Life

Sometimes I imagine what it must be like to raise a neurotypical child. I imagine calling his name and he actually answers, “Yes mummy!” I imagine asking what he wants and being told, instead of being led by hand and having to guess. No pointing. He directs me to show me what he wants, and sometimes what he wants is not in plain sight.He cries.So I search and I guess. I try.I get it wrong.And I try again. Until I get it right. Otherwise the crying sometimes won’t end. I imagine being able to ask someone to babysit without it feeling like such a huge request.I can’t exactly ask people to watch him without feeling some level of guilt or like I am burdening them. Because he really needs to be watched…LITERALLY! When he moves, I move.He has zero awareness of danger.So I stay close.Always alert. Always on. I imagine not having to become an expert in things I never ever planned to learn. I imagine sitting with doctors and health professionals and actually leaving with answers.Or at least some guidance.Instead, I often leave with uncertainty.So I have to research. I have to learn about all kinds supplements like five or so different kinds of Magnesium! I have to learn about diets like Gluten Free-Casein Free. I have to read and read and read.Sometimes read science journals even.All in trying to make decisions with long-term consequences and very little certainty. I imagine education decisions being simple.You know, as simple as going to the same school around the corner from my childhood home. Instead, I know his education will have to be different.Very different.His schools? Very, very different. I imagine participating in a mainstream school communities. I imagine participating in arts and cultural activities. I imagine him making friends and going to their houses to play after school. I imagine the childhood I had, if only my son could have just a slice of all that carefree play. I imagine adapting and problem solving from such a tender age. I imagine not having therapists of all kinds on a rooster. Speech. Occupational. Behavioural. Appointments. Appointments. Appointments. I imagine not having to go through such slow progress. And not having to carry the hope that the small gains will add up over time. That they won’t be lost along the way. And I imagine not spending most of my days overthinking about all these things and more. I think about his future.What kind of adult will he become?What will he be able to do?What will independence look like for him. Will the independence even come at some point? I think about a future where I am no longer here.Who will care for him?Who will notice what he needs when he cannot say it?Who will protect him? These are quiet questions and imaginations I am sifting through every day. The kind that come late at night and even as I am sitting through the traffic. The kind I don’t always say out loud. But today I choose to. No, I am not afraid. I just want to shed some light on a responsibility that stretches far beyond the present.I just want to share a reality of a lot of parents and guardians of children on the autism spectrum. I just want to share what I know a lot of us imagine. This is a note to myself and to those who will recognise themselves in it.I see you. I know how heavy this can be.And you are not walking this road alone. If you are a parent or guardian who carries your own quiet imaginations, you are welcome here. If you feel comfortable, share one of them in the comments. And if you’d rather not attach your name to it, you’re welcome to send it to me privately or anonymously.

Lately, I have found myself saying this a lot: You don’t know what you don’t know. I decided to write this blog post to expand on this, especially after a recent experience that reminded me why I keep hammering on this point. Let’s start with the story. Yesterday, in the late afternoon, I was about to go to the Farmer’s Market when I realised I had a flat tyre. I just rolled my eyes and told my son, We’re going to have to walk to the nearby shops and get what we need. Meanwhile, I sent a message to my mum, letting her know about the flat tyre. A few minutes later, she asked if I had fixed it. I told her no as I couldn’t focus on that while also watching my son. My mum laughed and said, It’s not like you know how to change a tyre. I laughed back and told her, Lady, I know how to do it. She decided to dare me and asked if she should bring the tools I needed (by the way, my jack wasn’t working properly, so I needed hers). A few minutes later, mum arrived, ready to see her daughter shine. But unfortunately, I was too caught up in feeding my son and attending to his seemingly endless demands. He