Throughout March 2026, I have been musing on and responding to a variety of feminism-related questions as part of a challenge from Lorraine Shu Media in commemoration of Women’s Month!If you missed following via my social media, here is a compilation embedded as a vlog. Links to AFF resources mentioned on day 30: English: https://share.google/fO8rVbCbkq6fxghTc French: https://wipc.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/03/The-African-Feminist-Charter-French.pdf
But, what if Cameroon’s greatest problem is… Love?
It is the month of love.Everywhere around us, love is being marketed loudly, particularly romantic love. Grand gestures. Gifts. Performative affection. All to prove that you love and are loved. As in past years, my musings for this February tie to this month’s theme, but rather than reflecting on a kind of love, I’m thinking of our (Cameroonians’) collective lack thereof. Because the more I sit with it, the more I feel that one of Cameroon’s deepest problems is not just the corruption, nepotism, tribalism, poor governance, or development failure we so readily name, but a lack of love. A lack of self-love, a lack of love for this country, and a lack of love for each other.I know this sounds soft. Romantic, even. Idealistic…There’s a scene from Harry Potter that I’ve never forgotten. In the final book, when Harry tells Voldemort that he will never understand why he cannot defeat him, Voldemort scoffs: “Is it love again? Dumbledore’s favourite solution?” And Harry basically replies in the affirmative; it is love.It seems like such a minor exchange in a children’s book, but it captures something profound: the tendency to dismiss love as weak or naive when confronted with what we perceive as “real” power or “real” problems. So I know someone reading my claim here will scoff and say, “No, Monique, we have real problems. Economic problems. Structural problems. Political problems.”And yes, I agree, we do.But even if those problems did not originate in a lack of love, they are certainly being sustained by it. Let me explain using an analogy I’ve used with friends in the past: If I come into your home and I see something beautiful, a display cabinet, for instance and how you’ve set up your kitchen, or a welcoming chair you’ve put into your living room, I will admire it. I will ask where you got it from. And chances are, I’ll leave your place planning to get something similar for myself. Why? Because I appreciated what you had, and I want my own space to look good too. That is self-love. Now think about this. We have people in power who travel constantly. They see how things work elsewhere. They experience efficiency, dignity, and beauty through various airports they frequent on official missions and luxurious vacations. Their kids reside in countries with roads that make sense and where they can take walks without seeing a pile of dirt on the road. And then they come back home. They see the dysfunction here. The chaos. The lack of care. And yet they do nothing. The majority of our leaders and our ‘1%’. are okay with their wealthy friends coming to their country to see it unchanged, poorly groomed, without care. If they truly loved themselves — truly — they would want their own things to look good. This is not even about morality. It is basic selfishness. A natural byproduct of a healthy ego. If you love yourself, you want the best for yourself. You want comfort. You want quality. You want to show off. And yet, even in our selfishness, we fail. We have people who steal billions, but cannot enjoy themselves properly at home because the system they refuse to fix still affects them. Do you see how a lack of self-love is at the root of our mess? And it’s not just the leaders who lack it; we as a people collectively need more self-love. Yes, we are underdeveloped largely as a result of historical injustices and oppressive global systems sustaining inequality. But the question remains: do we love ourselves enough to want better? Do we love ourselves enough to create standards and respect them? Do we love each other? Look at any African country that is prospering right now (note: I’m not saying they’re perfect); economically, they’re doing fairly well and progressing compared to Cameroon. If you go to these countries, you see a common factor: national pride. Literally everything in Kenya has the flag on it. Literally everything in South Africa screams “Mzansi”. Every other street is named after Nelson Mandela. Nigerians will criticise their country from one end to the next, but they are prouder than proud of who they are. Senegalese, the same thing. But we Cameroonians? We are proud in competition, and we have very little to compete with, so it’s usually shallow. You’ll hear other countries banter on Twitter, saying they’re so much better than us in terms of development, and a Cameroonian will retort, “But we have Eto’o!” (as if he’s not part of the problematic system). I can’t tell you how often I’ve been in the company of mixed nationalities and heard a Cameroonian put down Cameroon and other Cameroonians. A friend recounts being in a meeting where Cameroon was being considered to host the hub for an international programme, and a fellow Cameroonian dismissed the idea. It is crazy how little we love our own. How desperate we are to just leave the place. Nobody wants to really fix it. We have given up on it. It’s that lack of self-love that is sustaining the system. Yes, the system is already bad, but what is keeping it bad? What is making it worse? It’s our lack of self-love. Before coming to the conclusion that the lack of self-love is at the root of our problems, I thought ours was a problem of elitism. But the more I examined our elitism, the more I realised it was a symptom, not the disease. The elitism we practice and aspire to arises from the fact that we don’t love ourselves or each other enough to believe we all deserve dignity, and because our love, when we would have it, is conditional, reserved for exceptionalism. We don’t care that the system is bad. We just want to benefit from the system ourselves. We want to be the exception to the rule. We want to get into institutions like ENAM (École nationale d’administration et de magistrature) rather
It’s 2026, Can We Afford Not to Fund Who & What We Value?
