What did I learn today? Lessons on the Journey to Unconditional Self Love

Just over a year ago, I started boxing. Five days a week, I lace up my shoes and walk two kilometres one way to the gym.  I am not  training for a fight.  I have no dreams of becoming a champion. I go because somewhere along the way I realized that commitment to self is built in the ordinary things we do repeatedly. The walk. The training. The sweat. The showing up. Boxing became a place where I could push myself. A place where I could channel frustration productively. A place where I could learn healthy anger management. A place where I could have fun. Over time, I started to notice changes. Not just in my stamina or technique. In me. I was becoming more comfortable with discomfort. More disciplined. More willing to keep going when things felt hard. More confident in my ability to learn something new. And then last week, I injured my wrist. Let me tell you, the disappointment was real. I was just getting into it. I was improving. Growing. Finding a rhythm. Feeling strong...

  Ten years ago today, I gave a TED Talk. I did not wake up remembering it. There were no plans to celebrate, no nostalgic revisit of old photos, no mental countdown to a decade since stepping onto that stage. In fact, if a dear sistren had not sent me the memory and asked, "Are you celebrating? How do you feel?" I might have allowed the anniversary to pass unnoticed. Her question stayed with me. Not because I had an immediate answer, but because I did not. The truth is, I left that moment in the past. Not out of dismissal or ingratitude. Simply because life kept moving. There was work to do, girls to support, programmes to build, crises to navigate, lessons to learn, and a vision to pursue. The TED Talk became one of many milestones folded neatly into a larger journey. Or so I thought. When I paused long enough to reflect, I began to see something I had missed. The talk itself was not the most significant thing that happened that day. The significance was in what it informed...

  Lately, I have been asking myself a difficult question: Do I need a level of obsession to achieve the goals I have set for myself? When I look at people who have mastered their craft, built meaningful organizations, or achieved remarkable things, the language used to describe them is often the same. "They were obsessed." The word is almost worn as a badge of honor. We admire it. We aspire to it. We sometimes convince ourselves that if we are not obsessed, we are not serious enough. So I began to wonder if obsession was something I needed more of. In my quest to understand this, I did a little research and discovered that I had misunderstood obsession completely. What I had been calling obsession was not obsession at all. It was focus. It was consistency. It was presence. It was the willingness to return to a goal repeatedly because it mattered. The distinction is subtle, but it is life-changing. The difference is structural. Intense devotion says: "I am going to pour m...

  "We have become disconnected from our bodies, our feelings and our inner wisdom, and the way back to ourselves is through embodiment rather than more thinking."  – Master Mingtong Wu There were moments while reading Master Mingtong Wu's book when literal tears filled my eyes. The simplicity of it all, the way it read me and my current actions, the profoundity of it all. One description shared by people who had worked with the Master stayed with me. They spoke about treating their bodies like rental cars. Something to use, push, criticize, neglect and return without much thought. I thought about all the ways I have treated my own body over the years. Eating poorly. Ignoring rest. Pushing through exhaustion. Speaking unkindly about it. Wanting it to be different. Constantly focusing on what it lacked instead of appreciating all that it has faithfully carried. And then a sobering realization arrived. This body is the only one I have. The only one. The only body that will c...

 How do we know when life is balanced? I do not think balance is found in perfectly level scales. In fact, I am not sure I want perfectly level scales. Because life is not lived that way. There are seasons when work demands more. Seasons when grief asks more of us. Seasons when our healing becomes our full-time commitment. Seasons when joy takes up all the room. The scales tip. And perhaps they are supposed to. The question is not whether they tip. The question is whether they are tipping toward what matters. Balance, for me, is not perfection. It is awareness. It is knowing where my energy is going and deciding whether that investment aligns with the life I want to build. Balance is flexibility. Balance is rest without earning it first. Balance is knowing when to give a wholehearted yes and when to offer a firm no. Balance is boundaries. Balance is discipline. Balance is understanding that not everything deserves equal access to me. Some things must be held closely. Some things mu...

  How do we know when a season is full and when a season is empty? Do we need evidence? Do we need applause, validation, or some visible sign that things are moving in the right direction? Or do we simply need to remember that we are part of nature, and that some of the most powerful growth, development, and beauty happen in silence. The womb grows life without an audience. The sun rises without seeking approval. The moon changes shape without asking to be understood. Nature does not rush to prove itself. It simply becomes. Perhaps that is where trust comes in. Trust is not certainty about the outcome. It is not having all the answers or knowing exactly when the breakthrough will arrive. Trust is the willingness to remain receptive without forcing the process into a familiar shape. It is choosing to stay open when there is no visible evidence that anything is changing. I have been wrestling with this lately. Am I in a season of growth? And if I am, why is it taking so long? So much...