was irritable, and by the time I was done, it was getting dark. I asked my mum to watch him while I changed the tyre. She stayed inside while I got to work, but honestly, I could barely see what I was doing. I took out the spare wheel, placed the jack under the car, and started working. It was hard work. Respect to my tyre service team at Homeground! I tried to unscrew the nuts and bolts, but they were so tight, as if Goliath himself had secured that tyre. I was struggling. My mum came out to check on me and found me still battling those stubborn nuts and bolts. She even tried to loosen them herself, but they wouldn’t budge. By then, it was completely dark, and my son was even more irritable. I decided to just deal with it in the morning. Mum asked, “Are you sure you can do this?” I answered, “Of course!” The morning struggle Now, you might be wondering why my mum doubted me so much. Simple: she had never seen me change a tyre. Ever! She had only seen me watch others (including her) do it. Yes, my 60+ year-old mother can change a tyre! Do I blame her for doubting me? Nope. I had never changed a tyre on my own. I had passed a spanner, helped screw the nuts back, but the whole process? Never. Fast forward to this morning. I woke up determined to get it done. It shouldn’t be hard, I told myself. I got started, but those nuts and bolts were still stuck. So I decided I’d work on the jack while keeping an eye out for someone stronger than me (a.k.a. a man LOL) to help with the bolts. As I was working, our caretaker passed by. Hallelujah! I asked him for help with the spanner, and let me tell you, those nuts and bolts were so tight even he struggled! He ended up jumping on the spanner in his huge safety shoes just to loosen them. Finally, they came off, and he left me to continue. I jacked up the car, removed the flat tyre, but just as I was taking it off… the jack slipped 😭 My car was now lower than low. I wanted to scream. I had already struggled with this jack, so I knew I couldn’t bring the car up again to fit the spare wheel. There was definitely need for a second jack help with the lift. So I kept working on the “faulty” jack, hoping for a solution. My drive-by rescue Just as I was reaching my limit and thinking, maybe I should just do InDrive, a man driving by stopped and asked if I needed help. I told him I needed a second jack. He parked his car, took out his jack (which honestly looked ‘healthier’ than mine), and immediately said, Before you start working, always place your spare tyre halfway under the car. That way, if the jack slips, the tyre will catch the car. And that, ladies and gentlemen, was my first lesson of the morning. Then, as he placed his jack next to mine, he said, Look at the placement of your jack. Then look at mine. I looked, and immediately saw the difference. My jack was not positioned properly, which is probably why it was harder to lift the car and I assumed it was faulty 🙈. Second lesson of the morning. He helped lift the car, and I tried to fit the spare tyre. It wasn’t going in properly. He checked and said, Not quite yet. He raised the car a little higher, created enough space, and then fitted the tyre onto the bolts himself. Third lesson of the morning. Finally, I secured the nuts and bolts, and let me tell you, this entire process felt like an intense gym session at Invictus! My entire body was sore. Now, I had to rush to get ready for school run. As I was getting ready, my helper laughed and said she had been convinced I knew exactly what I was doing. I told her, I do have experience… watching others do it. 😂 After dropping my son at school, I went to my mum’s house. She was eagerly waiting to hear about my tyre-changing adventure. At first, I told her casually, Yeah, I did that. Then, I gave her the full, blow-by-blow account. She laughed at me. 😂 I told her, There was no way I was going to admit that my 60+ year-old mum can change a tyre and I can’t! 🙈 But honestly, as tough as it was, I’m glad

