Nineteen years ago, I moved into my home.
At the time, mine was almost the last house in the area. Behind it were thick bushes that seemed to stretch endlessly. I knew I was living close to nature, but I never imagined that the creatures hidden in those bushes would eventually become part of my life.
In those early years, I had many cats.
They were everywhere.
I would see them moving around the compound, sleeping in different corners and wandering in and out as they pleased. They became such a familiar part of my home that I never imagined a day would come when I would see none of them.
Then they started disappearing.
One by one.
At first, I did not worry.
I assumed they had wandered away.
Then another disappeared.
Then another.
Eventually, I realised that all my cats were gone.
I wondered about them, but I never knew what had happened.
Until one day, my neighbour killed a python.
What we discovered was horrifying.
The python had swallowed some of my cats.
Suddenly, the mystery that had troubled me quietly for years had an answer.
The cats had not simply wandered away.
They had been swallowed by a python.
I was deeply shaken.
It made me realise that the bushes behind my house were not as quiet and harmless as they appeared.
Years later, another python appeared near my dustbin.
I saw it and immediately made noise.
It disappeared.
Then, to my shock, it returned.
A man who catches snakes was called, and he came and caught it.
Afterwards, I was told that the food I had repeatedly been throwing outside could attract snakes.
That statement made me stop.
I had never intended to attract anything.
I was simply throwing away leftovers.
But I had repeated the action so many times that I had stopped seeing it as a choice.
That was when the lesson began to feel personal.
I thought about my own life.
I have always been someone who gives.
I give my time.
I give my attention.
I help people.
I carry responsibilities.
I listen when people need someone to listen.
Sometimes I keep giving even when I am already tired, because I have become accustomed to being the person who handles things.
And there have been moments when I have continued giving to people or situations long after I should have stepped back.
Not because I had to.
Because I had made a habit of it.
The snake made me realise something uncomfortable.
What we repeatedly feed eventually becomes something that expects to be fed.
That applies to more than snakes.
If I repeatedly give my time to something, it grows in importance.
If I repeatedly make myself available, people can begin to expect my availability.
If I repeatedly tolerate something, it can become normal.
If I repeatedly pour my energy into something that gives nothing back, eventually I am the one left empty.
I thought about how easily I had thrown food outside without considering what it might attract.
And I wondered how many things in my own life I had been feeding without realising it.
How many demands had I strengthened by always saying yes?
How many people had I taught to expect my constant availability because I was always there?
How many responsibilities had I continued carrying simply because I had carried them for so long?
That realisation humbled me.
I understood that giving is not wrong.
Caring is not wrong.
Being generous is not wrong.
But even good things need boundaries.
Because sometimes, what we repeatedly give becomes an invitation.
Then today, I walked into the children's toy room.
And there it was.
A snake.
My body froze.
My breath caught.
My heart began pounding violently.
My hands shook.
My knees became weak.
I could not move.
The room suddenly felt unbearably small.
Then I thought about the children who could have been playing there.
A child sitting on the floor.
Small hands reaching for toys.
A child completely unaware that danger was nearby.
My fear became overwhelming.
Thank God there were no children in the house.
I slowly backed away and called a man who catches snakes.
He came and carefully caught it.
Only after the snake was gone did I begin to breathe normally again.
But the lesson stayed.
I realised that the snake had frightened me, but it had also made me examine something deeper.
I cannot control everything that enters my life.
But I can become more conscious of what I repeatedly invite, feed, tolerate and nurture.
That is the lesson I am taking from my home today.
I do not have to stop being generous.
I do not have to stop caring.
But I must learn to ask myself one important question:
What am I feeding that I no longer want growing in my life?
The snake left my home.
But it left me with something far more valuable than fear.
It left me with the courage to look at my own patterns and decide what deserves my energy and what no longer does.
Because sometimes the lesson is not simply to remove what has entered our lives.
Sometimes, it is to stop feeding what keeps coming back.
