My Life as a Soft Life Ambassador and the Tears That Followed - Money Confessions

I never saw it coming. Landing my first job at a financial institution was like stepping into a dream. Fresh out of a public university in Nairobi, I felt like I’d finally arrived. And to top it off, my new employer had a sweet perk: low-interest loans for employees. It was like those Black November offers—too good to pass up!

I was officially a soft life ambassador. You know the type—long nails, human hair wigs fancy dresses, cocktails with little umbrellas, vacation pics with the hashtag #LifeGoals. I loved the high life, maybe a little too much. I even convinced myself that paying high rent just to stay in a neighbourhood where most of my friends lived was worth it. After all, it was about fitting in with the squad, right?

Growing up, life was simple. Raised by my shosh in the village, I knew the struggle. When I landed a government bursary and got into campus, I vowed never to go back to that life. I was determined to live large, like the stars I admired on Instagram.

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My new clique at work made it even easier. They had a taste for the finer things—fancy parties, weekend getaways. So, when I heard about the staff loans, I thought, Why not? Everyone else is doing it. Plus, I convinced myself it would give me job security if I took a loan from the institution.

Matatus? For who? Too crowded and chaotic for a girlie like me. I took cabs to work almost every day. A quick fix before I got my own car, I would always say.

 The first loan was to upgrade my wardrobe and get a fancier phone. Then came another one for a trip to Diani for my bestie’s birthday. Soon, I was knee-deep in debt, funding a lifestyle I couldn’t afford.

The cycle was vicious. My salary barely lasted two weeks. By mid-month, I was borrowing from friends, sometimes making up emergencies not to mention all mobile loan apps. I was a regular. Repaying and borrowing immediately. I told myself I had it under control because I was making loan payments, but deep down, I knew I was sinking.

The worst part? I couldn’t admit it to anyone. My friends saw me as the life of the party, the girl who always had it together. Letting them in on my struggles felt like admitting defeat. I missed loan payments, debts piled up, and rent became a nightmare. Quietly, I moved out and crashed at a friend’s place.

That arrangement didn’t last. We fought constantly. I was moody, defensive, and honestly, a terrible housemate. My insecurities made me think she was out to get me. Now, looking back, I see how patient she was. She put up with a lot.

Then, I lost my job.

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With no income, no savings, and no home, I had no choice but to move in with an aunt. That was my rock bottom. I’d lost everything—my job, my dignity, and most of my friends. The shame of avoiding friends I couldn’t pay back weighed heavily. The real loss, though, was my mental health. I fell into a deep depression, forced to confront the facade I’d been living.

Living with my aunt gave me time to reflect. One hard truth stood out: I’d spent years living for appearances, borrowing to fund a lifestyle I couldn’t afford. Paying so much for rent just to fit in had been a massive mistake. It wasn’t about convenience—it was about keeping up with friends, and it cost me dearly.

I learned that living within your means isn’t just a financial practice; it’s a path to peace. Budgeting became my lifeline. Now, every shilling has a purpose. I track my expenses, cut back on luxuries, and save, even if it’s just a small amount.

As for loans, I’ve learned they aren’t inherently bad. They can be valuable if used wisely—for education, investments, or other essentials with a clear repayment plan. But borrowing to fund lifestyle upgrades? That’s a trap I won’t fall into again.

Perhaps the most significant lesson was about relationships. I had avoided friends I owed money to, ashamed of my inability to pay them back. In the process, I lost some of the people who genuinely cared about me. My financial choices didn’t just cost me money—they cost me friendships and, for a time, my mental health. The weight of debt and job loss pushed me into a deep depression, but hitting rock bottom forced me to confront my mistakes and rebuild.

Now, I’m focused on creating a sustainable life, one where my happiness isn’t tied to material things or external validation. It’s a journey, but I’m learning that true peace comes from living within my means and being honest about my financial situation. That’s the kind of “soft life” I’m working toward—one that’s real, balanced, and fulfilling.

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