One of the biggest lessons I carry from my years of burnout is this: “heart work” still needs money. Last year, the international NGO and aid sector took a major hit. The aid world shook. Questions surfaced everywhere about whether aid should be reduced, paused, or stopped altogether; about whether foreign aid has actually been sustaining civil society work in Africa or distorting it. That debate is complex. I cannot summarise it in a blog post, and I do not intend to try. What has stayed with me, though, is something related and (in my opinion) less voiced. Even though research shows that foreign aid has never sufficiently funded grassroots care work, advocacy, and community labour, there was a widespread perception that “most of the work” was being sustained by external funding. The fact that we believed this even when it is not true reveals something dangerous: we have lost sight of who is actually responsible for holding up the work that keeps communities alive. This year, I want us to consider putting our money where our mouth and heart are. I want us to consider taking stock of who holds the purse strings behind the spaces and things we value. By us, I mean my Cameroonians first, and my fellow Africans on the continent next. You see, it’s more obvious in advanced capitalist societies in the West. Everything has already been commodified to a T. They know to wield their purchasing power to resist and protect. But in our context, I think we haven’t grasped it yet. But we must. As the world becomes more aggressively capitalist, as wealth concentrates, as everything is monetised, as care, art, and conviction are increasingly turned into “content”, it is imperative that we actively protect and materially support people doing essential work, or they will burn out, fail, or be forced to compromise their values. We must recognise that even (perhaps especially) work that is of the soul, any work that pushes against the system, in fact, any work that does not immediately translate into material value, but holds spiritual, humanitarian, artistic, or community value, still needs to be financially sustained. Because the person doing that work is still living inside a capitalist system. They still have bills to pay. They still have children to send to school. They still need to survive. I learned this lesson firsthand. For the first ten years of its existence, I ran Better Breed Cameroon mostly by myself and 70% out of pocket. I do not discount the fact that people believed in me and sowed into it, but most of that time, leadership and execution rested largely on my shoulders, alongside my doing a PhD, paid work, and life itself. As should be expected, I eventually burned out, and when I stepped back to reflect upon taking a gap year, I came away with one major lesson: even “heart work” (as I called my labour of love at Better Breed Cameroon) needs to be paid and appreciated. Knowing it is your calling is not enough. Passion is not enough. Love is not enough. This is how good work collapses, or worse, mutates and morphs into what is unrecognisable. Not always because the people behind it get greedy (though that happens), but mostly because exhaustion makes compromise inevitable and survival pressures the doers of sacred work to sell themselves. The fact is that it is this need for financial sustenance that led to the NGOization of the resistance, with nonprofits operating very much like for-profits despite supposedly having different ends. So though we are judging the civil society space and watching it shrink in Cameroon (and frankly, everywhere), I want us to note that it is not limited to just NGO/resistance work. All hard-to-commodify work, be it care work or a piece of art or hobbies, etc., all those are at risk. We are increasingly pushed to turn our hobbies into profit, our care and convictions into profitable service. I cannot count the number of times someone has said to me, “Oh, you could turn this into a money-making venture.” And each time, I wonder: “How? It won’t be the same!” Because what drives this work is the fact that I care. So the moment I start chasing views, followers, and revenue, what happens to the heart of the thing? Do I still care about the work, or would I start caring more about performance, reach, and return? Is there a middle ground? I am sure there is. I’m still musing. Perhaps someone who has found that middle can share 🙂 But till then, my conviction at this time is that: we, individuals, must take up our causes and buy into our own sacred spaces. We have to fund what we want to keep sacred. The danger of what can happen when we don’t is everywhere. Everything now wants a subscription. Every platform needs ads. Someone, somewhere, has to be paid. Or worse, someone somewhere wants to make us dependent on them and control us (cough neocolonialism cough). We can say, “This should be free.” But free often just means someone else is paying the cost, with their time, their health, their burnout. I am a Christian. I donate to the Bible app I use because I want it to remain ad-free. I cannot imagine opening my Bible and seeing an advertisement. I give to Wikipedia because I still believe in shared, accessible knowledge, even if it’s publicly co-created. I am not saying this to show off. These are visible platforms with donation links. The harder question is about local work, the invisible labour that keeps communities functioning, or the members of these communities doing what no one else can take time off to do. Yet the most important work we must fund and ensure remains protected is our sacred local work. When work is funded locally (when communities buy into it materially, not just rhetorically) something important happens: accountability becomes possible. It is much easier
