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...

  A few years ago, I started consciously building a Life Tool Kit. Not the kind that sits in a garage or under a sink. A real-life tool kit. A collection of things I use daily to navigate this experience we call life. One of the biggest lessons I have learned is that life is not personal. I learned that the hard way. For a long time, I believed that if I did the right things, everything would run smoothly. Be kind. Work hard. Tell the truth. Treat people well. Surely that would guarantee a life free from too much pain, rejection, loss, betrayal, or disappointment. Turns out, that is not how life works. Growing up, I honestly thought those difficult experiences were reserved for people who had somehow done the "wrong" things. Then life happened. And life became the teacher. I learned that heartbreak does not ask for permission. Loss does not check whether you have been good. Rejection does not measure your worth before it arrives. Disappointment does not discriminate. These ex...

  It's been a while since I've sat down to write. The last  week, I was under the weather with a cold and the inevitable runny nose that always seems to accompany it. What I've noticed about myself over the years is that when I get sick, I don't just deal with the physical symptoms. I also get angry with myself. It's an odd reaction when I think about it. Recently, I came across something actress Sanaa Lathan shared about feelings.  Feeling them. Fighting them. Fixing them. Numbing them. Analyzing them. Sitting with them. And maybe, eventually, letting them go. As I reflected on my own response to getting sick, I realized I tend to get stuck at the analysis stage. Perhaps even over-analysis. I start asking myself questions. What did I do wrong? Was I not getting enough rest?  Didn't I drink enough water? Wasn't I doing all the right things? There is a frustration that comes from feeling as though you're checking all the boxes and yet still finding yourse...

  On Saturday I ran a 5k race. Not my first 5k , but the first time I ever ran one in the full blaze of the afternoon sun. Over 30 degrees. No breeze. No mercy. I usually run early, before the sun wakes up, when the world is still cool and quiet. So when I heard this race was happening during the day, I resisted. For a whole week I told myself, and anyone who asked, “That sun? Not me, papa. I will miss out on this one But something in me shifted. I wanted to do something small that reminded me: I can still do hard things.   Not dramatic things. Not life‑changing things. Just something that nudges me outside the comfort zone and says, “You’re still here. You’re still capable.” So I signed up. And just as I expected, the day was scorching. The kind of heat that makes you question your life choices. When I arrived, everyone else seemed pumped up, excited, ready. I kept looking around thinking, “Are they not feeling this sun? Is it only me?” The race started. I set one intent...

  Over the past few days, I’ve been struggling with the feeling of being lost . Presently, I’m in between contracts. Waiting on the word to resume work. I paused events for a bit. And suddenly my calendar , usually full, buzzing, purposeful hadd one lonely item on it: boxing . I actually chuckled when I saw it. Because I’ve grown so accustomed to working, doing, moving, producing, showing up, filling every hour with something that looks like progress. And here I was, staring at a day with nothing but gloves and a punching bag. What do I do now? That question surprised me. Not because I didn’t know what to do, but because I didn’t know how to be when there was nothing to do. This break which is partly chosen, partly given, left me feeling unanchored. And instead of rushing to fill the space, I decided to observe myself. What I noticed was… interesting. My conditioning told me that being bored is for kids. That adults should be productive. That maybe I was being lazy. That maybe I...

September arrives with a reminder I didn’t know I needed: Fun is not a reward,  it is one of my tools of spiritual practice. For a long time, I carried this quiet belief that joy must be earned. That fun comes after the hard work, after the discipline, after the proving. As if pleasure was something I had to qualify for. As if ease was only allowed once I had done enough. But life has been teaching me differently. Fun is not the opposite of seriousness , it is the companion of creativity. Fun is not a distraction , it is a doorway. Fun is not childish , it is liberating. When I allow myself to laugh loudly, to move freely, to be spontaneous, something shifts inside me. My spirit opens. My mind softens. My heart remembers that I am more than my responsibilities. And in that spaciousness, new ideas arrive. Humility arrives. Courage arrives. The willingness to try again, try differently, try with joy arrives. Fun is spiritual because it brings me back to myself. It reminds me that abu...

There’s a question David Hawkins asks in Letting Go: The Pathway to Surrender that has been sitting with me lately: Can I feel what I feel without allowing the feeling to control what I do? If you had asked me this last week, I would have said no. Not because I don’t want to grow, but because when I observe myself honestly, I see the patterns. I see the ways I try to escape the intensity of my own emotions. For me, it’s usually one of three things: food, isolation, or doom scrolling.    My holy trinity of avoidance. When a feeling comes up that I don’t want to face, I reach for something , anything , that will distract me from the discomfort.  And I’ve learned something about myself in that cycle: no feel, no deal, no heal. If I don’t allow myself to feel it, I can’t deal with it. And if I don’t deal with it, I definitely can’t heal it. Avoidance has many costumes. Sometimes it looks like depending on something. Sometimes it looks like cutting someone off. Sometimes i...

  Alicia M. Rodriguez says, “The mind is a skilled negotiator… The body is a ledger.”   I didn’t fully understand that until my own body staged a quiet rebellion. The mind can declare a matter closed. It can say, I’ve processed that.   It can produce evidence , the therapy sessions, the journaling, the books read, the years that passed, the calm composure at the dinner table. The mind is brilliant at convincing us that we have moved on. But the body… The body does not negotiate. The body does not perform. The body simply records. For a long time, this was just a concept to me , something people said in healing circles, something I skimmed past in books. Then came the shoulder injury. Bizarre, stubborn, unexplainable. I did everything: physio, therapy, rest, stretching, strengthening. I stopped driving. I stopped running. I stopped doing the things that made me feel like myself. And still, the pain stayed. It lived in me like a tenant refusing eviction. I read Th...

