His name was Meshack Kibaka. Throughout his life, his name felt like a prison sentence. He was born into poverty so obvious it nearly had a smell—a mud hut in the middle of a slum, a mother who had already borne two children she could barely feed. A woman carrying survival on her back like firewood—necessary, heavy, and endless. Her face showed lines long before her age required them. Smiles were rare, and laughter even more scarce. When it appeared, it looked almost painful, as if her muscles had forgotten how to hold joy. His father appeared like a rumor. Sometimes at night. Sometimes unannounced. Sometimes not at all. When he did appear, he spoke big words. On one such night, he named his son with conviction: “You will be like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. You will accomplish the impossible.” His father prophesied—a rare statement. But names don’t automatically determine destiny. Sometimes, names also carry history. Kibaka was a name passed down from a great-grandfather kno...
Over years of working with men and women who seem strong, successful, composed, and “sorted,” I’ve learned there’s something underneath. Most people are not difficult; they are wounded. When wounds go unexamined, they don’t heal. They reorganize into habits. And when habits are repeated long enough, they become part of their identity. That is the core truth I want you to remember as you read this: If you don’t face your emotional conditioning, your past will quietly shape your personality. And once it becomes your personality, you will defend it as “just who I am.” Let me tell you about Maya. The Story of Maya — Strong, Independent, and Imprisoned Maya was striking. Not just physically; she was beautiful in that effortless way that makes people stare twice, but also energetically. She entered a space like someone who had wrestled life before breakfast and won. She spoke with confidence. Her opinions weren’t just suggestions; they were declarations. There was a certaint...