Earlier This Year, I Was Asked About Cameroon’s Politics. Here’s What I Said…
In January of this year, I was invited by Line Sidonie Talla Mafotsing to share my reflections on Cameroon’s political culture, our history of leadership, and what lies ahead as the country prepares for elections. Unfortunately, it appears that she can no longer publish the piece for which I was interviewed. Nonetheless, I remembered the conversation and how I spoke candidly about what we have normalised as a nation, the muted sense of agency many of us feel, and much more. I’ve decided to publish some of the transcript here on my blog because the interview gave me space to think more deeply about history, memory, silence, and the guardrails we must build if we want change to mean more than just a new face at the top. And as we head into the month where we’ll be seeing yet another (sham) of an election. These words are all I have for now.
For All the Stephen’s Brothers Out There… and the Paul’s too
Hello. So, if you’re new here, this is Monique’s Musings. I blog. I’ve been blogging since… 2013? Or no, maybe 2012? Yeah, one of those. Anyway, I’ve been blogging for over 10 years now. And I basically share my thoughts on anything and everything that comes to mind. Usually, it’s thoughts about Cameroon, social issues, my own experiences as a Cameroonian woman, an African feminist, my Christian walk… reflections on my faith journey, or anything else I’m learning in the season of life I’m in. That’s what this blog is. And today? Whew. Today’s one of those days when the idea trickled down to me over time. It came in pieces, not all at once. But today… Today was the straw that broke the camel’s back. It said, “Okay, it’s time. Talk about this.” So, it started a few days or weeks ago, I can’t remember now, I came across a funny skit by this Nigerian Christian comedian I follow (SEE HERE). He’s really good, makes great content. He did this skit about Paul writing a letter to one of the churches, and in the skit, the elders or the people in the church were threatening Paul. They were like, “We will call Stephen’s brother.” Now, if you know, you know. Stephen was one of the people Paul (then Saul) had killed. So “We will call Stephen’s brother” is like a backhand slap threat. It’s the line that would really ‘check’ someone like Paul. The comments section was wild. People were like, “Yep, that’s the one. Call Stephen’s brother.” And it made me think, because I’ve actually thought about Stephen’s brother before. In the past, when I’ve read Acts, I’ve wondered: how did Stephen’s brother or family feel? Scripture tells us they didn’t immediately trust Paul, but I imagine some never did. I imagine some people stayed pissed—rightfully so. Because think about it… the person who persecuted you, who has literal blood on their hands, is now showing up to preach to you? Nah. And that is actually what I want to talk about today. Because life is funny. And this Christian journey? This Christian journey is messed up, let me not lie. It’s not for the faint of heart. It’s not for the easily triggered. Because you will be triggered. Regularly. I get triggered on a regular basis. So, fast forward from that skit to about a week later. Here I am, having my own real-life Stephen Brother moment. Someone I know (I’m not saying he used to be Saul, but let’s say he wasn’t exactly the most upright, or the most obviously Christian person previously) is now telling me, who has been trying my best on this journey for years, that they got a certain blessing or breakthrough because they “started serving God.” As if it’s a magic formula. Like, “You know, I just started walking with God and boom, this happened.” And they’re telling me this like I’m not already walking with God? Like… wow. The audacity. And it’s not even that they’re necessarily wrong. I’m not saying they’re not telling the truth. I’m just saying… maybe don’t come at me like that? Maybe don’t assume I’m not already doing the things? Maybe don’t act like you’re automatically ahead of me because you got some blessings? Because here’s the thing, it’s not about how long you’ve known God. That’s not how it works. Whether I’ve been a Christian for 5 or 25 years, there are seasons to this thing. And I feel like that’s what some people don’t get. Some people think seasons are measured by prosperity. They think that if I’m married this season, have a job, and things are going well, then clearly I’m doing something right and God is pleased with me. But if I’m in a rough season, if I’m confused or struggling, then I must not be walking with God properly. We’ve taken capitalism, market analysis, and imported it into Christianity. So