Stage Two: The Many Women We Become

Stage Two: The Many Women We Become

How Did I Become Her?

I Am Still Here. I Am Alive. I Have the Power.

Last time, we went looking for the person we were before all the titles. We remembered dreams, friendships, curiosity, confidence, adventure and some of the early clues about who we were becoming.

Today, I want to follow those clues.

We do not wake up one morning to find we have suddenly acquired ten different identities. They emerge gradually: daughter, student, friend, professional, wife, mother, leader, caregiver, community member, not necessarily in that order. We choose some roles; others choose us. Some arrive with celebration and flowers, while others come through circumstance, duty, or necessity. Still others enter so quietly that we barely notice how much we have rearranged ourselves to make room for them. And I am beginning to wonder whether the roles themselves are only half the story.

Perhaps the other half is this:

What did I already carry within me that made certain roles so easy to step into?

The Girl Who Took Her Classmate Home

I was not the child who brought home stray dogs or cats. But apparently, I did bring home stray children! I have a memory of myself in Class One or Two in Nakuru. We lived fairly close to school, so going home involved walking, or, more accurately, running. One day, a group of us ran home together. Somewhere along the way, one of my classmates could not locate her house among the many flats that all looked alike. No problem. She came home with me, we shared my lunch, took a nap and then we went outside to play. Our entertainment included hopscotch and jumping over jikos that were being lit in preparation for evening meals, activities that would horrify today’s health-and-safety-conscious parent! We played until it began getting dark. Then I returned home. With my classmate still in tow and mum was quick to take over the problem of finding where this child belonged and took her back.

Looking back, I am amused by how uncomplicated it all seemed to me; someone was lost, I had a home, she could come with me. Problem solved. Perhaps that was already a clue.

Then I Became the Lost Child

At another school in Molo, the situation was reversed.

One day, I followed a group of classmates walking away from school.

I simply went along with them. One by one, they began disappearing, eventually, I was the only one left. I had unknowingly joined the day scholars as they went home for lunch! I was a boarder and should have headed to the school dining hall to have my lunch. There I was, stranded in a place I did not know. A teacher eventually noticed me and took me back to school. I do not remember being particularly terrified, although I probably should have been.

Then there was the Nairobi Show.

Those were the days when going to the Show was practically compulsory family entertainment.

Somehow, I got separated from my family. But I had a hot dog which was a rare treat those days.

Priorities!

At some point, I realized I could not see anyone I knew. Something told me to stay exactly where I was and eventually, my father came looking for and found me.

I look at these stories now and see more than amusing childhood incidents.

The child who sometimes rescued others also sometimes needed rescuing.

Perhaps both are important to remember.

Because as adults, some of us become so accustomed to being the helper that we forget we are also allowed to need help.

The Baby Who Was Too Heavy

Another childhood memory has stayed with me for a different reason.

An aunt came to visit us in Nakuru. She needed to take her baby, my cousin, Jimmy, to the provincial hospital. Being the helpful child that I was, I offered to carry the baby. It sounded like fun, after all, brownies motto said something about doing my best and to be kind and helpful.

Weeeeeeeeeeeh! That baby was heavy! I struggled. But I did not say anything.

My aunt did not ask how I was faring, and I did not know I could say:

“This is too heavy for me.”

So, I trudged along; helpful, responsible, and suffering quietly. A good deed gone wrong!

It is funny now. But when I look at my adult life, I can see something much more serious hiding inside that little story.

I became very good at carrying.

Too many chores? Carry. Reduced playtime? Carry. More work? Carry. Long hours? Carry. Unreasonable demands? Carry. Someone needs something done? Carry. You work hard. People notice that you are dependable. And what is the reward for demonstrating that you can carry?

Sometimes, they give you more to carry! And because you have learnt that being responsible is a good thing, you take it.I did not always know that I could say:

No. Alternatively: This is too much. Or: I need help. Or even: I do not want to do this.

That little girl carrying a baby that had become too heavy knew how to help. She had not yet learnt how to put something down. There is a difference.

Two Days a Week

By high school, another part of me was becoming visible.

We belonged to the Young Christian Students movement, and as part of our community responsibility, some of us had the task of taking food to an elderly lady who lived in the village near the school.

Every Tuesday and Thursday, while the other students went for evening Mass, we walked out of school carrying food for her. Those also happened to be the days we ate meat!

Now, before I present myself as exceptionally saintly, there were benefits to this particular act of Christian service.

We got to leave school!

For about an hour, twice a week, we escaped the school compound and walked through the neighboring village. On a good day, the elderly lady gave us bananas. On other days, she gave us stories. Sometimes we enjoyed ourselves so much that we suddenly realized darkness was approaching and hurried back to school, occasionally running.

Looking back, I smile and wonder:

What exactly motivated me? Charity?Christian duty?Compassion?The bananas?The freedom of leaving school?Probably a little of everything.But something else was happening that I could not have understood then.

A seed was being planted.

Before We Have Names for Things

I did not call it community service. I was not thinking about social impact. There was certainly no personal mission statement! I was simply a schoolgirl taking food to an elderly woman. Yet when I look across my life, I can see a thread. Older people. The sick. Children. Students. Community. People who need someone to notice, encourage, support or simply show up. Perhaps it is no accident that service remained important to me and that, much later, I became a Rotarian.

Some of the things that eventually define us begin long before we have sophisticated names for them. They first appear as instincts, small acts, interests, things we willingly make time for. And eventually, they find adult expressions.

But here is what I find fascinating: A single quality can be both a strength and a vulnerability.

