Published in: Perspective

The Curse of ‘Never Enough’

Author Dannish Odongo

Published on: May 27, 2025

A few days ago, I turned a year older. Even though I’m not big on birthdays, it’s hard to ignore how the past year has been a roller coaster. In Dholuo, they say that kama iluokorie ok ituoe, (You don’t dry where you shower), yet I’d felt stuck in the same spot. If you’d told me during my last birthday that I’d be standing where I am today, I might have accused you of being fluent in the language of sarcasm.

There’s something diabolical about stagnation. It chips into your psyche without force. Like water eroding a rock over a long period, stagnation is skilled at eating away the guardrails of your life—your esteem and self-belief. It’s especially pronounced when you believe in God. Like a stubborn sweat produced by hard labour, you are acutely self-aware of a silent accusation that screams even when nobody knows.

I had trusted God for years for certain things to come to pass, and year in and year out, the waves of life knocked me back to the deep end; I subconsciously lowered my expectations as a natural response. Yet between May 2024 and May 2025, what had remained ungerminated for years came to pass in what felt like the snap of a finger.

I’m happy, content, and living the best part of my life. Some dreams I whispered in private prayers have come to pass.

When the Life You Knew Ends

If you’ve followed me on social media for a while, you might have witnessed some of the life-changing experiences I’ve faced in the past six years. My mental well-being collapsed so spectacularly, it resembled a condemned building brought down with military precision, like the one that recently crumbled in Mombasa. My financial life tumbled, and I nearly drowned in a shallow pool of debt before self-imposed austerity measures pulled me back to the surface.

I also quit formal employment. And with my resignation came an identity crisis. Nobody talks enough about what it takes to rebuild your sense of self after leaving a powerful brand. “Who am I outside my previous employer?” I asked myself repeatedly. This employer provided a platform that built my online brand. Thousands read my articles and became the foundation upon which my writing and political commentary were built.

After leaving, the calls stopped. No more requests for Koroga Festival tickets. The exclusive scoops are gone. The fiery debates with colleagues on faith and politics—debates that unknowingly shaped my worldview—faded into silence. Suddenly, there were no documentaries or film suggestions that stretched my thinking. The once rich source of ideas disappeared, and along with it, the motivation to write. Like a caged bird with a tied beak, I stopped singing.

No one prepares you for what it takes to build identity outside employment. I certainly didn’t know what it would take to rebuild my life—brick by brick—after the life-altering experience of December 2018. (There’s a whole book you can get here about that season.) But as I write this, along the Nairobi–Naivasha highway in a van headed to a retreat to develop a mental well-being framework for human rights defenders—people like Boniface Mwangi—I have a few reflections.

Seasons Change

Nothing is permanent. No situation lasts forever. You might be walking through the darkest season of your life—mourning a loved one, nursing a heartbreak that feels lodged in your throat like a fish bone, or battling a debilitating illness. Maybe you’re drowning in financial ruin. Your liabilities may outnumber your assets a hundred to one.

All of these can crush even the most resilient souls. Sometimes, the mind convinces us that the pain will never end. But it does.

Mountains melt like wax. Giants fall. Illness heals through medicine or through nature. Darkness eventually lifts. Trust me. My experiences may be milder than yours, but I’ve also known despair. And I’ve learned that if you give time time, nearly everything gets resolved.

The Curse of ‘Never Enough’

Life is an oxymoron. I’ve met incredibly accomplished people who still doubt themselves. Entrepreneurs who’ve built empires yet wake up wondering if they’re on the right path. I’m no different. I’m in a good place mentally. This is the first time in a long time that my mind feels well-rested.

And yet, sometimes I still wake up feeling dissatisfied. Even with answered prayers, I want more—a bigger house, more money, more land, more experiences. It’s human nature.

But I’m learning to quiet that voice—not extinguish it, just dial it down—so I can enjoy the blessings of this season. That voice fuels progress, but it’s also a double-edged sword. It drives people to amass wealth at the expense of health, family, and nation. That’s where greed comes from—the insatiable hunger that makes people loot even hospital supplies meant for children.

Healing Is Intentional

If there’s anything more stubborn than a bad habit, it’s the subconscious mind. It records everything—every learned belief and behaviour—and plays them back automatically. Whether it’s how you handle money, relationships, or your self-worth, the subconscious drives you like a skilled driver.

If you don’t do the inner work, the stench of your unprocessed trauma will suffocate your progress and eventually extinguish it. Go for therapy. Journal. Reflect. Get coaching. Heal your heart. Build your mind. Challenge your habits and examine your beliefs.

While I wholly attribute this season of my life to the gracious and merciful hand of God, I’ve also taken deliberate steps to feel this way. I’ve spent hours in therapy. I’ve filled journals with my thoughts. I’ve gone back to the gym. I’ve changed my circle. I’ve broken habits. I’ve drawn strength from my faith. Efforts without which this season would have been sabotaged by my previous dysfunction.

I pray for you.

As you sit in the current darkness, I pray that God would be your light. I pray you find a community that doesn’t rush you out of your pain but sits with you, whether in silence or in the loud messiness of your grief. I pray you are surrounded by people who will carry you in prayer when you are too exhausted to form the words yourself. I pray for companions who will believe your truth, who will remind you that your pain is real, that you’re not exaggerating or being dramatic.

I pray that you extend to yourself the same grace you so freely give others. On the days you can’t leave your bed, can’t clean your house, or just can’t face the world, may you remember: you are still worthy. You are still enough.

I pray you refuse the lie that this is all your fault. I pray you shut your ears to the bogus doctrines of guilt peddled by some religious leaders—those who demand that you comb through your past for curses instead of offering you compassion. Use that energy to nurture yourself instead. Walk with lightness, knowing that God is for you, and He is bigger than any challenge you are currently facing.

Wherever you are in your journey—whether in loss, limbo, or light—I hope this story reminds you that time, grace, and God have a way of restoring even the most broken pieces.

With love,

Your brother,
Dannish Odongo, aka The Son of Kano