Big Girls Don’t Cry

The first vulnerable post I made here was about me resigning. That article was shared on multiple platforms, and it even circulated among my former colleagues so much that it eventually reached me again. I did find that amusing, if not a confirmation of our love for gossip as humans.

The post has since been read by more people than I can count. I got more blog subscribers from that post than from any other post I ever made here. And you know what? I understood. Many came to see if I had dished out tea on my previous employer. Many came to see if there would be a part two. The responses I got from it that article was massively overwhelming. Some said they are currently in the same struggle, some said they had gone through the same thing, and many said they were happy for me, that I had the courage to write what they couldn’t voice.

I didn’t see it that way.

I don’t really think I was courageous in writing that article. Posting such an article did take some sort of courage, I can’t dispute that. It is the content that I don’t think was that courageous. I felt like a coward. I did not have the courage to confront my own truth and tell it. Instead I found ways of diplomatically skirting around all the painful reasons for my departure. Those who know me well know just how aggressive and blunt I can get. I sometimes have no filter for what I want to talk about. I filtered that post so much that the final version was nothing more than a whisper of a passing truth.

That of course did not take away from the point of me writing and posting that article. It wasn’t a dissing article; it was an article written from a moment of self-actualisation. It was an article on self-healing. It was an article on absolute faith. Taking the leap when you have no idea how deep the water is.

What followed my release of the article was noise.

I expected as much, I had just opened Pandora’s box and let the whole world see it. That didn’t bother me for I knew it was just reactionary.

Then came those who saw that as an opportunity to rant to me about their employer. At first, I gave a listening ear because I was living for the energy, negative or not. I wanted to hear all the pain, all the anger, all the frustrations people were having. In my own twisted way, it helped me rationalise my decision to myself.

While I did give them a listening ear, I completely avoided any offers for a meeting. I had told myself that no one would see me for at least a year, and no one did.

Then came the next part.

When the noise died down, when the rants fizzled out, and the world started moving on. The silence.

The silence was deafening. No calls. No texts. No emails. I was bored, and alone with my thoughts. While I had found some solace from that article, I couldn’t find the beginning of the peace I needed, the beginning of the healing I was seeking.

I wanted instant gratification and it wasn’t there.

The silence for me was to be confirmation of final healing. I expected to feel so much better when everything calmed down. Little did I know that it was just the beginning of a very long process.

My typical day included me waking up at around 10am, then immediately get on my phone, and scroll through social media until I get hungry. I would eat one meal a day, but that was because I was used to it already.

Then I would scroll some more, and when I needed a different distraction, I would get a movie or series. I would watch that while still scrolling through my phone. This would go on the whole day until around 3am when I would go to sleep.

This was my daily routine for a while, and it worked for me.

In its own way, this mess of a process was helping me heal. It was away from the routine I had gotten used to for so many years. I was finally doing nothing.

And that really felt good.

Having absolutely nothing to do. My mind learnt to slow down.

While doing nothing worked, I knew it couldn’t be sustaining.

I had a plan after I resigned. I was going to take a couple of months to work on myself, heal, and then aggressively job hunt. That plan (healing and doing nothing) was working actively for me, until I started applying for jobs.

I had no idea how much that would take from me. The constant updating of my CV, drafting and editing cover letters, only to fill all that information once again in a database. It was torture. But the most aggravating part of the whole search was the silence. Not even the rejections. Yes, it was disheartening getting an automated rejection email days, hours, and sometimes even minutes after submitting an application. But this was nothing compared to the absolute silence that followed some applications.

Did the application go through? Are they still reviewing? How long until I consider it a rejection?

That was torture.

I did not let that get to me though. I was still confident in my skills.

There is an unspoken shame that comes with job hunting. The power imbalance between you and the potential company is belittling, to say the least. While that is admittedly inevitable, it doesn’t change how it makes you feel.

I attended an interview one time where everything seemed to be working in my favour, and then at the very last stage, they opted for a different person. I wanted to be mad, but I didn’t feel anger.

I just understood.

I kept on with my search.

During my search, I got a call from a former colleague who wanted to see if I was interested in an opportunity at UNEP. I sent him my CV and went on with my other work. I expected to hear from his contact at least a week later.

The man called me the following day.

He said he had received my CV and it was impressive. He then conducted what I’d call a phone interview, asking for clarifications on my skills, when I would be ready to join should they consider me, and even the possible salary I would expect. Then he said something that immediately placed me on red alert, “That is okay, because our budget for this role is even higher than your expectation.”

See, I have also interviewed people. There will never be a time when someone will tell you that you have quoted lower than their budget. Never. That is something you may never even find out about.

Despite being on red alert, I still gave him a listening ear.

Then he went further to ask if I have the Chapter six documents (good conduct and the rest). I told him I do not. He referred me to his ‘friend’ who would assist so that my application is complete. Now, this is where it gets funny, but in an annoying way. The friend referred to him as ‘mheshimiwa’, a term that I would have let go had the man not identified himself as a UNEP staff. Didn’t they agree on their positions and authorities before? Then the friend went on and on praising mheshimiwa for connecting people to different jobs, including himself. I kept mmm-ing and aaa-ing as he spoke, patiently waiting for the ball to drop. And I didn’t even have to wait long. Suddenly, he was telling me he can get me all the documents within an hour, either to my email or my WhatsApp. All I had to do was pay KES 12,000.

I saw it coming.

I did.

But it still caught me by surprise. The audacity, I mean.

I told him to give me a minute I would send him the money, then I hang up and did nothing. Mheshimiwa called me later and I told him to just wait I was finalising some things. He called again hours later, thrice. When I didn’t pick up, he must have gotten the hint and probably moved on to the next person.

I went back to my former colleague to confirm what his actual relationship is with Mheshimiwa and that’s when he told me he doesn’t know him. The man just reached out to him via his official line and introduced himself as a UNEP senior staff looking for young people in communications.

I wanted to cry.

Not because I was almost conned.

But because I blamed myself for being in such a position. For putting myself in a situation of such vulnerability.

I was angry.

I wanted to yell at everyone I felt contributed to my being in that situation. That was the day I realised I had not really embraced my situation fully. I was reasoning my way through my healing and rebuilding process. I was harbouring a lot of negative feelings that I needed to deal with.

It took a lot for me to deal with myself. For me to address the pain of the disappointments and betrayal I felt with different people including myself. For me to wake up and face the day as it was.

I prayed for the grace to let go of my pain. For the grace to forgive, even those who will never ask for that forgiveness.

I prayed for serenity.

I prayed for patience.

I prayed for perseverance.

I prayed and prayed.

And it may have taken a very long time, longer than I had scheduled, but I got better.

I crossed over into 2026 in Rwanda during a youth camp that was organised by our church, All Saints Cathedral. The camp was the final chapter of my active healing journey.

I will write about the camp in details on a different blog, but the gist of it all was that I finally let go.

Genuinely.

There were moments when I had told myself that I was letting go, only to realise I still needed more wallowing. But on that 31^st December 2025, I genuinely let go.

I started the year ready to face new opportunities.

I made significant progress on my master’s thesis, I should be collecting data this coming month. I fixed my sleep schedule, I deleted social media, and started reading again.

I wake up happy.

Not because everything is perfect, but because I am no longer carrying the weight I once did. The silence that once felt like abandonment now feels like peace. The uncertainty that once terrified me now feels like possibility. I am still rebuilding, still learning, still figuring things out one day at a time. But I am no longer afraid of the process. Maybe big girls don’t cry. Or maybe we do. And then we get up the next morning, breathe deeply, and keep going.