now, when someone’s life is flourishing, they assume it’s proof that they’re in the right with God. And when someone else is struggling, it’s assumed they’re not faithful or they’re doing something wrong. Like… huh? So here I am, sitting in front of this guy—not saying he’s Saul, but you get the point—and he’s basically telling me, “If you were following the Lord properly, all this would’ve come to you too.” Like… like it’s a formula. Just plug in prayer and service, and voilà, blessings. And I’m sitting there thinking… this must be how the early Christians felt. Like… Stephen’s brother. Because maybe Stephen’s brother didn’t get the gift Paul got. Maybe he was a believer, but didn’t get the same signs, the same fire, the same calling. And then he watches the guy who killed his brother now become the face of Christianity. Paul becomes the one doing miracles, planting churches, and writing scripture. Meanwhile, your brother-the first martyr—is barely mentioned after that. You’re grieving. You’re angry. You’re healing—trying to heal—and the guy who caused your pain is now being worshipped for raising someone else from the dead. But your brother stayed dead. And I’m just thinking about how many Christians are like Stephen’s brother—faithful, committed, but grieving. Struggling. Angry with God, even. Not because they don’t love Him, but because this walk is hard, and sometimes it feels unfair. And because it’s seasonal. There are seasons when you’re joyful, when you’re full of hope, when you’re winning souls left and right. And then there are seasons where you’re just… numb. Angry. Confused. But that doesn’t make you less saved. And the people who just joined, the ones who are new to the faith and still in their honeymoon phase—they look at you and judge. The audacity. So yes. Today’s post is me speaking for all the Stephens’ brothers out there. I see you. I get you. Heck, I am you. And I wish someone, such as a pastor or a teacher, would deliver a proper sermon on
A Little Throwback Vlog (Feb 2025)
Back in 2019, while attending a conference in the U.S., an old acquaintance who hosted a Facebook show asked to interview me. He was curious about my feminist views and why I chose to work in Cameroon. Years later, I find myself at a similar crossroads, once again facing the familiar question: “Must you work in Cameroon?” So, I asked the brilliant videographer Glen Amungwa to turn that long-forgotten interview into a vlog. Most of the original recording had never been made public until now.Here it is. Enjoy
Why a Black Pope Isn’t Necessarily Progress—and Why the idea Makes Me Uneasy (May 2025 Blog)
** In the past week, I’ve seen so many posts and comments from contacts eagerly awaiting the results of the ongoing Papal Conclave, hoping for a Black pope. A few days ago, I shared my own unpopular opinion on the matter: I really would prefer the new pope not be Black. First off, it’s not because I agree with the white nationalist nonsense about not wanting “a DEI Pope.” Far from it—I absolutely detest that thinking. But I know that if one of the Black or Asian contenders were chosen, there would be backlash. Many would assume that diversity politics had somehow “won” over tradition, and that assumption alone would make life harder for the new pope. If you’ve ever been a diversity hire for anything, you know how much pressure such a pope would face to constantly “prove” themselves. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. I should also note that I’m not Catholic, though, thanks to a few years of Catholic schooling, I’m somewhat familiar with Catholic doctrine. My issue here isn’t with Catholicism as a faith, but with the Catholic Church as an institution. Christianity, to me, is about your relationship with God, your faith, and your communion with Christ. But being the head of the Catholic Church isn’t just a spiritual role—it’s leading a system that, despite its spiritual mission, has a long history of aiding, abetting or actively partaking in the marginalising of historically oppressed groups. The recently deceased pope acknowledged some of these flaws and made attempts to address them, and I believe he managed to do so because he was white. A Black or Asian pope, on the other hand, would face far more scrutiny for taking similar steps. Either way, putting a Black person at the head of that system right now wouldn’t magically fix its issues. Instead, it would force that person to defend the system’s history of abuse of people who look like them. My perspective on this comes from seeing this happen elsewhere. It’s not just about the Catholic Church. We see this pattern every time women, Black people, or other marginalised groups are put in positions of power without any real systemic change to the institution they now represent. The problem with simply placing a minority or someone with a marginalised identity in a leadership role is that it often ends up being symbolic, representation without transformation. Worse still, if that person isn’t critically conscious of their position and the institution’s flaws, they can end up perpetuating the very harms they were supposed to challenge. Think about it: what real power would a Black pope have to address the