Where do I even start? A few weeks ago schools closed for the year in Zimbabwe and as we were counting the days towards this closing and going through the meetings and conversations to review our son’s progress I couldn’t help but get all emotional. Looking at the journey we have travelled this year with him really needed me to stop, reflect and suck it all in. Well, this is me stopping, reflecting and sucking it all in. This is also me taking time to celebrate and express my gratitude to God and everyone who continues to support us on this journey. You see, milestones on the spectrum hit different. If you’re wondering how, keep reading. A new beginning: Finding the right school Our son started this year at a new school. This was now his 3rd school in under 2 years. We were transitioning from a setup where he was in a mainstream school and we would take him for his speech and occupational therapies outside of that school’s curriculum, to a setup where everything was now under one roof in a special needs school. To say this new arrangement was a relief (at least for me) is an understatement. I did not like driving to Speech and OT and having to wait for him to finish both sessions which happened at different locations. It was exhausting and took its toll on me even though we got to share this responsibility as his parents. I also struggled to see the progress he was making because he was only going for these sessions twice a week. Each session was about 30 minutes. With all the effort we were putting in, I honestly wished to see more progress. I think nobody watches the milestones of a child like the parent of one with special needs. We started out the year at the new school with an assessment of where he was developmentally as he was settling in. Following this, we got his IEP (Individualised Education Plan). An IEP is a plan that lays out the special education instruction, support, and services a student (typically with an educational disability) needs to thrive in school. In simple terms, the IEP is like a vision that the school will be working towards for your child. It’s also a good guide to remind us of what we as parents need to be focusing on as pertains his development. Challenges as a result of change Let me start by saying, embarking on this journey was not easy. We had to make a lot of commitments as parents. We had to be intentional about everything and it was not a walk in the park. Personally, my parenting journey has got to be one of the hardest responsibilities I have ever held in my life. For the first months of the year, I was somewhat all over the place as I didn’t have any after-school help. But I soon realised that we weren’t going to get far. Earlier this year, I actually shared about my journey on the transition from trying to navigate child care without any help to embracing getting as much support as I possibly could. And I must say, that was the beginning of slowly starting to see some change. Let me share with you some moments that blew my mind away (in a good way, of course) this year. Surprise Reading Breakthroughs A while ago, I got our son an LED tablet for him to scribble on. Well, he wasn’t interested in scribbling anything on it so one day I decided to take it and wrote his name. To my surprise, he was able to read it. I then wrote the words, “Mommy”, “Daddy” then his name. Once again, he was able to read all three words. I screamed! Like this boy could read this whole time? Anyway, wanting to push him a bit further, I thought let me write some other words. I wrote names of colours, animals, fruits and he managed to read most of them. We were at over 50 words at some point. I was so excited. Actually, this was probably one of the moments that brought me so much joy this year. I still remember how overjoyed I was and revisit the videos from time to time. Having a child who is non-verbal can be saddening. Oftentimes I see people in public places talking to their children and I just hope they know how incredibly blessed they are to be able to talk to their little ones. Those conversations are so precious. That’s why I was overjoyed because it ignited hope in me – that soon we would graduate from reading to actual conversations. This definitely was a moment worth celebrating for us. Small Wins with the Fork When the year started, our son could only feed himself using his hands. Using a spoon or fork presented a lot of difficulty and mess. But he needed to learn and at school they were already being intentional about making sure he eats on his own. So we started using hand-over-hand to teach him and help his coordination and I am so glad that today, he can eat his pasta with his little fork. We still need to minimise the mess with the meals that need him to eat with a spoon but I am so grateful we have made so much progress from where we were beginning of the year. I love that he is also keen to learn and I see him put in the effort. I am so proud of him and believe that things will only get better from here. The Potty Training Journey Moving along, another big item on our goal list for the year was potty training. Last year, at my son’s previous school, they tried to get him started on potty training. It was a disaster and we quickly just defaulted back to diapers. This was before his ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder) diagnosis.

