Reflections from a Psychologist
Today, I am a psychologist. And as I look back at my childhood, I often return to those dusty classroom floors, those raw canes, and that tough-love home. I cannot say I loved the cane. But I cannot deny what it did. It forced my eyes open. And even though it came with pain, it also brought with it something more lasting — a hunger to know, to solve, to conquer.
Sometimes I wonder, had we never feared the cane, would we ever have tried to improve our performance in Mathematics? Maybe pain, in the right measure, opens a door. Maybe Mr. Ouma, in all his fury, was shaping us with fire. Maybe our little rebellion was not just childish defiance but a cry for justice in a world that often ignored the feelings of children. Maybe it was all those things at once.
We were not just girls and boys with sore hands and peppered palms — we were souls learning how to fight fear, how to find our way, and how to make sense of a world where love sometimes came with bruises.
As a professional, now trained to understand the workings of the mind, I see clearly how fear became a teacher, and pain, a peculiar motivator. Our pepper-and-lemon scheme was not just mischief; it was a desperate grasp for control in a world ruled by rulers and raw cane. Betrayal from within pierced deeper than any punishment from above. And my mother’s silence before the storm, and her storm afterward, now reads to me like the paradox of African parenting.
In my journey from a frightened little girl to a woman of insight, I see more than just resilience — I see what psychologists call Post-Traumatic Growth.
Coined by Richard Tedeschi and Lawrence Calhoun in the 1990s, post-traumatic growth describes the deep, often unexpected transformation that can follow trauma. It’s not about bouncing back to who you were, but becoming someone stronger, wiser, and more grounded because of what you endured. It’s what happens when pain is faced, not avoided — when struggle shapes not just scars, but strength.
The journey from fear to mastery, from resistance to insight, and from rebellion to meaning, embodies the very essence of post-traumatic growth. And that journey, my journey, is not just mine. It belongs to every child who faced the fire and came out forged, not burned.
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