I. The Beginning
For me, it started when I joined high school.
I was thirteen, turning fourteen.
The only pressure then was to get good grades—
and that I did. It wasn’t hard for me.
Teachers, parents, even the community
all recommended the same thing:
“Do well, succeed, excel.”
The smaller pressures around us were
boyfriends, cool kids, rich kids.
But back then, it wasn’t so bad.
I turned sixteen, then seventeen,
and a new pressure began to haunt me:
what I would be when I grew up.
Parents wanted clarity.
Teachers recommended this and that.
The dream I had as a child no longer fit
this restless sixteen-year-old.
The only thing I could do,
Was to follow their advice quietly.
II. Entering the Storm
Now I step into the danger zone—
the core of the pressure years.
They say to get out, you must go through.
I am in my early twenties.
I hate it and love it at the same time,
but mostly, I hate it.
I wish I could go back to the child I was,
but I can’t.
I know why I can’t go back.
Because it’s impossible—
time won’t fold that way again.
And even if it could,
I’d lose my sweet, messy freedom:
eating when I please,
sleeping when I want,
leaving laundry for weeks,
not needing to finish the food on my plate when I’m full,
scrolling my phone in peace.
Welcome to my early twenties—
my pressure years.
III. Lessons in Love and Loss
They tell me not to find love yet,
to wait until my late twenties or thirties.
I don’t argue. I even agree.
But love still finds me—
lessons dressed as lovers.
On social media I see it’s not just me:
situationships, narcissists,
friendships that don’t work out.
We’re all collecting our lessons.
Welcome to my early twenties—
eyes wide open to wounds and childhood traumas.
I’ve diagnosed myself: PTSD, OCD, anxiety.
Every time I write my goals,
“healing” makes the list.
IV. The Haunted House
Welcome to my early twenties—
my haunted house.
Competition is the black paint on the walls.
Comparison is the scarecrow at the door.
Insecurities are the ghosts whispering inside.
Performance is the foundation.
Feeling behind fills the cages in the rooms.
Worth measured by others’ eyes,
what I do or what I have
are the bloodstains on the wall.
I ask myself:
Who’s measuring this success?
Where is the finish line?
Who told me I’m behind?
And if I am, where am I supposed to be?
It burns my throat to see someone my age
having more.
Who told me more is better?
Ah yes—the comment sections in social media.
“It’s better to be sad but rich,” they say.
“Better to cry in a mansion,
or in a luxury car.”
V. Skewed Romance
They say you romanticize life—
but they do it through over-consumption, over-spending, over-performing.
I can’t romanticize my life like that.
I don’t have the pink, cute things,
the trips, the expensive self-care products,
or the big room.
I know I could still romanticize my life,
but my perception is skewed.
My brain corrupted.
Welcome to my twenties—
where I no longer know how to live,
or what living should be like.
VI. The Junk Room
It’s messy in here.
A junk room with clean clothes piled on a small bed.
Dirty laundry in the corner.
The roof leaks into a rusty bucket
that could give you tetanus.
Rats squabble in the dark.
Leftovers on the floor.
Trash.
Yet the fridge is full of fresh food.
Cockroaches and ants roam freely
as if they paid for room service.
Curtains shredded.
Windows without glass.
Bathroom reeks — a stench that clings to memory.
The paint on the wall peeling off—
but at least it’s your favorite color.
The room is cold like a giant ice cube,
but your heart is still warm.
Flies and mosquitoes swarm your head.
Butterflies land on your nose.
(Don’t ask how the butterflies got in.)
This is how my twenties feel.
VII. Escapism
Scrolling is my entertainment.
I hate it, but I can’t stop.
I want a different life,
but I don’t know how.
Most days look the same—
me chasing career and money,
sitting bored in my room,
scrolling, reading,
spending whole months alone,
writing my thoughts in journals,
whispering prayers to God.
It’s not even bad.
If I could appreciate it more, I’d be happy.
But I still want better.
I want a spark in my life—
I just don’t know what it is.
Welcome to my twenties,
where escapism is second nature.
I escape, you escape, we all escape.
I’ve seen it in others,
so I don’t feel so bad—
because misery loves company,
and I am the misery.
VIII. Envy and Emptiness
I watch young people clubbing,
drinking like fish tanks,
smoking like chimneys.
My years of clubbing ended before they even began.
Sometimes I’m jealous—
not of the drinking,
but the company,
the smiles,
the loud laughter filling the air,
bodies dancing till they collapse.
Of course, I could do this alone,
without the drinking,
without the company,
but as I told you—
I’m the misery.
IX. The Turning Point
I’ll end the misery here.
I know I’m not alone.
The pressure years are here,
enough to power a rocket.
But God’s power is greatest in our weakness.
We chase an ideal life,
but our present life is already the ideal—
or else we wouldn’t be here.
Life is hard. We know that.
But there is better,
and we can get there—
after we get through this.
So you go cry a river when it’s hard.
Scream with all your strength,
at the top of your voice.
Punch a pillow. Curse at the world.
Escape if you must—
through scrolling, drinking, smoking,
whichever numbs the noise.
I do not judge.
I do not condemn.
X. The Reminder
Life is a rollercoaster.
It’s a cliché, but it’s true.
Good days go, bad ones come.
Do what you must to live your life—
your way.
Be authentic.
Be aligned with yourself.
Whatever your life feels like right now,
no matter how you’re living,
that is living.
You’re not behind on anything—
career, marriage, business.
You are right where you are.
Move forward however you want.
It’s your life. Live it.
We are all different—so what?
We’re also more alike than we are different.
Do not take your life away.
Learn the lesson—
move to the next level.
Otherwise, you’ll be brought back,
reborn into the same ache,
walking familiar streets of sorrow,
living the same story under a different name.
(At least that’s what I believe.)
Let us walk through this soul development
with resilience.
We’ll make it,
as long as God is holding our little hands.
Walk with Christ as your foundation.
Hold your head above the water.
You’re a child of God.
It’s all going to be alright.
As for me—
I am human.
I am imperfect.
I am a beautiful soul.
And it is a beautiful life.
And of course—
I’ve got time.
Joy Leila Kendi is a poet from Kenya whose words are born from faith, reflection, and lived experience. Her poems explore what it means to be young, searching, and human in a world that never stops demanding more.