Learned Helplessness: The Silent Weight We Carry

This weekend, I watched a short lesson on learned helplessness, and it struck me how deeply it mirrors our daily lives as Kenyans — not just in politics or big systems, but in the small, ordinary spaces we occupy every day.

The lecturer began with a simple exercise. Each student received a paper with scrambled letters and was told to form real words. She insisted everyone had the same set.
What we didn’t know was that the first two “words” weren’t the same. One group got easy, solvable words like DOG and CAT, while the other got letter combinations that could never make sense — XQZ, PLT.

As you’d expect, the first group solved theirs quickly. The second group struggled, then gave up. When the final round came, everyone had the same easy word. But by then, the second group didn’t even try. They’d already learned that effort was pointless.

That is learned helplessness — when we’ve been stuck for so long that even when freedom appears, we don’t believe in it.

What Is Learned Helplessness?

From a psychology perspective, learned helplessness describes what happens when people face repeated failure or frustration and begin to believe they have no control over outcomes.
From a sociological angle, it becomes a shared mindset — communities or groups who’ve faced barriers for so long that they start accepting them as “just the way things are.”

It’s not laziness. It’s exhaustion disguised as acceptance.

How It Shows Up in Everyday Kenyan Life

We don’t always notice it, but learned helplessness creeps into the smallest corners of our routines.

• Workplaces:
  You suggest an idea at work, but your boss shuts it down. The next time, you keep quiet — even when you have something valuable to add. Eventually, you stop expecting your voice to matter.

• Customer service:
  You order something online, it arrives broken, and when you complain, you’re met with silence. After a few such experiences, you stop bothering. You just say, “Anyway, hii Kenya…” and move on.

• Education:
  A student who’s repeatedly told “you’re not bright” begins to perform exactly that way — not because they are incapable, but because they’ve learned to stop trying.

• Public services:
  You’ve stood in line for hours at a government office, only to be told to “kuja kesho.” Eventually, you adjust your expectations — not of the system, but of yourself. You plan for failure before you even start.

• Relationships:
  Some of us have been hurt so often that we now sabotage anything good. We expect disappointment because it’s what we know.

And slowly, without realizing it, we begin to shrink our lives to fit within what seems “possible.”

How to Recognize It

You might be experiencing learned helplessness if you find yourself saying things like:

• “Siwezi change kitu.”

• “Hii ndio life.”

• “Hakuna haja ya kujaribu.”

Or when you catch yourself joking about something that actually hurts — that’s sometimes our way of numbing the frustration.

The hardest part is that learned helplessness feels like wisdom. It sounds practical. It tells you, “Be realistic.” But often, it’s just fear that’s learned to sound mature.

How We Can Unlearn It

The good news? We can retrain ourselves — both as individuals and as communities — to believe in our ability to influence change.

1. Start small.
   Fix what you can, where you are. Clean your shared space. Speak up politely. Follow through on something you promised yourself.

2. Notice progress.
   Celebrate the fact that you did something different — that you tried. Change is built on tiny acts of defiance.

3. Find possibility-minded people.
   Being around hopeful, proactive people helps you remember that life isn’t fixed in stone.

4. Question the voice that says “why bother.”
   Every time you hear it, ask yourself, “Am I being realistic, or have I just been disappointed too many times?”

A Personal Reflection

As I watched that classroom experiment unfold, I realized how many of us walk through life carrying invisible “unscramble sheets” filled with impossible letters. We’ve been trying, failing, and adapting for so long that even when something is possible, we don’t reach for it.

Yet every day in Kenya, I also see quiet rebellion — people who still try.
The tailor who teaches herself design from YouTube tutorials.
The teacher who starts a reading club in her community.
The customer who refuses to normalize bad service and actually follows up until they’re heard.

These are not small acts; they are psychological revolutions.

Learned helplessness teaches us to surrender.
But life keeps proving — again and again — that effort still matters.

The first step to breaking free is noticing when you’ve already stopped trying.