When life paused, I learned to breathe

Peace, I’ve discovered, does not always wait for perfect moments. Sometimes it hides in the quiet between heartbreaks, in the stillness of despair, in the cracks where life has paused.

Being indoors for close to two months has been tough. The walls started to feel smaller, and the days began to blend into one another. Plans were postponed, routines disrupted, and the life I once knew seemed to pause. My social life now mostly communicates with my phone, my pots, and my dishes — and honestly, they have been better listeners than I expected.

At first, it all felt like a huge disappointment. I had plans for growth, work, and connection — and suddenly everything stopped. The silence was loud, and I found myself questioning: What now? What will become of the plans I once held so tightly?

But disappointment wasn’t new to me. I had made its acquaintance long before this lockdown.

The death of my father was a herb too bitter to swallow. It meant that my mother had to raise five children all by herself, while swimming in the pools of debts my father’s sickness had accumulated. Did we not have relatives? We did! Was my father not supportive towards them when he was alive? He was. To prove that he was, they all made pledges — each one promising to take up a bit of responsibility to ease my mother’s burden. But did they keep to their promises? Who born dog?

One after the other, my mother received rejection like a graduate searching for a job. First, it was my elder sister who couldn’t continue her secondary education because my mother had just returned from burying my father. Then came the second — at least she said she wasn’t that bright in academics and preferred to learn a skill. But even so, who was there to sponsor her?

Then came me. It was right after I had obtained my First School Leaving Certificate, and once again, silence filled the house. My mother, tired and frustrated from waiting on people’s help, looked at me and said, “No, not this one. Not with all the brightness she has.”

Because, of course, I was that child who always came out top of the class.

During that period, we worked hard to raise funds for my schooling. From going to the farm to harvest mushrooms to sell on the road, to helping neighbors in their palm farms by picking nuts in exchange for payment, to searching for brooms and other small odd jobs — we did everything we could. There wasn’t a task too small, a labor too hard, if it meant we could raise enough money to keep me in school.

In Form Three, my mother’s sister, such a kind soul, took me in as her own. She sponsored me all the way through to Advanced Level, providing not only for my schooling but also the basic necessities of life. Her generosity and care gave me the stability I needed to continue my education, even when everything else seemed uncertain. But then things suddenly became difficult for her too — and that was the genesis of my academic struggle.

During those years of break — yes, I call it a break, because I knew deep down I would one day go back to school — I refused to sit idle. I learned tailoring, saving every coin with purpose until it was enough to rent a small space. My mother, ever supportive, kept helping in whatever little way she could.

While in the university, it was not any easier. Starting with the landlords who always saw themselves as demigods — telling you that if you couldn’t pay your rent, you could pack out because others were waiting, and they were not running a charity organization. Even when you had already deposited half of the payment and promised to pay the rest in bits — and you obviously did — they still treated you like you were asking for too much. Then there was the daily struggle to feed, to balance studies with survival, to keep hope alive even when pockets were empty. Those days tested me, but they also shaped me.

Having my degree now, I aim to continue with my Master’s. To make that dream a reality, I promised myself that I would work really hard — to ensure I never go through those hard times again, to avoid the adrenaline in my stomach or the fear each time the landlord knocks for rent. I wanted to erase every trace of those struggles through focus, determination, and planning, building a future where I could pursue my Master’s without constant worry.

But this lockdown has come like a storm, shaking everything I had carefully built. The small progress I had made, the savings I had managed to gather — all of it suddenly feels like dust slipping through my fingers. The very problem I was trying to run away from is now staring me right in the face.

And I began to wonder: is disappointment really a blessing?

After several nights of worrying and crying on the bed, I decided I was not going to drown in this disappointment. I was not going to lock myself up again. I started thinking of different ways life could still be better. I began to rethink, to re-strategize, and to re-plan my next move. I started writing in my journal, pouring out my fears and ideas. I went online, searching for lessons I could learn, and believe me — there were plenty.

A lot of things I have learned in this lockdown period have helped me grow. I may not have increased in my pockets, but my brain has increased — and that, to me, is a form of peace.

Somewhere between that old disappointment and this new lockdown, I began to see a pattern: sometimes life pauses us not to punish us, but to prepare us. Maybe disappointment is like that unexpected plot twist in a movie — confusing at first, but secretly a blessing. You might not see it yet. Sometimes the blessing is quietly cooking up while you’re on a TV marathon of shows you swore you’d never watch.

For me:

Peace is acceptance — accepting what I cannot change and finding calm within it.

Peace is resilience — the strength to keep going even when life keeps testing me.

Peace is growth — learning from every challenge and becoming wiser with each step.

Peace is perspective — seeing beyond the immediate struggles to the bigger picture of life.

So, if you’re feeling stuck or left behind, please don’t lose hope. Reflect. Plan. Laugh at the absurdity of it all. Cry if you must. But don’t stop believing that something good can come from the waiting.

Peace often lives quietly in the pauses — waiting for us to notice.

When the world finally opens again, may we rise not just ready — but stronger, wiser, and maybe even slightly more awesome than before.