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Why Don’t We Let Ourselves Enjoy What We’ve Worked For?

When the dream finally comes true, but you don’t feel happy.

A few days ago, I got braces.

Not the kind where you just wake up and decide to get them—but the kind I’ve wanted since I was young. My mum, doing the best she could, got me braces for my upper jaw. We couldn't afford the full treatment then. But that desire to complete what was started? It never left me.

So I saved. For months. Quietly, diligently. And when the day finally came, I got them. Full braces. A dream finally realized.

But almost immediately, I noticed something strange. I wasn’t excited. I wasn’t proud. I wasn’t even relieved. I just felt… tired. Drained. From day one, I started wondering why I wasn’t happy. Why couldn’t I enjoy the moment? I had worked for this. I had saved for this. I had made peace with the cost. So why couldn’t I smile—beyond the metal wires?

Instead, I found myself worrying. “Will I ever get to enjoy my tiny home someday—or will I just feel like this again?”
You see, that tiny home is my other dream. Another constant. And now, for the first time, I’m scared that when it comes, I’ll be too worn out to feel anything about it too.

The Quiet Sadness of Achieving a Dream

Sometimes we think that finally ticking off a long-term goal will make us feel ecstatic. We imagine a deep exhale, the kind that brings peace and pride.

But more often than we admit, it feels like a flat note. It lands—then vanishes. No confetti. No grand joy. Just… the next worry.

And maybe that’s part of adult life we don’t talk about enough.

In Kenya, everything costs more than money. Dreams carry weight. That boda rider who finally buys his dream bike is already stressed about repayments and petrol.
That woman who builds her mabati home is already worrying about a potential land dispute.
The guy who travels to Mombasa after ten years of saving is thinking about the rent due when he gets back.
Even kids going to school—parents beam with pride, but beneath the smiles is the question: what if I can’t sustain this next term?

We plan, save, sacrifice—and when we finally “arrive,” it’s like we’re too tired to feel joy.

Loss Comes with Gain

The other part no one prepares you for is the grief that can come with good things.

Braces came with a price tag, yes—but also new discomfort. My mouth hurts. I miss food I love. I didn’t know how much I relied on my tongue, teeth, and jaw just to enjoy life’s small joys. Now, I can’t eat like I used to—and I probably won’t for a while. I didn’t expect to feel sad about that. But I do.

And isn’t that true for many other gains in life?

You get the promotion, but you lose free time.
You buy land, but you give up your weekend getaways.
You start a business, but you lose sleep.
You finally move to a new house, but you miss the chaos of your noisy neighborhood.

There’s always something we quietly lay down to make space for the new. And if we don’t name that grief, it lingers as confusion or disappointment.

Why Gratitude Feels So Far Away

It’s not that we’re ungrateful. It’s that we’re scared to relax.
Especially in a country where nothing feels certain.
We’re always on to the next problem, the next payment, the next “what if.”

You can build your dream and still feel fear.
You can buy your plot and still feel unsure.
You can complete a lifelong goal and still not feel as full as you thought you would.

It doesn’t mean you’re broken. It just means you’re human—and maybe deeply Kenyan.

So What Can We Do?

Here are a few gentle practices to ground yourself in the good:

Pause for longer than feels natural.

Take time to acknowledge what you’ve done—even if no one else does.

Name what you gave up.

It’s okay to grieve a lost routine, comfort, or ability. That’s part of healing.

Resist the urge to chase the next thing too quickly.

Sit in the now. It might not feel exciting, but it’s still sacred.

Talk to someone who gets it.

Sometimes joy comes when it's shared—or when someone mirrors it back to you.

Remind yourself: You’re allowed to feel joy and discomfort at the same time.

A Few Questions Worth Asking:

  • Is the discomfort I’m feeling part of growth—or a sign I need to slow down?

  • What small moment of joy can I make space for today—even in the middle of this process?

  • Am I allowed to celebrate progress, even when the journey isn’t perfect?

  • What will it take for me to believe I deserve rest, peace, and enjoyment—now?

Final Thoughts

Maybe the home will come, and I’ll still worry. Maybe the braces will ache for a while.
But just maybe—I can learn to hold both joy and sadness in the same breath.
To say: This hurts… but I’m proud of myself.
To say: This is not easy… but it matters.

Because the truth is—dreams don’t always feel magical in the moment.
Sometimes they’re uncomfortable, awkward, and overwhelming.
But they’re still ours.
And maybe that’s enough.

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