Caring is a strength. But caring without boundaries can exhaust you. Dependability is a strength. But always being the dependable one can teach others that you will carry anything. Adaptability is a strength. But adapting endlessly can make you forget to ask what you need. Hard work is a strength. But if every reward for hard work is simply more work, something eventually becomes unbalanced. Perhaps reclaiming ourselves requires us to look not only at what went wrong, but also at the strengths we may have overused.

Then Came the Adult Roles

Student became professional. Wife became mother. And with every transition came expectations, responsibilities and priorities. Some came from society, some from family, some I created for myself. And many, I embraced willingly.

That distinction matters.

Because I do not want Reclaiming Yourself to become a story in which marriage, motherhood, work, family and responsibility are cast as villains.

They are not.

Some roles reveal beautiful parts of us that we might never otherwise have discovered.

Motherhood certainly did that for me. It revealed just how naturally I could adapt.

When Breastfeeding Became the Centre of the Day

I remember my colleague Grace and me during our breastfeeding days. We worked in the same government department, our babies were around the same age, and we lived in the same neighborhood. It made sense to carpool. And so, our lives became an elaborate logistical operation. Who drops whom?  Who picks whom?  Do we catch a matatu?  What time do we leave for our lunch break?  What time do we leave work? How quickly can we get back to the babies? Everything revolved around feeding them. There was no other agenda. Work. Rush home. Babies. Repeat. And we made it work. I remember those days with enormous affection.  But looking back now, I notice something that I couldn’t see while I was living them.

How quickly I put almost everything else aside and adapted to the role in front of me.

I was not asking: Which course should I take next? What professional opportunity should I pursue?

Who could mentor me? What skills should I be developing? Where do I want my career to be in five years? Those questions were not urgent. The babies were. I was a working, nursing mother. And in that season: That was enough. No Regrets. But Questions. I want to be very clear about this. There are no regrets. I refuse to judge that younger woman using the wisdom, resources and opportunities available to the woman I am today. She was doing what mattered. She loved her children. She was working. She was navigating a demanding season. She made life work. But reflection gives us permission to ask questions without condemning our answers.

Knowing what I know now, could I have remained more intentional about my professional development while being fully present as a mother? Could I have taken a course? Obtained professional development and registration earlier? Found a mentor? A coach? I am not even sure coaching existed for people like me in the way it does today! Could I have maintained certain networks? Watched for opportunities? Protected a little space for interests that belonged only to me? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Life is remarkably easy to reorganize in hindsight! The point is not what I should have done then.

The useful question is: What does that season teach me now? LIVE!

A few years ago, I attended a writing course. On the first day, the trainer asked us to introduce ourselves in depth. After I finished, he asked me an unexpected question. There was a young woman in the room, not yet thirty, working in architecture and design. He asked:

“What would you tell your neighbour about life?” I gave her one word: LIVE!

I occasionally see her on Facebook in beautiful settings, sometimes holding a baby. Perhaps she is now in her season of motherhood and appears fully present. But I also hope she remembers: Live. Because perhaps that is what I would tell my younger self too. Do not rush through every season trying to reach the next one. But do not disappear completely into any one season either. Live it. Learn from it. Let it change you. And remain curious about the woman who is emerging.

Do New Roles Have to Replace Old Parts of Us?

This may be the real Stage Two question. When we become someone new, do we assume we must stop being someone else? When I become a mother, must ambition step aside? When I become a wife, where does my independence go? When I become a professional, what happens to the playful girl? When I become a leader, may I still be vulnerable? When I become dependable, who cares for me? When I am known for carrying everything, do I still know how to put something down?

And when others grow comfortable with one version of me: Am I allowed to change again? I believe I am. Because reclaiming yourself may not mean going backwards to find the woman you used to be.

Perhaps it means making room for all the women you have become, without allowing any single role to consume all the others. The caring schoolgirl did not disappear when I became a professional.The professional did not disappear when I became a mother.The mother did not erase the leader.The leader does not have to silence the woman who sometimes needs help.They are all part of me.

Look Inside the Suitcase

Our suitcase is filling. But we are still not throwing anything away. We are observing. Relationships, work, marriage, motherhood, career, service, responsibility, expectations, and perhaps something less visible: The habits we carried into those roles. Helping. Adapting. Achieving. Enduring. Caring. Carrying. Some have made us strong. Some have stretched us. Some have brought extraordinary joy. And some strengths, when carried too far, may have become heavier than we realized.

So do not ask yet:

“What should I throw away?” Instead, sit with three questions:

Which roles have helped me become more of myself?

Which roles have I allowed to become all of me?

And perhaps the newest question:

Which of my greatest strengths have I sometimes carried too far?

That last one may surprise you.

Your Turn

Think about the many women you have become. Student, professional, friend, spouse, parent, caregiver, leader, entrepreneur, community member. And the person you are when nobody needs anything from you.

Which role revealed something beautiful in you? Which one stretched you? Which one surprised you? Which one became bigger than you intended? And what part of yourself became quieter while you were busy becoming somebody else?

Complete one of these:

“Becoming………………………………………………………………………taught me that

 I am………………………………………………………………………………”

Or, if you want to go deeper:

“One strength I have sometimes carried too far is……………………………………………….”

No judgement. No regrets. Just noticing. Because sometimes nothing has gone obviously wrong.

Life looks fine.

We are functioning, working, caring, achieving, doing what is expected and yet somewhere underneath all those roles, a quiet voice begins to ask:

Is there still room here for me?

That is a conversation worth having.

I am still here.

I am alive.

I have the power.

#ReclaimingYourself

#AConversationWorthHaving

#TheManyWomenWeBecome

 #IAmStillHere