,
not just because it sounds right,
but because it feels right,
in their tone, in their timing,
in the way their energy never betrays their words.
I think I understand now,
why love never felt enough before.
Because I was never looking for romance;
I was searching for refuge.
I wanted to be seen
without being judged.
Heard
without having to raise my voice.
Held
without having to earn the right.
I wanted to exist
without being on guard.
It’s almost embarrassing how fast I feel things.
How I can go from “hello” to “I wonder what their childhood was like”
from “thank you” to “do they mean it?”
from one small act of kindness to
“maybe this is the beginning of something.”
And I ask myself, again and again:
Why do I love like this?
During career week, Adriel introduced her: “My mum plants beautiful places and makes gifts that make people cry happy tears. She’s very rich, but she still picks me up from school.” The room laughed. She blinked back tears. That was her brand: powerful, present, and deeply personal.
She had one unshakable belief: “My son will never associate abundance with absence.” She didn’t hide wealth from him; she included him in it. He came with her on business trips...