I remain hopeful for this year, despite fighting for my life these past months!

I have had the chance to do so much reflection this August and have had to readjust my life plan in ways I did not think would be possible in this life. Life has handed me a pair of boxing gloves and shoved me into the ring without any prior warning? Well, let me tell you, life has been beating my ass lately, and I’ve been dodging, weaving, and occasionally getting knocked flat on my back.

There’s something special about rejection letters. They don’t just say “no,” they say, “We see you tried, but not today, pal.” I’ve sent out more applications than I care to admit, and many have come back with headline: “We regret to inform you…” My inbox has basically become a graveyard of dashed hopes and missed chances.

Now, I could sit here and tell you that these rejections don’t sting. I could say that I’m taking it all in stride, that I’ve got it all under control. But the truth is, each “no” is killing me a little. But here’s the thing: every “no” I receive is also a reminder that I’m putting myself out there. Sure, I’m getting metaphorically punched in the gut, but I am trying really hard to look at the brighter side of everything. Emotional calluses—each rejection stings a little less because I’m getting tougher, and I’m learning to take each hit with a little more grace.

As if the rejection letters weren’t enough, anxiety has decided to make itself comfortable in my life, like an uninvited guest who just won’t leave. It’s that nagging voice in the back of my mind whispering, “Are you sure you’re doing enough?” or “What if you’re not good enough?”

Some days, I wish the voices in my head would just pipe down for a little while, and maybe I could figure a thing out or two. Like how I have done nothing to sell you guys “After the clouds, the sun”, and hardcover plans came to a screeching halt. I am trying to stay sane, you guys. That’s the answer to why I haven’t written in a while, why my books are rotting in the drafts, why FLOW has not been very active, why inkspire is taking longer than anticipated, etc. I could rant all day, but I don’t have all day.

sigh.

I need spaces where I can be unapologetically me. I’m talking about places where I can thrive and, just as importantly, be utterly inadequate. Somewhere I can laugh at my own clumsiness, cry over spilled dreams, and then get up and keep moving, bruises and all.

Creating these spaces hasn’t been easy. It’s involved a lot of introspection, some tough conversations, and more than a few false starts. But I’m finding my footing, little by little. I’m learning that it’s okay to be human, to be imperfect, to be a work in progress. And honestly? There’s a strange kind of beauty in that, and I am the luckiest woman to have found a man that actively and intentionally seeks to create such spaces for me.

So, here I am, still in the ring. Life may have gotten in a few good hits, but I’m not down for the count. I’m fighting for my life, my dreams, and my sanity, and I’m doing it with as much grace and humor as I can muster. Some days are better than others, but I’m learning to take it all in stride.

And maybe, just maybe, one of these days, life and I will figure out how to dance without stepping on each other’s toes. But until then, I’ll keep swinging, keep getting up, and keep carving out those spaces where I can just be. Because at the end of the day, I’m not just surviving—I’m living, flaws and all.

With all the love I can muster,

Ms. Myra Trudea Okumu