Recently I was listening to an audiobook, Killing Comparison by Nona Jones and also listening to some excerpts from her most recent one, The Gift of Rejection. Both inspired me to write this post and I highly recommend them to anyone who is struggling to find their place in a world that is constantly pressuring us to place value in external approval (maLove nemaLikes 😉) and not necessarily making a genuine positive impact in this world. I have always been one to think that I am very lucky when I get an opportunity, regardless of how big or small it is. Whether it was being invited to a party, asked out on a date, chosen for a job, or even included in a friendship. These kind of moments filled me with gratitude. I was always happy to be “picked,” and it felt like an acknowledgment that, maybe, I was worthy of something good in my life. But if I’m being honest, there was a deeper layer to this belief that I hadn’t fully realised. The feeling of luck I had wasn’t just gratitude. It was rooted in a belief that I was somehow “undeserving” unless I was chosen, hand-picked, or given a chance by a parent, relative, friend, employer, client, church leader, boyfriend or spouse. I’m not really sure if middle child syndrome also contributed to me having this mindset. I just thought the opportunities I received were rare gifts, and therefore, I was always walking on eggshells, trying to please, trying to earn, trying to prove that I deserved them. Unfortunately, this mindset led me down some unhealthy paths. I became a people-pleaser, constantly sacrificing my needs and boundaries in order to keep others happy. I became a perfectionist, always pushing myself, and sometimes others, to be “good enough” or “mistake-free” even though it always felt like I never reached those states. I found myself tolerating (and at times even contributing to) toxic behaviours, toxic relationships, and even disrespect because, somewhere deep down, I convinced myself that this was the best I could get, and the best I could offer in return. I thought this was just the life I was meant to have, and that I should be grateful for it. I didn’t realise that I was worthy of more, or that more was even possible. I struggled internally with this for a long time, unable to imagine a better life for myself, because, well, I guess I didn’t know better. I thought that this was the reality I had to accept. But there was a cognitive dissonance that kept creeping up on me and would show up as me trying to stand up for myself, for example. However, I didn’t quite know how to shift from trying to please everyone to doing what I felt aligned with my personal values. I wish I could say the outcome of that was always pleasant. It wasn’t – but that’s a story for another day. Then fast forward to a few years ago, I found myself in therapy and that experience set me on a path that did two things. First, it helped me identify this unhealthy mindset. Second, it led me to God, my Father, and this knowledge of Him started healing the pain that came out of living with this mindset and ultimately altering my thinking patterns. My therapist at the time unpacked what salvation meant in a way I had never heard before. Most importantly, she helped me understand who God really was and the role He played in my life. I have always known God, but it was only at this point that I began to truly know Him and relate to Him as my Father. I must admit, losing my earthly father had a lot to do with me getting here as well. Growing up, I really had a surface-level understanding of who God was. I knew that He created me, that He had given me a set of guidelines to follow in His Word, and that my purpose was to try to live in a way that pleased Him. But there was something missing. I thought that to earn His approval, I had to follow His rules and guidelines to the T. I thought that I had to never make mistakes and never fall short. And when I inevitably did, I believed that I was one of the “lucky” ones if and when He still chose to bless me. It’s only now that I have come to realise and learn that my understanding of God was so limited. Because now I know that God isn’t about luck. He’s not about choosing a select few to be His favourites. We were already chosen. He’s not about making me earn His love or His blessings. He is good all the time, and His goodness is not based on my ability to be perfect. He is good because of who He is, not because of anything I can ever do. He already knows I am flawed. Now, as I spend more time with Him and continue to understand the depth of His love and the abundance of His provision, I realise that God created each of us with purpose. I wasn’t just placed on this earth to “get by” or to be lucky every time something good happened. I wasn’t an accident, a random being trying to earn His love. No. God intentionally knit me together in my mother’s womb. He had a purpose for me, a plan for my life, and that purpose was to fulfil a role in His Kingdom. There is no way God would create such a beautiful world and such beautiful people (His children) to hate them. So if God is good all the time and if He created me with a purpose then surely He would provide for me everything I need to fulfil that purpose, right? 28 “And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the

