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...

There's something about cycling down a bike lane with a 5 year old that makes you glad to be alive. Until she starts whining about her legs hurting, or says 'I know!' with such disdain when you warn her of an upcoming crossing, or nearly gets crushed by a car at a tricky junction. Then it's more jarring. I was happy about it today though - we went to school together on our bikes; her little legs whizzing round, the sun on our backs and the wind in our hair. After a couple of hours' work with a second child in the background, home because of a teacher training day, I decided to make the most of the good weather and we got on our bikes to go to the market. Not the Wednesday around the corner one, because it was Tuesday. The Tuesday one is a bit of a longer ride, but not far enough to get too much moaning out of the ten year old. We wheeled our bikes through the market, picking up some lobelia for the front door flower box; soap that had been forgotten during Marek...

Marek and I got up really early today. It was silly, before 7am, but it was the usual Saturday buzz - a day to get the things done we need to so we can relax on Sunday. Ha. Elsie had arranged to meet a school friend to sell cookies and cupcakes in the entrance of an exclusive supermarket to make money for their scout camps. She couldn't sleep and decided to make more cake, just in case. She expertly produced half a dozen plain, half a dozen chocolate and half a dozen choc chip cupcakes before leaving us the kitchen to tidy and the pans to clean, but she's only 12 so we let her off... Louise had Polish school in the morning so we left Molly home with the rabbits while we drove Elsie to meet her schoolfriend. Louise and I dropped her off, spoke to the friend's mum and stayed long enough for Louise to be their first client. She took a chocolate chip cookie for Polish school and a coconut thing I knew she wouldn't eat but paid them each a fiver to get them off to a good sta...