Friday Chronicles; Are You Sure?

 

 

 

This morning I sat at my desk, tea cooling beside the laptop, a meeting invite blinking on the screen.
Before the first chime, I called Patricia into a meeting.

Patricia is me, of course—the part of me that still flinches at conflict, the girl who learned early that quiet could keep the house from breaking.

I ask her the same question every time:
“Why are you doing this?”

I grew up in a house where the air could shift in a heartbeat. My survival skill was simple: keep the peace. I became the easy child, the one who smoothed rough edges, the one who tried to offer my mother a small island of calm when the world around her refused to settle.
Obedient. Tractable.
I learned to silence my own needs for the greater good.

Somewhere along the way I built myself a mantra: See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.
I told my daughters about it recently—how those words kept me safe, sane, and together when the compound we lived in swirled with the good, the ugly, and the otherwise.

So many times I thought I was the fall guy. Mischief never fit me; the one time I strayed, I ended up pregnant. That sadness left a scar deeper than I admitted for years.

I wanted easy for my mother.
I wanted her to look at me and feel peace, even when the house was far from peaceful.
That mantra became my quiet shield—my way of walking away instead of wading into brawls, my way of keeping my mouth shut when words could ignite another fire.

But peace bought at the cost of self has a price.
It drains the room of creativity, dims the spark that makes decisions brave.
It turns life into a performance—polished, but never fully alive.

The first time I said no and the world did not collapse, something shifted.
A voice buried under years of obedience rose quietly to the surface.
Since then, each deliberate yes and each unapologetic no has been a small act of reclamation.
My voice is now loud, and it is mine.

I tell my daughters this and I tell you too:

Maybe you have a Patricia of your own.
Maybe today is the day you pause and ask her, Why do you say yes?

If the answer feels heavy, start small—one honest no, one sentence you have kept hidden.
The world will not fall apart when you choose yourself.

Because peace built on truth is worth the noise.
And a life anchored in purpose is the quiet that lasts.

With love

Njeri