Sometime last week, I put this title in my drafts because it is something that kept coming to my mind. How many times do you decide you want to do something and then chicken out because you’re afraid of the outcome? How many times have you seen someone pursue an idea you once had and thought, “That’s exactly what I wanted to do when I thought about this idea in 2016!”? The aftermath often becomes a spiralling cycle of shoulda-woulda-couldas. For me, this has happened countless times. I have an idea, but fear holds me back. I start doubting its potential: Maybe this idea is only good in my head. Maybe it will fail to take off. Maybe my family might think I’m crazy. Maybe I won’t be as good as [insert competition]. I find ways to disqualify myself from the game before even playing, and I know I’m not alone in this. Fear is “an unpleasant emotion caused by the threat of danger, pain, or harm.” In the case of my ideas, which aren’t in any way dangerous or harmful, I’m really trying to avoid the potential pain (a.k.a. heartbreak) that comes from something not working out. Nobody likes to feel unpleasant emotions. This got me thinking: what exactly is the issue? Where does this threat come from? Why do some people boldly take action while others leave dreams as dreams? It’s widely accepted that positive outcomes are not always guaranteed. I concluded that my desire for control, over the outcome rather than the ideation and execution of an idea, plays a significant role in my hesitation. Imagine this: If we could control the outcome, the number of ideas brought to life would skyrocket. For example, if I wanted to set up a hair salon in my rural village in Guruve, and I could guarantee a return on investment of at least 15%, I would dive in with full confidence. Having that guarantee provides a sense of control over the outcome, right? But is there really a guarantee? There isn’t. Until an idea goes to market, it’s impossible to ensure any outcome. Take the aviation industry: to predict that a journey from Harare to Johannesburg could take approximately 1 hour and 45 minutes, there was a pioneer who first launched that flight years ago. They didn’t just put the plane in the sky; they researched, planned, and took calculated risks. I can’t just go to Guruve Centre and open a hair salon. I need to understand the potential market demographic, average disposable incomes of men and women in the area, present competition and understand if this is something that the community would want. Factors like religion and social norms could even influence how women would decide around this. But even with all this information, the only way I can know how they would receive the new service in the area is if I launch it and give them an opportunity to try it out. We didn’t know we needed an iPod until Apple launched one in 2001. Imagine if we had been stuck with those (now seemingly ridiculous) Sony Walkmans? Remember my favourite quote from I-Don’t-Know-Where which I last shared in my previous post? You don’t know what we don’t know. Imagine if Steve Jobs had been afraid? Imagine if Mark Zuckerberg had refused to talk to investors to grow Facebook? Imagine if he would have just pressed Ctrl + A + Delete on his code because he was afraid he wouldn’t succeed? So, now, when I think of this again and ask myself, what would I do if I wasn’t afraid? My answer: I would take those leaps. I would let go of my desire to want to control outcomes 100%. I would embrace uncertainty even when it had the potential to ignite unpleasant emotions within me. I would allow myself to experiment and learn from my failures. I would reach out to others with similar dreams and collaborate. I would support others on a similar journey whist also learning from them. Most importantly, I would accept that fear is a natural part of growth, not a barrier. The next time fear whispers doubts in my ear, I’ll remind myself that the greatest stories often come from taking risks. Instead of letting fear dictate my decisions, I’ll challenge myself to act. Because what if the outcomes could lead to amazing journeys? What if, instead of “what if I fail?” the question becomes “what if I soar?” There is a motivational speaker and coach I worked with many years ago who always used to say that some of you are not even afraid of failure; that you are actually afraid of the possibility of things working out. “Ko zvikaita?” she would say (Translation: What if it works out?). Seriously, after putting in all the work you need to, what if it works out? What if you succeed? I believe that’s a narrative worth pursuing. Note to self: Remember the key “word”: Put in the work that’s required of you. Feel the fear and do it anyway!

