Letter to Younger Self: From githeri to global dreams

Every scar has a story. “Letter to My Younger Self” invites you into the reflective hearts of people who've walked winding roads—offering gentle truths, bold lessons, and encouragement for anyone still figuring it out. These weekly letters are full of grace and grit, showing how setbacks shape wisdom and how the past still holds power to teach. From nurturing curiosity to embracing mentorship, each piece is a tribute to growth through lived experience.

Purity Warui, HR Specialist, AI Talent Strategist, and Author pens this week’s heartfelt Letter to My Younger Self

Dear younger self,

You grew up as an ordinary child.

For a period, your home had no electricity. You attended a local CDF school. Yours was not an elite family by any measure. Your meals were simple, often a plate of githeri, the humble mixture of maize and beans that many Kenyan homes knew well.

By most standards, nothing about your upbringing looked exceptional. Yet life was good.

While your childhood was modest, one thing remained constant: you never lacked the basics. There was stability, care, and a quiet sense of possibility. You were the lastborn in a family of four, and perhaps that position allowed you to observe life with a certain curiosity.

At eight years old, you had a moment that quietly shaped the direction of your life.

One day, you told your twin brother something that sounded almost absurd for a child your age. You said that one day you would be eloquent. That you would appear in newspapers. That you would become successful and that your life would overflow with purpose.

At the time, those were simply dreams spoken by a child with imagination. But dreams had a strange way of planting seeds.

As you grew older, life did not immediately confirm those dreams. Academically, you were not a top performer during your O-Level and A-Level years. Your results were respectable but not extraordinary. Nothing about them strongly suggested you would become the kind of student who stood out.

College changed everything. For reasons you would reflect on many years later, you found your stride there. You worked harder, thought deeper, and began to understand the value of discipline. More often than not, your name appeared at the top of the class list.

Then in November 2012, something remarkable happened. You were featured in a newspaper after receiving a voucher from Prof. Shaukat Abdulrazak, a respected academic, in recognition of exemplary performance.

For you, that moment was bigger than an award. It felt like confirmation. The dream that an eight-year-old girl had once whispered was quietly taking shape. After college, you joined Jomo Kenyatta University of Agriculture and Technology to pursue a Bachelor of Commerce in Human Resource Management. 

By then, your sense of calling had become clearer. You wanted to work with people, build organizations, and contribute meaningfully to the world of work.

During that time, you had the privilege of holding a job while studying. On paper, it sounded impressive. In reality, it was exhausting.

Balancing work, studies, and the temptations of one’s twenties was not easy. Your father was a strict but deeply loving man. Interestingly, he gave you room to make your own decisions. With that freedom came responsibility. Early on, you made a personal commitment: your primary focus would be building your career.

That meant making difficult choices. While many of your peers were exploring nightlife, parties, and the social freedoms of youth, you deliberately chose a quieter path. No alcohol. Minimal distractions. No friendships that diluted your focus.

It was not always easy, but you understood something critical: success often demanded the courage to starve distractions. Eventually, the results came.

You graduated with First Class Honors in Human Resource Management. You still remembered that moment of pride. You had proven something not only to the world, but also to yourself. You had always loved winning — not merely in a competitive sense, but in the fulfillment that came from reaching a goal you had worked relentlessly toward.

Yet growth brought its own battles. As your career progressed, a new challenge emerged: self-doubt.

Imposter syndrome crept in quietly. Despite your achievements, you sometimes questioned whether you truly belonged in the spaces you had entered. One day, your supervisor addressed it directly without filters. Her words were uncomfortable to hear, but they were necessary

From that moment, you made a shift. You chose to show up confidently, owning your capabilities and embracing your unique value. Authenticity became your strategy.

Another goal soon formed in your mind: breaking the educational ceiling within your family lineage. Your family had achieved diplomas and degrees, but you wanted to go further.

A master’s degree became the next milestone. You began saving intentionally,  month by month, quietly and consistently. Within a year, you had saved enough to pay for the entire program with no loans, no financial strain, and without sacrificing a decent quality of life.

Two years later, you graduated with your master’s degree while holding a good job. Then another dream resurfaced. You had always wanted to write a book.

In May 2025, you finally gifted yourself that dream. You published your first book, making it available globally through Amazon. In many ways, that moment felt like another layer of purpose unfolding.

But there was one more aspiration that had lingered quietly for years. The title Doctor. It was something you admired deeply. In 2025, you registered for a PhD program, becoming the first person in your family to take that path.

And now, in the present, here is the advice you would give: When I look back, I realize something powerful. My life had not been defined by extraordinary beginnings. It has been shaped by intentional choices, gratitude, and the courage to pursue quiet dreams consistently.

If there is one message I would share with anyone reading this, it is simple: Be intentional. Be grateful. And believe that even the most ordinary beginnings can lead to extraordinary journeys.

And if you have ever wished you could speak to your younger self with wisdom, forgiveness, or clarity, take a moment to write that message. You might just discover that the child who once dreamed still lives within you, waiting to see how the story unfolds.

Everyone has a story worth sharing. If you’ve ever wished you could talk to your younger self—with wisdom, forgiveness, or clarity—we invite you to write to us. Your real, heartfelt letter might just be the encouragement someone else needs today. You may remain anonymous if preferred, but your truth matters. We don’t pay contributors, but we believe in the power of shared experience. Join us in building a collection of life’s hard-earned lessons and gentle reminders.

Be part of this movement. Send your Letter to My Younger Self to: [email protected]