I’m learning, more and more, that thoughts are choices. They are small, powerful decisions happening in the background of our lives. And if I’m not paying attention, those choices can quietly steer me into places I no longer want to live in, old patterns, old fears, old stories that sabotage my growth. But when I notice a thought ,truly recognise it, something shifts. Recognition is the first doorway to healing and change. It’s the moment where I stop sleepwalking and start consciously participating in my own life again. Someone said to me recently, “Thoughts are choices.” And it landed. Because it means I am not helpless in the face of my mind. I am not at the mercy of old conditioning. I can choose to replace what is unhealthy with what is loving, forward-moving, and true. I can choose to interrupt the spiral and affirm something different. Something aligned. Carolyn Myss puts it beautifully:  “As spiritual adults we accept responsibility for co-creating our lives and our he...

  There is a moment,right between hearing the feedback and deciding what to do with it,where you decide how it impacts you. Yesterday, I found myself right there. Someone I respect deeply offered me some home truths, and my first instinct was not noble or graceful. I slipped straight into victim mode. My chest tightened, my mood dropped, and I started telling myself stories about giving up. But here’s the thing: I caught myself. And that catching is growth. That catching is discipline. That catching is transcendence in real time. Because I genuinely want to evolve. I want to be someone who doesn’t crumble at the first sign of discomfort. I want to be someone who can hold feedback without letting it define me. And I believe, truly,that the feedback came by divine design. Right on time. Right when I needed it. Not to shame me, but to shape me. Feedback is not the enemy. For so long, I treated it like a threat. Something that meant I wasn’t good enough, smart enough, capable enough. B...

  We slip so easily into old suits. Old stories. Old ways of being that once fit but now hang loose, outdated, irrelevant. It’s wild how quickly we can forget who we’ve become , how fast we can shrink back into versions of ourselves that belonged to a different season, a different level of awareness, a different life. But when we notice, everything shifts. This morning at the gym, I caught myself noticing. Noticing how my body moved through the drills. Noticing the strength that wasn’t there a few months ago. It was still super  hard but I did it. And the truth is, there was a time not too long ago when I absolutely could not. That’s the power of coming current. I joke with my friends about it now  “come current!”  but beneath the humour is a real invitation. Are we living from who we are now, or are we dragging around the voices of people who never knew our fullness? Are we acting from the present version of ourselves, or from the echoes of a past that no longer fit...

  Self‑love has been marketed as a glow‑up, but the real work is an inward turning.   Today, I came across a Yung Pueblo quote that I resonated with: “It is taking your evolution into your own hands, developing a new and healthier relationship with your mind and heart. It is a mixture of acceptance and transformation.” I felt that. Deeply. Because this is the part of self‑love we don’t glamorize ,the part that asks us to sit with ourselves, to listen, to choose differently. It goes beyond fixing. Beyond the hair, the nails, the curated aesthetics. This is the kind of work that doesn’t show up on the outside first. It begins in the quiet. What this quote reminded me is simple but profound: I hold the key.   I don’t have to wait for a retreat, a perfect moment, a mountain escape, or a new journal to begin. Tools help, yes. Inspiration from others can spark something, yes. But the real shift comes from a decision , a firm, grounded, internal “yes” to my own evoluti...

  I   heard Shelly‑Ann Fraser‑Pryce say something on a podcast that resonated with me. She said motivation is fleeting, but standards… standards determine who you are. If your standard is excellence, it will flow through everything you do. It was such a simple sentence, but it rearranged something in me. Because motivation comes and goes. Inspiration rises and falls. But standards , the ones you set for yourself , those are supposed to be the foundation. The way you live. The way you show up. The way you honour your own becoming. I found myself asking, almost quietly: What are my standards?   Not the ones I speak about. The ones I live. How do I spend my mornings? How do I spend my days? What am I doing, consistently, intentionally ,toward the dreams I say matter to me? It made me look at my life with a different kind of honesty. Not harshness. Not judgment. Just clarity. Because standards aren’t about perfection. They’re about alignment. They’re about deciding ...

  This month, I found myself returning to Nathaniel Branden’s work on self‑esteem, not as theory, but as a mirror. His writing reminded me that self‑respect is not a feeling you wait for; it is a practice you build. It is shaped by the choices you make when no one is watching, the boundaries you hold when it would be easier not to, and the truth you speak even when your voice trembles. As I step into August, I am choosing to make self‑respect a daily ritual. Not a lofty ideal, not a performance, but a lived commitment. These four guidelines  distilled from Branden’s teachings and my own lived experience  are the pillars I’m practising this month and beyond.  1. Look inward, not outward.: I am releasing the old habit of measuring myself through someone else’s lens.External validation is a moving target , and chasing it is a guaranteed way to lose myself. My value is inherent. My worth is not up for public negotiation. This month, I am practising trusting the divine gu...

  Inspired by the work of Nathaniel Branden  Nathaniel Branden’s work on self-esteem has always felt like that bell to me, a call to return to myself with honesty and intention. What Branden teaches is simple, but not easy: self-esteem is not a gift. It is a practice. A construction. A foundation we lay brick by brick. And that is what moves me most—this idea that I can build it. I can rebuild it. I can return to the ground of myself and begin again. Self-Esteem as Necessity, Not Luxury Branden argues that self-esteem is not an accessory we wear when life is going well. It is not a luxury reserved for the confident or the accomplished. It is a necessity—the internal architecture that allows us to live expansively, to stretch into our potential without collapsing under the weight of fear or self-doubt. Money can come without self-esteem. Titles can come without self-esteem. Achievements, applause, and possessions can all arrive without it. But keeping them,being comfortable wit...