Catholic Church’s problematic history? What repercussions would they face if they actually tried to dismantle the system’s oppressive structures? Isn’t it more likely that they’d end up serving as a convenient shield for the institution—a way for the Church to claim progress without addressing the root issues? We see this in other contexts. For instance, the current UK Foreign Minister is Black, but has that meant more critically conscious foreign policy decisions that address the UK’s role in marginalising the majority of the world’s Black and brown people? Has it made him more likely to discuss reparations? I don’t think so. Likewise, in Cameroon, appointing Anglophones to high government positions hasn’t solved the Anglophone problem. It’s not just about whether marginalised people hold office—it’s about whether the system itself becomes more inclusive and just. Putting an Anglophone in a position of power doesn’t automatically fix the systemic issues. Sometimes, that person even becomes the face of the very problem they’re supposed to be solving. My work with feminist advocacy taught me this the hard way. We push for women to enter certain leadership roles because representation matters. But I’d rather see a feminist man in a position of power than a woman who doesn’t care about women’s issues. That feminist man will know when to step back and make space. Meanwhile, a woman who does not acknowledge patriarchy and its dangers might uphold the same harmful norms, or do even worse because she feels pressured to prove herself. Diversity, equity, and inclusion can’t just be about changing faces at the top. We need to acknowledge that the real problem is systemic and what the odds are for that person to change that system, because racism, sexism, ageism, ableism, and other biases are embedded in these institutions; they are the knots and bolts of the tables we so want to have a seat at. So, while I understand the desire for a Black pope, I’m wary. True progress means tackling the system itself, not just changing the face of leadership. Without that, we’re just setting up marginalised leaders to fail—or worse, become the face of the very practices they were supposed to challenge. ** This was written shortly before the announcement of the new pope.
A Toolbox for the Faith Journey_Aug 2024 Musings
If you’re new here. Welcome. If you’re not, welcome back. My blog is where I try to collate musings on everything that makes me think for an extended period. I emphasize extended periods because, as a chronic overthinker, I truly think like whizzing tops move when spun—here, there, everywhere. Those who have access to my Whatsapp Status get the brunt of the spillover of thoughts. So, out of the abundance of my thoughts over the past few weeks, am I writing this? But wait, are you a Christian? I’m hoping you are. If so, the blog/vlog this month would be more enjoyable for you. If not, I hope you still read through and catch the vlog below. My personal conversion story is linked there, and that might interest you. Now to the topic at hand. You may have heard the adage: Christianity is a relationship, not merely a religion. Though a common adage I wish there was more emphasis on the relationship and less on the religion. I was born into a community and family where most would claim to be ‘Christian’. I was educated at a Presbyterian mission school. I was even ‘confirmed’ as a Christian at age 14 (I signed up for 1st communion classes so I could have family visit me with food on the day, lol). All this is to say, ‘I got the works’ when it comes to the Christian walk. And yet I didn’t. I only gave my life to Christ for myself after a failed suicide attempt in March of 2007. We have the crazy misconception that we choose God; we say things like ‘I found the Lord’. Nah, the Lord found me. And in this season, He has been growing my desire for Him in ways I can’t help but share here. That’s what this post is about: how that relationship/walk is going and what is helping me as I trek. Someone said, ‘Adulthood is where you find God for yourself.’ I would partly agree, but it’s not so much a ‘finding’ as getting to know Him and growing intimacy. I no longer go to church because I have to; I now want to go commune with fellow believers; it’s something I crave. I no longer pray out of habit- I don’t even know if I ever had that habit sef. My prayers now are like me getting up in the middle of the night with a dry throat in need of a drink. Life will make you thirsty for Him. He will make you thirsty for Him. There’s a movement from doing things because you think they’re right to do what you know is right for you at that time because of the Holy Spirit’s ushering. It’s a relationship, and it evolves with us. It looks differently across different times, and ours with him doesn’t look exactly the same as His with someone else. I feel a good gauge of one’s Christian state is how open one is to interrogation, how comfortable one is with one’s answers, and how much of it comes from oneself rather than what one has been told. Yeah, you want to memorize scripture. Why? And the answer should just be because the bible says, ‘Let’s have it on our hearts’ First of all, that isn’t proper exegesis of that scripture. Next, memorization didn’t save the Scribes and Pharisees from Jesus’ scorn, so… why do you (insert name here) want to read the bible cover to cover? Why do you want to go to church every Sunday? What do you truly believe and why? That is how God has been growing me in this season. Prompting me to prioritize the relationship. To think of him as a long-time partner. The one that walked up to me on that night in March 2007 and said, ‘Hey, I like you. Can we be a thing?’