Four Women And The Weight Of Life

Last weekend, I had no plans of spending the night outside my home. Sandra called on Friday at around 3 p.m. “Come over to my place. I’m stressed. Ann and Mary will be around too.” She didn’t allow me to respond but hung up after confirming that she’d make dinner for us.

I got ice cream and headed to her place.

She made nice chicken stew with vegetable rice, fresh juice, and had an unlimited supply of snacks and sodas. We had dinner happily because we had all missed Sandra who’s always busy caring for people.

Sandra lives in a cozy one-bedroom apartment on the edge of town. It isn’t fancy, but it is warm, familiar, and filled with the scent of her lavender diffuser. She loves lavender-scented perfumes.

After catching up about work, gossip, and life updates, the room slowly quieted. It was close to midnight when the real talk began—the kind that makes you rethink your life.

“I swear,” Sandra began, “the more I work, the more the bills pile up. It’s like I’m working just to pay bills.” She exhaled and continued. “My salary is enough to sustain me alone, but I have parents and siblings looking up to me. My parents are retired, my two siblings are in high school, and two are in university. How am I supposed to say no when they ask for food?” We were all quiet, allowing her to finish before we interrupted. “I plan to save monthly, but there’s no way I’ll let my parents go hungry because I want to secure a future for myself. I wish my siblings would complete university and get jobs ASAP. At least my burden would be eased. Being a firstborn isn’t easy.” She paused. “Like last month,” she continued, “I worked overtime almost every week. I barely saw my kid, barely slept, and what did I get? A shocker that my mother had been admitted for one week and her bill wasn’t fully covered by insurance, school fees, and a rent reminder for my siblings in university. Sometimes I go to bed with nothing but water and prayer. I can’t even remember the last time I bought something for myself without guilt. I feel like I’m working just to keep my head above water.”

Her voice trembled a little, but Sandra was strong—always the responsible one. She never showed cracks easily.

“Adulting is a scam,” Ann continued. “I thought I’d be happily married by 28, concentrating on my business and family. By 30, I knew I’d be taking flights to whichever destination. But look at me—34 and divorced with two children. I can barely afford my children; my salary isn’t enough for anything. You remember when we used to think life after employment would be soft? That we’d all be driving nice cars, living in nice apartments?”

We laughed faintly. That dream had aged poorly.

“For me, it’s the debts,” Mary continued. “I can’t even keep track anymore. I borrow from one person to pay another. Mobile loans, salary advances, chama contributions—everything’s swallowing me whole.” She sipped her Coke. “I wake up with anxiety daily. I dread looking at my phone because I know I’ll get reminders from several places every minute.” She paused, staring at the ceiling. “Sometimes I regret taking loans to expand my business, but then again, what option did I have? I didn’t miscalculate. I knew it would do well because it was doing well before. I thought I had everything figured out. I’ve thought of deleting my number and starting life afresh.”

We all laughed softly, though the humor had a bitter edge.

“I thought by twenty-eight I’d be saving for property. Now I’m just praying the Shylock doesn’t send that threatening reminder.”

Then they all turned to me. “And you?” Ann asked softly. “You’ve been quiet all evening.”

“Unfulfilled expectations are what keep me awake at night. I know I shouldn’t be complaining because people have bigger problems, but failing to fulfill your dreams is equally painful. I had everything mapped out, but no plan is working out.” I sighed. “I don’t even know how to put it.”

“Put it in whichever way you want. This is a safe space,” Sandra said.

“I’ve tried everything—new jobs, side hustles, even hobbies to feel alive again but nothing seems to stick. I wake up every morning and wonder if this is all life has to offer. Sometimes I feel like I’ve let myself down. Like I’m living a version of my life that I didn’t choose.”

Mary nodded slowly. “That’s the thing about adulthood,” she said. “You do everything right and still feel wrong.”

The room was quiet. The only sound came from the fridge, a neighbor’s crying baby, and the distant traffic.

“We sound like a therapy group,” Ann shouted while laughing.

“Maybe that’s what we need,” I replied.

The night went on with more laughter, more confessions, and even some tears. There was something freeing about being honest without judgment. For the first time in a long while, it felt okay not to have everything figured out.

We laughed at our shattered dreams until we all dozed off.

In the morning, we had a wonderful breakfast, laughed more, and hugged tighter as we left for our homes. In that moment, we realized that we just need friends to remind us that we’re never alone and that life will still give us endless lessons and endless chances. Life outside that apartment hadn’t changed, but something inside us had.