This quote was shared by a dear friend of mine a few years ago. It was something her sister, who was our age mate, had said to her before she passed on. It spoke to me and touched me deeply. I reached out to my friend and asked if I could create a graphic to share the quote and credit her sister. She agreed, and it has remained on my IG timeline ever since. I often think about this: Life rewards you for the portion you fight for. It forces me to examine my life – what I’m prioritising and the outcomes I’m achieving. We often complain about different aspects of our lives not working out – work, parenting, marriage, friendships, businesses. But what are we really pouring into those areas? A few stories for you around this… After giving birth to my son, I wanted to lose weight. But that was all there was to it: I was simply WANTING IT. Was I exercising? No. Did I adjust my diet? No. Doughnuts and fried chicken were “life”. Yet, I felt sad about being three sizes up from my usual. I wasn’t doing anything to achieve the outcome I desired. Over the past year or two though, I’ve finally managed to shed a few kilos. I try to walk more, and I hope to be running again soon (yes, I used to run 5K “easily”!). My portions have gotten smaller and I try to avoid junk food, though that latter part has been a real fight for my life. I love love love potato crisps! I’ve talked to several friends and acquaintances who are interested in working remotely. When I ask what they’re doing every day to get closer to their first, second, or third client? Crickets. “Build it and they will come”, right? Wrong! Like any business, you have to work every single day to get the attention of your intended clients. If there’s a probability that out of every 100 people you sell yourself to, one will buy, then for the 100 items or service slots you have, you should aim to sell them to at least…10,000! If you only manage to sell to 100, it would be overly ambitious to expect your items to sell out – almost unrealistic. I’ve shared about my son being diagnosed with autism. He is classified as non-verbal, which means he cannot communicate using spoken language. However, as we learn to navigate the challenges of his condition we have found other ways to encourage communication, even without words. Hours upon hours of speech and occupational therapy have also helped him improve things like eye contact and following instructions – both of which are a huge part of communication. Just yesterday, he wanted to go outside with me and came running to the door. I told him, “Go get your shoes,” and he quickly ran to the room to get them. It’s little things like this that remind me how far we’ve come on this journey. Yet, on some days, I do feel like we’re not making any progress. Why, you might ask? Well, individuals on the spectrum thrive on routine, and when they fall off that routine, it’s incredibly hard to get them back on track. These routines encompass their basic life activities like eating, going to school, bathing, brushing teeth, potty training, tidying up, and even sleeping! My son doesn’t even like us changing the direction we take when going to or coming from school. And it’s not like he will say, “Oh mummy, I don’t want to take this route.” He will throw a tantrum loud enough for bystanders to think I’m trying to kidnap him because he can’t use his words. So as I think about where my son is now and where I hope he’ll be in the near future, I realise that I can’t take his routines lightly. I can’t afford regression in the important and basic things. I need to be increasingly intentional about his life. As much as I believe God is ultimately in control, I know I must do what I can while I still can. The rest I surrender to God, because He is my son’s Maker, knows what he needs and gives it to him on time. His will takes precedence over mine. It’s my birthday this month, and I’ve been thinking: if I could be granted one wish, even for just a day, it would be to have a conversation with my son. I’d love to know what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling, what he thinks of me, whether he likes my cooking. I just want to know. When he came into this world just over four years ago, I never imagined that I would be wishing for these things at this point in his life. I recently looked at old videos of him before he turned one; how he could say “thank you” and clap his hands upon instruction. But that all went away. That’s autistic regression for you – a loss of previously acquired skills or a backtracking of developmental milestones. A few months ago, my son was reading more than 50 random words – mostly animals – but today, he doesn’t. I’m honestly not sure whether he can’t anymore or just doesn’t want. Sometimes it feels like someone switched my child and gave me another or pressed RESET on his brain, but that’s regression. For basic life skills regression can set you back weeks or even months! Routines are crucial in ensuring he masters the skills so that he can eventually do them independently. This year, my son finally started feeding himself. Although it’s still incredibly messy on most days, I’m glad he doesn’t just sit there expecting someone else to feed him all the time. Of course, there are days when he doesn’t want to lift a finger, but there’s definitely progress in the right direction. Thank God! Today, I feel like I’m fighting the fight