. We’ve done the talking stage; He’s courted me- all those easily answered prayers and countless blessings; he’s given tough love, and we’ve had several fights. But still, it seemed like my relationship was in a compartment of my life, and my worship was orchestrated, not free-flowing. So, like any relationship on the rocks, The Lover has been pushing for more work on intimacy, therapy, hard convos, date nights, and family meetings to resolve this wahala. That’s what I see my toolbox as. Products of all the ways He’s inspiring me to make the relationship one that knows no boundaries and flows freely. Can’t pray, that’s okay- couples are taught to sit in comfortable silences after a fight rather than walk away from each other. So even if you say nothing just sit there and let Abide meditation or several other medication videos play and the word pour over you as one person speaks. Is it hard to concentrate or be present during sermons or worship events because of ADD? No, wahala. There are Christian colouring books; you can use those as a mindfulness technique. Missed service because you’re travelling? Look up sermons on YouTube. Don’t understand this verse or that? The Bible can be like a maze—especially that Old Testament, lol. But you love research (on most days, lol), so go down the YouTube rabbit hole or use Bible study tools. I personally LOVE The Bible Project’s illustrative scripture exegesis. But there are so many great scripture teachers who can bless people’s understanding of specific things. Do you feel like proper meditation takes time, and you often end up ‘lost in it’, or it takes ‘too long’ to hear back from the Holy Spirit? Match the praying time to walking time. You’ll trick the mind that you’re doing something ‘productive’ and The relationship seems like a fake one because you’re talking to yourself. Organize gatherings with other Christians, it’s not a bible study but just Christian sisters hanging out eating scotch eggs, talking about everything and playing games connected by the same Lover. The point is, if its a relationship, it should feel
How has adulting ruined you?
July 2024 Musings In the past month, I finally got my hands on footage of an old interview I did in 2019. As I watched it, I couldn’t help but appreciate that a lot of my answers then were consistent with what I would say today; although I wish I had dressed up and seemed cheerful, my zeal and hope were by far stronger than current day and that came through. I plan on sharing that interview later. But for now, I want to write on what it inspired. Watching the video made me appreciate my younger self, and – as I often say- I owe all that I am to the zeal of younger Monique. Perhaps it’s the fact that I’m nearing 35, perhaps it’s the fact that I’m coming out of a protracted season of depression; either way, I often find myself thinking of how adulting turned out to be a ‘scam’. I know we say it often, heck we now have an anthem on the scam of adulting courtesy of a lovely Nigerian artist: Yet, I don’t think we really think we captured what made adulting a scam as we should in order to address the unfulfilment and unhappiness we feel. The phrase “adulting ruins things” is often used humorously or ironically to express the idea that the responsibilities and obligations of adulthood can take the fun out of life or make simple pleasures more complicated. We say “Adulting na scam” at Christmas, referring to how we no longer feel ‘merry’ given that we’re now the ones in charge of performing tasks and responsibilities to ensure the holiday goes smoothly. The suya is no longer sweet when you’re the one paying bills, and having a full house is no longer fun when you’re the one to juggle pick-ups and drop-offs along with other grown-up obligations. This is true, but honestly, it’s just the tip of the iceberg. I feel like Adulting being a scam is less about how responsibilities are now on us, and more about how those things have taken the place of things we felt were frivolous but actually necessary for balance and sustaining life. Mind you, I say this as someone who has fewer responsibilities than many in my circle and still feels like, ‘Nah, this is a scam’ on the regular. Consider your life now and how things were when you were a kid. What major differences come up for you? If you focus only on financial aspects, you’ll find that there are as many pros as cons: Yes, as an adult, you now have to decide what everyone eats for every meal, but also, YOU KNOW GET TO DECIDE WHAT EVERYONE EATS for every meal! As a kid, you craved that power. So what made it become a burden? The neverendingness, therein lies the scam. Adulting ruins things because we don’t get to pass the baton—especially if we’re doing life