beckity

It took me four years to consider going back to an office job. Building up an association had been new, meaningful, and something I could do at my own pace, surrounded by friends and supporters. Once my fried brain had rebuilt itself, once my fragile nervous systems had regained some resilience, once my exercise and wellbeing routines had been established, and (let's face it) when my last savings had gone and the Belgian state was no longer willing to support me, that's when I went back.  I was worried though. That final, decisive driving factor had been financial. Taking the development of the association at my own pace had meant slow but steady growth of the membership - their fees were enough to cover costs, but my work was voluntary. And it was work, not 'work'. I'd learned so much over those four years, about myself, about burnout, about Brussels beyond the bubble. I'd learned about my values and behaviour patterns, not least through my coaching training, a...

It only took three months in the end, but during that time the weeks seemed so long.  Cover letters, CVs adapted to the positions. I made sure I kept to some basic rules about what I applied for - always membership related in networks, always European level, always values based. I'd started looking for part time positions, but they were few and far between. Interviews went well. I talked about my experience, all of it. I deconstructed the burnout, the period afterwards, setting up the association and why I felt ready for something new. I remembered what I loved about the European context, reassuring potential employers that yes, I am Belgian now. I questioned myself often. Is this what I really want? Is financial stability after four years of ever reducing income enough to compensate for the freedom I've had? Do the personal development work, coaching training and beginnings of a coaching business have less value now? Will I still be able to support the development of my belove...

A few days ago, Molly, already in a state of some annoyance, saw Louise eating Easter chocolate, got to her feet and shouted.  ‘Hey! That’s my chocolate you’re eating!’ Louise, a look of terror on her face, tried to defend herself. ‘I didn’t know! It was in the box, it’s my box!’ The two boxes were very similar. It was an easy mistake. Molly stormed about, slamming things and muttering about how she didn’t like other people touching her belongings, especially food! I put my arm around Louise and looked into her teary face. ‘You made a mistake. It’s not so terrible.’ ‘But Molly’s cross’ she said, her eyes wide and worried. I put extra effort into supporting Molly in the following couple of days. After a period of relative calm she had a couple of meltdowns and I tried different approaches, trying to be patient and understanding, but also losing my cool on occasion. It ended each time in a heart to heart cuddle on the sofa. The second time I got a note explaining what had prompted th...

I find it hard. 👩🏽 I am a white, able-bodied, heterosexual, university-educated, mother of three healthy children with an employed supportive partner, also supported by the state in the country I migrated to. 🍀 I have so many layers of privilege, and even I find it hard. 👨🏽 I find it hard to be a woman in a world where patriarchal societies are the norm. 🦋 I find it hard to maintain motivation for the values-driven work I am involved in with  Madame Papillon , supporting women after burnout (caused in part by the hustle culture of those patriarchal societies) when it is still voluntary work (although that third subsidy request hasn't been rejected yet...) and the household bills seem to multiply. 🚸 I find it hard to bring up my children to know their own minds, think critically when presented with information and recognise their needs while acting with kindness and integrity when they are exposed to an unregulated and unsafe online world, and a real world where inspiring sto...