The call was urgent, impossible to ignore. The Wangu Kanja Foundation sounded the alarm – a plea for psychosocial support for human rights defenders, those who bear the weight of injustice yet rarely have a safe space to unburden their own pain. The stories were raw, the need undeniable. We knew we had to act.
In response, we launched a Training of Trainers initiative, equipping defenders with the tools to heal, rebuild, and carry on. Justice work is relentless, but so is the human spirit when given the right care. Through non-medical healing models, we created a space where resilience could flourish, where those who fight for others could finally find solace for themselves. And once again, we witnessed lives transformed.
One of those lives was Atis, not her real name.
She had spent years standing up for others, amplifying silenced voices, and fighting against injustice. The world saw her as unbreakable. But in the quiet of her own struggles, she felt alone. That night, exhaustion and despair had consumed her. A neatly written note lay beside her bed- her final words prepared. Beneath it, a steel wool concoction sat waiting.
Then, a knock on the door. A friend stood there, breathless, urging her to attend a wellness training session the next morning. Atis hesitated. What difference would it make? But with nothing to lose, she chose to go. That decision saved her life.
The three-day Wellness Training of Trainers, organized by Ni Sisi! in partnership with the Wangu Kanja Foundation, was no ordinary workshop. It was a sanctuary – a space where defenders could finally pause, breathe, and focus on their own well-being. As participants arrived, most of them women, a lingering question filled the air: Why do male human rights defenders still struggle to seek psychosocial support? The answer remained buried under layers of expectation and stigma. But here, in this space, healing had no gender.
The first session began with Privilege Mapping, an eye-opening exercise that uncovered the invisible forces shaping each participant’s journey. Some saw their unspoken advantages; others felt seen in their struggles for the first time. The room filled with quiet revelations. Empathy grew in the spaces between them.
Then came the question that cut through the air: Who takes care of the caregivers? Facilitator Salima Macharia guided them through the Johari Window, urging them to explore who they were beyond their roles as defenders. “Keep looking at your window,” she said, “adjust accordingly.” Atis sat still, reflecting. Who was she beyond the causes she fought for? Beyond the expectations placed upon her? Beyond the exhaustion? It was a question she had never dared to ask.
By day two, the emotional toll was undeniable. The morning check-in revealed what many had ignored for years. “I don’t remember the last time I had a full night’s sleep,” someone admitted. Another sighed, “My body is always in work mode-I never switch off.” The realization was heavy: the very people fighting for others had long abandoned themselves.
The session on stress management shattered the silence around burnout. Salima explained the science of stress, its emotional and physical grip. “Stress isn’t just in your head,” she said. “It’s in your body too. If we don’t address it, it finds other ways to manifest.” Participants opened up, sharing their triggers, their exhaustion, and their breaking points. One voice echoed what many felt: “I’ve been running on empty. If I don’t take care of myself, how can I take care of my community?”
By the final day, something had shifted. This was more than personal healing-it was about collective care. Participants worked on actionable plans to integrate wellness into their advocacy. They left not just with tools but with a renewed sense of purpose. The East Africa Wellness Resource Hub reaffirmed its commitment to creating safe spaces for civic actors, ensuring they had room to heal, to breathe, to keep going.
And Atis? She walked out a different person. The woman who had nearly ended her life now carried hope, not just for herself, but for those she fought for. She had learned that rest is part of resistance, healing is part of justice, and saving a movement starts with saving oneself.
That night, she went home. But she did not return to her note. She did not return to the concoction under her bed. She returned to life.