alone; and with communalism dying by the day, that is the case for most of us. We wanted to help in the kitchen as kids; toddlers are excited over something to do; I’ve watched my nieces fight over who got to carry my bag inside. It’s not just that they knew they would get praised for it (no one is praising you for the mundane as an adult), but it’s also that they opt for it, it’s still an option, not a duty. Adulting makes it a duty and saps the fun out of it. These are just some generic examples. I realize I must unlearn a lot of the ways adulting has changed me and ruined things. Adulting ruined my reading. I wrote about how I fell in love with reading (see here) and how words that others had written provided worlds for me to escape to. Reading provided comfort and peace and grew my empathy as well as my vocabulary. As much as I could blame social media for becoming my distraction in place of the world of fiction, that’s not quite true. It began with the ‘adult notion’ that my reading was only valuable if I was reading a certain kind of literature. The more I fraternized with other ‘adults’ in certain spaces, it became ‘childish’ to be re-reading the Romance and fantasy novels that made me fall for writing that soothed. I was challenged to read self-help books, ‘important’ books, ‘profound’ books. And the more I read what I felt like I should be reading as an adult, the more reading no longer appealed. I can’t say I was pressured; it’s more like a tacit societal expectation of what a successful adult does- reads books by successful people, books that ‘add’ to them. Not fiction. Not cartoons. Somehow that is less. I’m beginning to unlearn that. I like this quote that I came across on IG recently and feel it captures what I needed to hear when I started giving away my Nora Roberts to replace with ‘important books’. Adulting ruined my writing. One of the things I beat myself up about regularly is the fact that I don’t write as much as I know I should, as much as I know I could. I’ve shared in a previous blog what caused this. Yet, even knowing why I’m struggling with doing what I should/could, I still feel guilt regularly. The guilt of not living up to my potential, the guilt of not using a talent I’ve been gifted, etc., especially knowing that writing is as much a part of my employment/sustenance as it is my mode of self-realization, expression and art. I often think of the saying “if you don’t use it, you’ll use it” with fear, “Will I lose this gift eventually? But then I overthink. During a recent bout of guilt-infused overthinking about how I am ‘failing’ at writing even the things that are obviously ‘for me’ such as this blog. I took a step back to reflect on my whys: Q. Why did you
Mid-year Reflections: A look back and A look forward…
Dear Readers, You’re cordially invited to do some mid-year reflection with me. This month in 2021, I was battling with suicide ideation. This same month last year, I signed a covenant with God concerning my life, vowing never to express/act on my desire to take my life again. There’s been a lot of work between those years: therapy, vulnerability, medication, support from friends and growth. I don’t take it for granted that I have access to these things, yet I don’t want to give the impression that things are now ‘completely fine’. I still struggle mentally; just this past week, getting out of bed was somewhat of a struggle because hormones will hormones. Besides, as I’ve expressed in previous blogs- mental health struggles are often struggles you’ll have to overcome by walking through, not skipping over. It might never be erased completely, but hopefully, we will get to where we can deal with the ish with healthy coping mechanisms daily. That brings me to the reason for this post. I’m honouring the significance of this day in previous years by reflecting on how far I’ve come. Even though I still have regular lows, I must acknowledge that I have come from the person who saw nothing to live for in 2021 to the person who surrendered decision-making power on whether/when/how they live or die to God in 2023 and to this person who now has an updated bucket list of experiences they want to live out and an elaborate list of aspirations they are dreaming of. If that’s not a testimony, I don’t know what is. So, join me in thanking God and by reflecting on how you are, too. You may not be battling similar issues as I am, but I trust life gives all of us baggage to deal with. In recent times, I’ve found that being an adult, the awareness of all that needs to be done, all that is wrong, and the fatigue from the never-ending hustle and battling the same-ish for so long makes appreciating little things like the colour of the sky difficult. This is why reflection, like meditation, is a practice I want to do more of: ‘ touch the grass’ and take stock more holistically. But then, I’m an overthinker, so this might be something I’m prone to do- self-interrogation. Anyway, you’re invited to join me. I have curated a list of questions below for mid-year reflection, which I invite you to answer along with me. I answer the questions in the video embedded below. I’ll go first… Now, don’t be shy; tell me how your responding to the above questions went.