I was twenty-three when my aunt sat me down and told me the most dangerous thing a woman can believe:
You can’t have too much. A good man wants a simple woman.
“Simple.”
That word haunted me for years.
Simple meant agreeable. Quiet. Easy to please. Easy to manage. A woman who didn’t ask for too much. A woman who wouldn’t outshine her husband. A woman whose ambition had a ceiling.
And I tried. God, I tried.
I learned how to cook his favorite meals.
I learned how to soften my opinions.
I learned how to smile through disrespect.
I learned how to praise his mediocrity while downplaying my excellence.
Every time I succeeded, I lost a piece of myself.
The world tells women that if we shrink just enough, if we compromise just enough, if we’re patient just enough — we will be rewarded with love. But love that demands your smallness is not love. It’s control dressed up as culture.
The day I outgrew wife material was not dramatic. No screaming, no crying. Just quiet clarity.
I was sitting across from a man who had everything I had been told to desire: stability, good job, family approval. But as he spoke about his vision for our life — a vision where my career would take a backseat, my independence would bend, my fire would dim — I felt something new.
I felt rage.
I felt grief for the girl I had been trained to become.
And I felt power.
In that moment, I realized: I was not created to fit into someone else’s comfort zone. My dreams were not a flaw. My voice was not a threat. My fullness was not negotiable.
I stood up and walked away from that table. Not just from him — but from every voice that had ever told me to be less.
Since then, I have refused to apologize for my ambition.
I have refused to quiet my voice to soothe fragile egos.
I have refused to compete in the exhausting Olympics of “wife material.”
Because I know now:
My worth is not tied to my marital status.
My power is not diminished by my singleness.
And the right partner — if one comes — will never ask me to shrink.
We don’t talk enough about how much women lose trying to fit into roles designed to make us disappear.
But I will talk about it.
Loudly. Boldly. Unapologetically.
Why I Stopped Shrinking to Fit into ‘Wife Material’ Expectations”
I was raised to be wife material.
Not explicitly, of course — nobody sat me down with a checklist. But the silent curriculum was always there. Cook well. Keep quiet. Smile often. Make yourself smaller so others can feel bigger. Don’t be too ambitious — ambition looks unladylike. Be educated, but not intimidating. Look beautiful, but not seductive. Be independent, but not too independent — a man must still feel needed.
For years, I wore that invisible script like a second skin. I shrank my opinions in rooms full of men. I downplayed my career achievements so as not to “emasculate” potential suitors. I learned to say “sorry” before speaking my mind, cushioning every truth with layers of softness. I smiled through situations that demanded rage. I treated my own voice like it was an inconvenience.
But shrinking doesn’t make you more lovable. It makes you invisible.
One day, standing in front of the mirror, I realized: I didn’t recognize myself. The woman I saw was not free. She was rehearsed.
So I stopped.
I stopped apologizing for wanting more.
I stopped minimizing my dreams.
I stopped confusing silence with peace.
I stopped performing “wife material” and started practicing self material — being whole for myself, not packaging myself for someone else.
Being a woman means constantly negotiating with a world that wants to put you in a box. But I’ve learned that my power lives outside that box — in my full, unapologetic self. I am still loving, nurturing, and kind. But I am also loud when necessary, driven without guilt, and fully in charge of my own narrative.
The world doesn’t need more wife material.
The world needs more women who refuse to shrink.
Some women will never talk about it but here is something that bothers every woman:-
1. “How Aunties Kill Ambition: Stories Women Don’t Tell Aloud”
It always starts with a smile, doesn’t it?
“Eh, you’re doing well — but don’t forget, you still need a husband.”
“You know, men don’t like women who are too successful.”
“Better to have a simple job. Focus on family.”
“Your clock is ticking, dear.”
We hear these lines in family gatherings, whispered in kitchens, casually dropped at weddings. Our aunties — the women who should have been our loudest cheerleaders — often become gatekeepers of outdated expectations. They don’t mean harm. But harm doesn’t need intention — it just needs repetition.
Every time they say “tone it down,”
Every time they say “wait for a man to lead,”
Every time they say “you’re too much,”
They kill a little spark inside us.
And yet — we rise.
We are the generation refusing to shrink.
We’re building businesses, raising children, climbing ladders, breaking cycles.
We are loud. We are bold. We are not waiting for permission.
Dear Aunties:
Your time of taming lions is over.
We are wild, we are free, and we will not apologize for the fire in our bellies.
2. “Being a Working Mother in a Matatu Economy”
Wake up. Feed the baby. Pack lunch. Catch the matatu. Dodge harassment. Arrive at work. Smile. Perform. Excel. Rush back. Homework. Dinner. Bedtime. Repeat.
Being a working mother in this economy is not “balanced.”
It is survival.
It is carrying the weight of two worlds on your back and being told you’re “lucky” to have both.
It is attending meetings while your breasts leak.
It is answering emails while wiping tears.
It is being judged for being late, being tired, being human.
They say we can “have it all.”
No. We are doing it all — often without the support, respect, or understanding we deserve.
But we are warriors.
We are building dreams while raising futures.
We are the heartbeat of this economy, even when it pretends not to see us.
To every mother grinding in the chaos:
You are not failing.
You are fighting.
And you are unstoppable.
3. “The Cost of Politeness: How Women Are Taught to Trade Authenticity for Approval”
“Don’t be too loud.”
“Don’t be too opinionated.”
“Don’t challenge him — you’ll scare him off.”
From the time we’re little girls, we’re taught to trade our truth for approval. We learn to smile when we want to scream. We learn to say “it’s fine” when it’s not. We learn to accept crumbs and call it a feast.
But politeness has a cost.
It costs us promotions.
It costs us boundaries.
It costs us safety.
It costs us ourselves.
I have paid that price for years.
No more.
Now, I speak.
Now, I draw hard lines.
Now, I make people uncomfortable with my truth.
Because their comfort is no longer my currency.
Polite women rarely make history.
Authentic women do.
And maybe one day, some young girl will hear my voice and choose never to shrink in the first place.