Ak'imuhana

Muraho! Ese uri amahoro? I went mia but I hope you haven’t forgotten me and if you almost did, I just came to say hi and tell you what’s been happening since the last time I wrote something here!

Take a seat and enjoy tea cause this will be a long one.

Six months ago, I stepped into this year with so much hope. I remember feeling excited about what was ahead. For once, things seemed to be lining up. I had plans, goals, and expectations. Not the kind that felt impossible, but the kind that gave me something to look forward to.

This was supposed to be the year I graduated with my Master's degree after years of hard work. I thought I might also take a step forward in my career. My son is getting ready to start nursery school, which feels like a big milestone for both of us. I am serving in a ministry I genuinely loved, surrounded by people and work that gave me purpose.

At the start of the year, life felt steady. Our finances were okay. I felt at peace. I wasn't worried about the future because, honestly, the future looked good.

Then things started changing. Not all at once. Not dramatically. Just little by little.

The graduation I had been looking forward to was postponed. Plans I felt sure about became uncertain. Before I knew it, I found myself spending less time celebrating what was happening and more time wondering when things would finally work out.

It took me a while to admit that I was disappointed.

The funny thing about disappointment is that it doesn't always arrive with one big event. Sometimes it shows up quietly. A delayed plan here. A closed door there. A dream you were already imagining becoming reality that suddenly feels much farther away.

And sometimes you realize you're grieving something that never actually happened.

I grieved that version of my life.

I cried over postponed dreams. I cried over things we lost and things I thought were already on their way. I cried because I wasn't just letting go of plans. I was letting go of expectations I had carried for a long time.

But life doesn't stop because we're disappointed. The days keep moving. The sun rises. The sun sets. Seasons change whether we're ready for them or not.

Somewhere along the way, I began to understand that God was still with me in all of it.

Through prayer, conversations, and moments spent with friends, I started hearing something my heart desperately needed: that God still sees me.

Not only when things are going well.

Not only when my plans are working out.

But even now.

I was reminded that His love for me doesn't depend on my achievements, my progress, or whether everything is happening according to my timeline. I was reminded that there are battles I don't have to carry alone.

That truth didn't instantly solve my problems, but it gave me peace when I needed it most.

At work, I saw a different kind of growth. I did not receive everything I was hoping for, but I was trusted with things that mattered. Sensitive files were placed in my hands. Responsibilities came my way. And in those moments, I realized that sometimes recognition arrives differently than we expect. Sometimes it is not a title or a position, it is the trust people place in you because they have seen what you are capable of.

At home, we faced a different challenge. In March, one of our sources of income came to an end, and suddenly our financial situation looked very different. The bills didn't stop. The loans didn't disappear. Responsibilities remained exactly where they were. That period wasn't easy. There were difficult conversations. Moments of stress. Days when we weren't sure how everything would come together. We had to rethink a lot of things and adjust our lifestyle in ways we hadn't planned for.

But somehow we adapted.

Not perfectly. Not immediately. But we did.

Looking back now, I'm proud of us for that.

One lesson that stands out from this season is that stability isn't always about having plenty. Sometimes it's about learning that you can survive seasons you never prepared for.

Another lesson came through relationships. I've always been someone who tries to be there for people. Helping others has always come naturally to me. If someone needs support, I usually show up. But this season exposed some hard truths.

When I needed understanding from certain people, I didn't always receive it. Instead of compassion, I sometimes felt judged. Instead of support, I experienced misunderstanding.

That hurt more than I expected.

But it also taught me something important.

It taught me to stop assuming that everyone will love me the way I love them.

It taught me that being available to people doesn't automatically mean they'll be available to me.

It taught me that I need boundaries.

And perhaps most importantly, it taught me that I don't have to carry everything.

For a long time, I felt responsible for fixing problems, helping everyone, and being the strong one.

I'm slowly learning to let go of that.

It's okay not to attend everything.

It's okay not to solve every problem.

It's okay not to always have the answer.

There is freedom in accepting my limits.

And despite everything that didn't go according to plan, there were still beautiful moments.

I completed three new certifications.

I watched my son enjoy summer camp and grow in confidence. Every new thing he learns feels like a victory.

I celebrated my sister as she entered a new chapter through marriage, and it was a joy to witness.

And through all of it, I had my family. My husband and my son have been my greatest source of comfort. My husband and I don't always process challenges the same way. Sometimes we react differently. Sometimes we see situations differently. But one thing has remained constant. At the end of difficult days, he would wrap his arms around me and remind me: "Don't worry. We got each other." And honestly, sometimes those few words were enough to get me through the day.

As I look ahead now, I notice that my expectations have changed. I'm holding things more loosely. I still have hopes. I still have dreams. But I no longer feel like everything has to happen exactly when I planned it. More than anything, I hope for peace.

I hope our home continues to be filled with love, laughter, and enough provision for our needs.

I hope the next season is gentler.

I hope I keep growing.

And I hope I continue learning how to be kinder to myself.

If I could sit with the version of myself who walked into this year full of expectations, I wouldn't warn her about the disappointments ahead. I wouldn't tell her to be less hopeful. I would simply take her hand and say: "You did the best you could. Be gentle with yourself."

Because maybe this year was never about achieving everything I wanted. Maybe it was about discovering that even when plans change, dreams are delayed, and life takes unexpected turns, I am still standing. I am still growing. And I am still becoming.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.  ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.   ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚. ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.