by 
First, let’s get this out of the way: I’m now a Psychotherapist. I’m your shrink. Your unpaid therapist just became your paid therapist. We’ve gone premium, my battalion! Yaaas! Welcome to my yellow chair, let’s talk. And give me your money.
Have you seen the video of a professor introducing his students to quantum mechanics? Turns out no one knows anything about Quantum mechanics, not even the guys teaching you about Quantum mechanics. He stands there with a straight face and says, “I’m the only one confused right now, but in a week, you’ll all be confused with me, and then you can go on and spread that ignorance.” Or something close to that. I could have sworn he was talking about parenting. No one really knows what they’re doing, but we’re all out here winging it with the confidence of a toddler holding scissors.
I remember the day my son was born. Pure innocence. Tiny fingers, delicate breath, a dimple so sweet I was convinced angels took shifts guarding it. That heart-melting bundle who smelled like heaven and had me changing my voice to sound like a weaverbird is now strutting around the house, calling us something that sounds very suspicious. “Gobot”. He garnishes it with a dramatic tongue click for punctuation. To this day, we have no idea what it means, but I’ve gone full FBI mode. I’m interrogating suspects in this house, collecting language samples, and cross-checking with every gugugaga dialect I can remember. The minute I decode it and find the originator, the rod of correction will be deployed as per divine instruction. Until then, we are just all Gobots paying taxes.
So, as a parent, a psychologist, and a woman begging Jesus every single day that her kids at least grow up straight and find the Google pin to church, here’s my official product review of parenting. It’s a lot like ordering a blender that comes with wheels, wings, and a sound you don’t know how to turn off. Or buying a Linux laptop for your illiterate grandfather.
How to operate the living, breathing products:
1. Model. Model. Model
Children are terrible listeners but world-class observers. Jean Piaget said kids build knowledge from what they see and interact with, not what you lecture them about. Which basically means your carefully worded “don’t do as I do, do as I say” speeches are less effective than yelling at clouds. If you tell your kids alcohol will ruin their lives while you’ve got a cold beer sweating in your hand, you’re just doing karaoke with hypocrisy. You’re only strengthening your vocal cords and adding to your headache collection, and not even Zulu MR can save you there. It’s like trying to hammer a nail with a ripe banana. It’ll be messy, frustrating, and deeply pointless.
Kids don’t need a motivational speaker for a parent. They need a model. If you want them to be gentle, speak gently. If you want them to pray, let them walk in on you actually praying instead of just nagging them to do it. If you want them to ditch screens, stop doom scrolling like the apocalypse is scheduled for midnight. They’re not copying your words, they’re copying your life. You can either give them something worth copying or keep sharpening your lecture skills for an audience that’s already tuned out.
2. Let them fail
It’s painful. You’ll want to chew aloe vera and walk barefoot on broken glass before you watch your kids fail, but don’t. Yet. Every part of your protective instincts screams “rescue!” when you see them struggling, but if you swoop in every time, you’re raising fragile glass figurines instead of human beings. Let them fail. Let them cry. Let them stomp. Let them even kick the cat in frustration if they must. Failure is the soil where resilience grows. Kids who never get to scrape their knees emotionally or otherwise grow up thinking life owes them bubble wrap. Let them know that the certificate of participation is not worth the paper it’s printed on. They need to learn that only numbers 1,2 and 3 stand on the podium. The rest go back and train some more. And that we don’t hate the guys who made it to the podium, we learn from them. Befriend them even.
You really don’t want to raise a grown person who collapses in tears and resigns on the spot because the cake collapsed and they can’t tell why. You want them to write script upon script, ripping them and throwing them in the bin without needing an inhaler. You want them to know the world isn’t because the boss wrote a circling back email. That’s not resilience, that’s paper-thin ego wrapped in adult clothing. Every failure is training for the real world where no one hands you gold stars for effort. Let them learn how to cry, pick themselves up, and try again, because that’s the only curriculum that sticks.
3. Let them do things alone
At some point, you have to unclutch the leash. Send them to the shop. Let them shower alone. If they’re old enough, let them take a bus and figure it out. You don’t want to raise people who get panic attacks when Google Maps glitches. Let them get lost once or twice. Let them orbit around Afya Centre like a confused satellite trying to find its path back to University Way. Let them circle that green monster until they learn which direction leads to Anniversary Towers and how to get to Muthurwa without tears. That’s the Nairobi curriculum of grit.
We all had those baptism-by-fire moments, and they’re the reason we can now cross the city without needing smelling salts. Kids need that too. Independence isn’t taught with PowerPoints. It’s forged in sweaty, confusing, slightly terrifying solo missions where they eventually figure out the matatu numbers and landmarks. By the time they master it, you’ve got a young person who can breathe without you scripting every move for them. And that’s worth every moment of anxious waiting on your end.
4. Call Customer Support Daily
Listen, the devil didn’t hang up his boots just because we live in the Wi-Fi era. He’s still roaming, still scheming, still hungry. But the good news is God has not resigned either. He is still the strong tower where the righteous run and find safety. He is still wrapping His everlasting arms around us and our kids, and He is still in the business of blessing their going out and coming in.
You have to call on Him who told you to train them in the way they should go, and they won’t depart when they’re old. You cannot helicopter-parent evil out of their lives. You cannot overschedule Satan away. But you can pray. You can lay them before God daily and trust that He is working out plans for good even when you’re freaking out about piercings, oversized grandma sweaters, or unexpected career turns into Thai street monkhood. It is both terrifying and comforting, but at least we know this product called parenting comes with lifetime support from Heaven’s customer service.
5. Listen
This is for you, parents who are millennials: I know we grew up with no voice, and talking was tantamount to anarchy and treason. You were a child to be seen and not heard. But we are parenting humans who ask “why” and call you “bro.” You have to listen to them. Don’t just hover over them with lectures or shout what you think they need to know. Sit with them. Go on a mommy-daughter, mommy-son, daddy-daughter, or daddy-son date. Ask how they’re really doing. Ask them to tell you their thoughts. You’ll be surprised by what comes out when you actually listen.
I started doing this with my girls, taking them one at a time. We go to Java, eat overpriced samosas and burgers that could almost pay for a full semester of my Master’s in Clinical Psychology, and just talk. Every single time, they tell me this is the best moment of their lives.
Advise them, but also, listen to them.
Final Verdict
Parenting doesn’t care if you “added to cart” willingly or if you never really ordered but got shipped anyway. The manual got lost in the mail, the buttons are confusing, and sometimes it smells like burnt wires. If you feel like you’re stepping on a landmine every morning you wake up as “Mom” or “Dad”. Welcome to the club. We’re all learning, and intentionality is the tuition fees.
