2025-09-28 18:21:05
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Reflection Exercise 1
1. The Father wound The “father wound” often comes from absence, neglect, criticism, or conditional love. It can create patterns of: >Seeking validation through achievement or approval. >Struggling with self-worth or confidence. >Difficulty trusting men (for women) or difficulty embodying healthy masculinity (for men).Reflection questions: > How did your father (or father figure) show love when you were growing up? > Did you feel safe, protected, and seen by him? >In what ways do you still seek approval or validation today? > How do you react to authority or men in your life now?Take a few moments to journal your answers honestly, without judgment.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Rising Light Chapter 9
The dawn broke over Nairobi with a quiet brilliance, the city streets bathed in the soft glow of morning light. Ntalami stood on her balcony, sipping her coffee, her crochet bag resting nearby, still warm from the night before. The city hummed below her, a blend of traffic, chatter, and the distant calls of street vendors; but she felt a profound peace, as if the world had slowed just for her to breathe and take stock of how far she had come.Her journey from the pain of toxic love to the freedom she now experienced had been long and winding, marked by tears, reflection, and growth. Each stitch she wove in her creations had become more than craft; it was ritual, meditation, and affirmation all at once. And now, she was not only creating for herself, she was creating for others, guiding, mentoring, and inspiring.Today, she was attending the first meeting of a women’s artisan collective she had helped establish. The group was meant to provide a platform for female creatives from across
Freedom in Bloom Chapter 8
The morning sunlight poured into Ntalami’s apartment, painting the walls with a warm golden hue. The smell of freshly brewed coffee mingled with jasmine from the small planter on her balcony. She stretched, feeling the familiar ache of muscles from yesterday’s long walk through the city streets, a walk she had taken to clear her mind and celebrate small victories.It had been months since she had let go of Duke, months since she had begun to recognize the patterns that had held her captive. Each day had been a lesson in self-love, self-respect, and conscious choice. She smiled as she recalled the first workshop she had hosted, how nervous she had been, how she had feared judgment, but how alive she had felt witnessing women finding joy in creating their own pieces.Today was special. Ntalami was traveling outside the city for the first time since launching her crochet brand. She had been invited to a regional artisan market in Mombasa to showcase her creations and meet other emerging
New Horizons Chapter 7
The sun had just begun to rise over Nairobi, casting a golden glow across the streets and rooftops. Ntalami stood at the edge of her balcony, her eyes scanning the city below, her hands wrapped around a warm cup of tea. The morning air smelled faintly of rain and blooming flowers, and for the first time in years, she felt a lightness in her chest that wasn’t borrowed from anyone else.Her life had begun to shift in ways she hadn’t imagined possible. The handmade fashion expo had been a success, her Instagram following had grown into a small community of admirers, and she had even received an offer to collaborate with a local boutique. Every stitch she made now carried the weight of her resilience, the beauty of her reclaimed self, and the freedom of choosing her path.She tied back her hair and grabbed her tote bag. Today was special; her first day running a beginner’s crochet workshop for women in her neighborhood. She had advertised it online, offering both a safe space and a practi
Paths Diverging Chapter 6
The morning air smelled of rain and earth, the streets of Nairobi glistening with puddles that reflected the sky. Ntalami walked briskly toward her small studio, a light backpack slung over one shoulder, the scent of jasmine in her hair. For the first time in months, she moved through the city feeling a quiet strength radiating from her chest rather than the constant weight of longing for someone else’s attention.The studio, a bright space on the second floor of a renovated building, was already buzzing with life. Two assistants arranged displays of her latest crochet creations while a small camera crew prepared to film her process for a local feature on emerging African artists. Ntalami took a deep breath, letting the hum of activity fill her senses.She had come a long way. Her therapy sessions had helped her untangle years of self-doubt. Her reflections on her parents’ love; or the lack thereof, had given her insight into why she had repeatedly returned to Duke’s toxicity. And now
Rising from the Ashes Chapter 5
Ntalami woke to the soft chime of her phone buzzing against the nightstand. For once, it wasn’t Duke’s name on the screen, pulling her into the same spiral she had fought for years. Instead, it was a message from her friend Aisha.“Congratulations, love! They featured your crochet bags on the Nairobi Creatives page! Over 10,000 followers!”Ntalami blinked at the message, then unlocked her phone to check. Sure enough, her photo—smiling in a sunflower-yellow shawl she had made herself—was pinned at the top of the page. The caption read: ‘Meet Ntalami, the young woman weaving healing into every stitch.’Her breath caught in her chest. This wasn’t just about art. It was about being seen—truly seen—for something beyond her pain.She closed her eyes and whispered to herself, “I’m becoming someone new.”Duke, meanwhile, stared at the ceiling of his apartment, the morning sun slicing through the blinds like knives. His head throbbed from last night’s drinking, and the ashtray on the table ove
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