Joyce Wambua Osborne speaks with striking honesty about the turbulence, loss, reinvention, and rediscovery that have defined her journey from Nairobi to the United States.
Raised in a strict, average-income household, the Kenyan-American mother of two never imagined she would face adulthood so abruptly. She became a young mother after university, a reality she could not bring herself to confess to her disciplinarian mother.
Years later, she would find herself navigating yet another painful transition, this time stepping out of a marriage marked by emotional exhaustion. But from every difficult chapter, she has risen with renewed purpose.
Her new memoir, Seasons of Me—A Journey of Learning and Unlearning, is a testament to this resilience.
The memoir chronicles her life with unfiltered candour as she explores identity, belonging, womanhood, and the long, often messy road to self-acceptance.
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“Over the years, I have come to love the endless possibilities of entering a new escape room,” she reflects. “I revel in discovering new things in life, even at my big age.”
The same courage followed her into divorce. “The day I signed my divorce papers I remembered that newness again… In the quiet aftermath of separation, I discovered a newfound freedom that tasted like sweet liberation,” she said.
Joyce’s life story spans continents and emotional landscapes. Growing up in Lang’ata, Nairobi, she was the middle child among seven siblings, and her childhood unfolded against strict routines and high expectations.
Her plans shifted dramatically when her father, the family’s breadwinner, suffered a stroke. With his health deteriorating, the siblings were confronted with adulthood earlier than most.
“For the first time, we understood what it meant to be adults, by ourselves… Sometimes it was bread and water for supper, then prayers for dessert,” she recalled.
Determined to pursue better prospects, she left for the US. Her brothers later joined her across different countries, and together they supported their parents as best as they could.
The loss of her father in 2019, while she was still abroad, left a lasting ache.
By 2007, life had brought joy back to her doorstep. She and her husband, whom she met two years after giving birth to her first son, Raka, welcomed their second child, Mikey. The boys, five years apart, shared the same birthday, September 21.
But life remained layered. Her ex-boyfriend had followed her to the US in an attempt to rekindle their relationship, but the reunion collapsed under the weight of old wounds.
Between raising her children, juggling studies, and taking on odd jobs, Joyce pieced together a life marked by sheer determination. Her new man, Logan, eventually filled the emotional vacuum, and the two married in 2006.
“Our wedding was more than just a celebration of love. It was a celebration of second chances… Who would have thought that the heavily pregnant girl who came to America with two hundred dollars and two suitcases would ever see sunrise?”
Yet the marriage slowly unravelled. Despite the pain, she acknowledges their deep connection: Logan was the father of her children, and that bond, she notes, transcended the cracks in their marriage.
Now, on the other side of heartbreak, Joyce approaches love differently. “Once a daunting prospect, dating has—now—become an avenue for exploration and self-discovery… One of the most significant shifts in my approach to love has been the recognition of old patterns and the determination to break free from them.”
Life after divorce, she says, has been a return to herself.
“What brings me the greatest joy is remembering who I was before motherhood, love, and marriage took centre stage,” she says. Reclaiming her identity led her to adopt a new name, Jey, representing a woman who is grounded, self-aware, and unafraid to take up space.
Through her memoir, she hopes to inspire others to examine the seasons of their own lives. “Let’s not just be a name in our family tree; let’s be a story,” she writes, describing the thought that pushed her to write a book that would outlive her.
Seasons of Me is not positioned as a self-help guide, she insists, but as a mirror, a place for readers to pause and ask themselves, “Who am I becoming? What season am I in? What patterns am I reinforcing?”
“Each chapter is a moment: a reflection, sometimes tender, sometimes raw, but always human,” she says. “If Seasons of Me does anything, I hope it reminds readers that their lives are worth remembering.”
As she prepares to launch the book in Nairobi this December, Joyce is clear about one thing: she is finally at peace with her becoming.
“And because long after we’re gone, stories are what remain. And this one, mine, is my way of saying, I was here. And this was my becoming,” she noted.