Two years ago today, you cut your last birthday cake. You’d turned 73, and every time I look at the pictures and videos from that day, I am so sad seeing how frail you had become from all the chemo you were having to go through. Yet you remained positive and still tried to live your life as normally as possible – working and all. I remember in that moment, when you were cutting your cake, you said, “Ndinoriona here ini rechi74?” (Translation: Will I get to see my 74th one?) I swallowed a blob of hurt and pain hearing you say that, even though we did encourage and assure you that, of course, you would. But you didn’t. God decided it was time. Exactly 34 days later, He called you Home. Oh, the pain of that day! Even as I type this out, it’s cutting through my chest like a blunt bread knife – rough, painful, lasting. And that blob in my throat is back, wanting me to cry. I don’t even think I realised the full impact of losing you at that moment because of everything that needed to be done—funeral logistics and all the drama associated with that. Then it all passed, and life had to go on. The fact that the real funeral starts when everyone else is gone is not talked about enough. By the time you passed, I was already in therapy dealing with the lemons life had dealt me. So I continued, but to be honest, I didn’t feel better as soon as I would have wanted. Life seemed to be getting worse. On the outside, to someone who I hadn’t told what I was going through, it appeared like I had it all together – a strong woman who had it all figured out. But deep down inside, my world was falling apart. Everything was just crumbling, and more than anything, I needed you. I needed my daddy. I needed your assurance. I needed your encouragement. I needed your protection. I needed you to deal with some people who were getting on my nerves because some people really muster the audacity to deliver nonsense behaviour once one’s parent is gone (I wish I were joking about this one 🙄). But no, daddy, you were gone. In a last-ditch effort to “find you,” there was a day I went to the prayer garden at your parish, and the cry I cried that day. I was tired of a lot of things, and my spirit just needed some peace. That cry made me feel better. So I continued for a few weeks. Every day after dropping off your grandson at school, I would go into that garden – first to cry, then to pray. Eventually, it became just to read the Bible and pray. Some days, I would just sit and talk to myself. I don’t remember at what point I stopped, but I know I was beginning to feel better. I guess this was the beginning of my journey with God and learning to depend on Him wholly and fully. Because prior to that, ah, I depended on you, daddy – the solver of my two million seven hundred thousand five hundred and sixty-two problems. I was telling someone the other day that you took care of so many aspects of our lives that after you left, I was so disoriented that I even struggled to eat right for a bit. You always made sure there was healthy food around and would challenge us to make healthy choices. Dude, I know snitches get stitches, but the amount of cake that was eaten in the house last year? You would have been disgusted, I know. Also, Mum, if you are reading this, I am not saying you don’t give us healthy options. You just don’t make us feel bad for eating cake. Anyway, I digressed. So fast forward to this year – emotionally, I have gotten better. I started finding my way out of the pit of depression and sadness that clouded me after you had gone. The forgiveness journey my therapist got me started on two years ago began putting more pressure on me this year as I came to understand more about what Jesus did for me on the cross and the depth of God’s love for me. And understanding that I always have a Father in Him. He loved me first. I started rebuilding my life (again 😂). They should crown me the Queen of New Beginnings at this point, right? I also accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Saviour. I got baptised. I forgave. I asked for forgiveness. I went back to school. I started reading more books and watching less TV. I lost a whole 10kg since your funeral! Your girl is out here drinking water, eating more cabbage, minding her own business and making you proud 😂. I’ve started feeling a sense of calm even in the middle of storms. There are so many things that don’t appear “right” in my life at the moment, but since I learned another (more sustainable) way to fight my life’s battles, I have found so much reassurance from the promises of God’s Word. I read my Bible often, and it is so comforting. That said, I still think of you and every memory we shared often. And I miss you every day. We used to drive each other up the wall, but we still had each other. You always had my back in all seasons, even when your support was sometimes served with a side of your unfiltered, Korekore ChiKunda-inspired comments. There are things I go through today that make me wonder what you would say about them. For instance, I know for a fact if you were here, you’d be the one telling me everything I need to know about Autism because you liked to read on EVERYBODY’s behalf and then hook us up with the summary. But

