Painting the Canvas: Me

Sometimes, I sit in quiet moments and ask myself: Who exactly am I ?

Not in the superficial sense of age, name, race or where I come from . But on a deeper, almost unanswerable questions of "who is me?".

It’s hard to define because “me” is scattered across so many roles, changemaker, mother, wife, sister, daughter, friend, neighbor etc.

Sometimes these roles flow together seamlessly; other times they collide, each demanding a different version of me, each pulling in its own direction.

I used to think “me” was just the sum of these titles. But I’ve learned it’s more than that. It’s not the labels, it’s the fusion, the quiet weaving of the roles into one whole. It’s how I show up in each space, how I shift from comforting my daughters after a rough day to cheering on my husband in his endeavors, or from laughing with friends to advocating fiercely for girls’ education. Each role is a color, but “me” is the canvas holding them together.

Still, that realization didn’t come easily.

Recently, in my work as a changemaker, I faced a moment that shook me deeply. I had been mentoring and supporting a young girl to stay in school. She had so much potential, bright eyes, an infectious laugh, a determination that made me believe she could overcome the odds. Then one day, she disappeared. No calls, no messages, nothing. Weeks later, I heard she had gotten pregnant and left the area. It took a while before I heard from her. She changed from that enthusiastic mentee to a child pregnant with a child. She was bent on staying with the father of the child. I advised, begged and prayed. She didn't bulge. It took a great while for me to realize there was little I could do.

The news hit me hard. A crushing weight settled in my chest. My mind became a storm of questions: Did I fail her? Could I have done more? Should I have seen the signs? I replayed every conversation we’d had, searching for clues I might have missed.

That’s the thing about being in the work of change,you carry people’s stories in your heart. When things don’t go the way you hoped, it’s not just a disappointment; it feels like a personal wound. It became a personal wound.

For days, I wrestled with the guilt. I tried to keep going with my other roles, smiling with my daughters, supporting my husband, laughing politely at family gatherings, but inside, I felt deflated. The “changemaker” in me felt like a fraud.

Then one morning, as I was helping my youngest with her homework, she looked up at me and said, “Mum, you’re the best teacher.” She had no idea what I was going through. In that small moment, I realized something: my worth isn’t tied to the outcome of one situation. One chapter, whether in my family life or my changemaking work, does not define the whole story of “me.”

I started to reflect differently on what had happened. The girl’s pregnancy was not a reflection of my failure alone. Life is complex. People make choices, sometimes under pressures I can’t control. My role is to plant seeds, water them with love, and trust that even if they don’t sprout immediately, they may bloom in their own time.

That shift in thinking didn’t erase the sadness, but it helped me move forward. I snapped out of my guilt. It was a new morning for me.

I asked myself: What can I learn from this? I realized moving forward that I needed to create even stronger follow-up systems for the girls I mentor, deeper networks of support so that no one slips away unnoticed. I needed to listen more,not just to the words spoken, but to the silences that often say more.

Slowly, I began to see that “becoming me” is not about being perfect in each role. It’s about allowing myself to evolve through each experience,both the triumphant and the painful. The joys and the pain.

When I’m with my daughters, “me” is patient, playful, and guiding. When I’m with my husband, “me” is supportive yet independent, a partner who listens but also speaks her mind. With my sisters especially on World Pulse, “me” is a mix of laughter and solidarity; with my neighbors, I’m the helping hand, the listening ear. In my work as a changemaker, “me” is determined, compassionate, and sometimes heartbroken, but never willing to quit.

The beauty is that these roles are not in competition. They are threads weaving into a single tapestry. Sometimes the colors clash, sometimes they blend, but together they create the fabric of who I am becoming.

One of the hardest lessons in this journey has been embracing my humanity. I am not a machine programmed to succeed in every role, every time. I will make mistakes. I will face losses. But those moments don’t erase my value; they refine me.

I now see myself like a river, flowing, shifting, sometimes gentle, sometimes fierce, always moving forward. The rocks along the way don’t stop the water; they shape its path. The challenges I face in one role often teach me something that strengthens me in another.

That girl’s story, as painful as it was, has deepened my empathy. I’m more attuned now to the quiet battles people fight. I’m more committed to creating safe spaces for girls to speak openly without fear of judgment. I’m also more protective of my own emotional well-being, recognizing that I can’t pour from an empty cup.

Becoming me means allowing the roles to inform each other. The patience I practice as a mother spills into my changemaking work. The support I get from my World Pulse sisters inspires and pushes me on. The strategic thinking I use in advocacy helps me solve problems at home. The resilience I learn from my family’s challenges fuels my determination to fight for others.

It also means accepting that “me” is a work in progress. There will be new seasons, new roles, and new lessons. Some days I’ll feel like I’m balancing it all with grace; other days I’ll feel like everything is falling apart. Both are part of the journey.

Most importantly, becoming me means living from a place of authenticity. Not the version of me I think the world wants to see, but the version that is real, sometimes strong, sometimes vulnerable, always growing.

I no longer ask Who am I? with fear, confusion or shame. Instead, I ask it with curiosity, knowing that the answer is not fixed but unfolding.

Today, I am a fusion of changemaker, mother, wife, sister, daughter, friend, and neighbor. Tomorrow, there may be new titles. But beneath them all, I remain “me”: the canvas, the river, the tapestry. A woman who learns, adapts, and rises, not because the journey is easy, but because it is worth it.

And in that, I am becoming not just a better version of me, but the truest one.