I was today years old when I learned there was a difference between these two words: expectation and expectancy. Seriously…They meant the same thing to me! It actually took me back to a few years ago when I had a friend lecture me about having expectations of people. “That’s how you get disappointed Tari,” she said to me. At the time, it didn’t make sense to me. I expected people to behave in a certain way, to treat me in a certain way because I had been kind to and considerate of them in past interactions. But, I quickly learned that that’s not really how life goes. Another friend is always telling me, “Stop expecting other people to behave or react how you would in a particular situation.” We are all different. We have different priorities, levels of integrity, moral compasses, you name it. We are not the same, and, most importantly, we are not perfect. Then a few weeks ago, as I was listening to a discussion on an episode on Better Together TV, I heard one of the ladies talk about why we need to stop having expectations and instead have an expectancy. Huh? Yes, that was my reaction, literally. I rewinded. What are you saying? Immediately, I started looking up definitions for these two words as a start, because to me, “it didn’t sound right”. But how they unpacked it all blew my mind away and I immediately put this title in my drafts because I needed to share it with someone. Now, according to Oxford, expectation is defined as a strong belief that something will happen or be the case in the future. It’s rigid, it’s fixed and 99.999% of the time, it’s tied to a specific expected outcome. I hate saying this, but it actually reeks of entitlement. Of course, going back to my conversation with my friend, I started thinking, was I being entitled? OK, let’s keep going. I did create a picture in my mind of how things were supposed to unfold and, as my friend literally put it, I set myself up for disappointment because what then happened to me in reality didn’t match what I had established in my head. Sigh! Think about this: If you are expecting a promotion at work because you’ve been putting in extra hours, you are going to be very frustrated if and when it doesn’t materialise. I remember when I used to work at the bank, very long hours during my time as a graduate trainee. The major reason I was doing it was because it gave me an opportunity to learn more. There were so many distractions during the day from colleagues needing help and support and we would only get that focus time after hours, when everyone had gone home. That was the major reason. Now, on another side of my brain and soul, I was thinking, if they see me putting my head down like this, working hard (and late) they would see that I deserved a raise, a promotion and more resources on my team to support the work we were doing so that we didn’t have to put in these long hours. That was my expectation. And when it hardly materialised in the way I pictured in my head, it led to a great deal of frustration on my part. I’m sure you all know by now how that story unfolded. Outside of work, let’s think about friendships or any social relationship we can think of. This is where I was struggling with this because if I had been a good friend (sister, daughter or partner) to you, I expected you to extend the same “kindness” or “graciousness” or “loyalty” to me when I needed it. And if I didn’t get that, best believe, I’m going to be beyond disappointed. I’m going to be pissed! And this is what my friend was trying to rescue me from because she could tell how disappointed I was. And I remember thinking, how can I just go through life expecting the worst from people because that’s how I then translated it. It was either black or white. You either do or you don’t. And because I kept having these expectations, I continued to feel a lot of disappointment and sometimes even resentment and bitterness. Now, expectancy on the other hand, is the thinking, hoping or feeling that something, especially something pleasant, will happen or be the case – as the Cambridge dictionary puts it. It’s more fluid, open, and adaptable. When we live with expectancy, we are hopeful and optimistic without being tied to a specific outcome. That last part – without being tied to a specific outcome. Expectancy allows us to remain positive and open to various possibilities, reducing the sting of disappointment. Personally, it actually reminds me to maintain the posture of knowing that “No experience is wasted”. Everything is happening for my better good and this scripture has never been more true “And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose.” – Romans 8:28 NKJV In my journey of life, shifting from expectation to expectancy has been a game-changer, especially for my emotional and mental well being. When I expect people to treat me a certain way, any deviation from my script leads to hurt feelings and resentment. But embracing expectancy means I can hope for positive interactions while understanding that people are complex and unpredictable and also making space for that. This mindset shift has not only improved how I approach and navigate my relationships but also my own sense of peace. Consider this: with expectancy, you can still hope for that promotion, but you’re open to other opportunities and outcomes. Maybe you won’t get that specific promotion, but perhaps another exciting project or role will come your way. Expectancy keeps your mind and heart open to the myriad of possibilities life can offer. So,