The only way to see it coming is if you are fully connected to the present moment, to yourself, to your body. And you look around many times and have a good view far in the horizon.

How many of us live like this though? If you do, please tell me your secret. As much as I try, there are always periods when I lose touch with myself, let my hold on reality slide ever so slightly and get inevitably sucked into the vortex of daily hustle. And that’s it, that’s enough. I don’t see beyond today anymore. That enormous truck is loud and shiny and you cannot miss it, and yet somehow I do. Every single time. Afterwards, reflecting back on it, I can never locate the exact moment when I lost touch with myself and my truth. But I always know the exact moment when the truck appears out of nowhere. And it’s always too late to do something about it.

It’s March 2020. Corona virus has hit the world. We are quarantined, isolated from everyone. Work is quiet - no one knows how to proceed yet, how to adapt to the new reality. For the first time since ever I sit in my house with plenty of time in my hands. There is nowhere to rush to, no deadline to complete, no stakeholders to manage. Just strangely calm reality. The truck is approaching.

Having all this time in my hands suddenly gives me permission to do things that I left behind a long time ago. Things that were tenderly loved but long forgotten. Things that I knew were good for me, that I truly enjoyed, but I buried the desire for them deep into my subconscious, because thinking about them was too painful and too scary. Now, this is all I can think about.

I started a graphic designer course on Coursera. Just for fun, really, just to fill all the empty slots of useless time. I started painting. Why not? Just something to do with my hands, to keep myself busy. And oh, a crazy idea, how about following a coaching course?

Now, this last bit was slightly different, I have to admit. I was not very happy at my job, hadn’t been for a while really. And coaching seemed very appealing for some reason. I didn’t even know what it was exactly, I just knew I wanted to do it. I knew I’d be good at it. All the big decisions in my life stemmed from this simple internal knowing, and whenever I trusted it, it was always right. But my manager was disagreeing with me. She kept discouraging me from following a course, advising to read books about coaching first. I read the book she recommended. I found it extremely superficial and unhelpful. Later I found out that my manager wanted to become a coach herself. Never trust another person’s judgment. Always trust your inner truth.

Long story short, I found a course that fully adapted to the new reality of Covid-19, and that - luckily for me - was much cheaper than the usual courses. My company even agreed paying for it. And yes, of course my manager registered for the same course right after me. I don’t mind sharing.

So here I am - graphic design, painting, studying coaching, while the world is going mad and people are getting overwhelmed by the isolation. I have to admit, I didn’t mind one bit. I was just having fun. Allowing my inner child to express herself. And apparently unleashing my true desires, letting them run free from my repressed psyche.

Here comes the truck.

July 2020. I turn 30 years old. This threshold has been hanging over me with a heavy question that I’d been trying to avoid desperately: Why am I not happy for f’s sake? What is wrong with me?

You see, by my 30s I achieved everything a well-respected woman is supposed to achieve. I had a good career in a multinational company with a decent salary and possibilities for future growth. I had a wonderful husband who loved me and didn’t need to be reminded to gift me flowers. We owned a good house in the suburbs of Brussels. We had a beautiful dog. We were trying for a kid.

What could possibly be wrong? I’d ticked all the boxes. I’d satisfied everybody’s expectations. Except my mother’s. Obviously.

Clearly, something was wrong with me and I needed to be fixed. I was going to therapy for this. Didn’t see any results on the fixing side just yet.

We travel to Portugal with my husband. A beautiful trip, full of adventures and discoveries, my favorite kind. On vacations we were always particularly synced with him. Why couldn’t life always feel like a vacation? I could be happy then, I thought.

Standing on a bridge across the river in Porto, I write a wish on a piece of paper. THE WISH. You see, I’d been following a training about allowing yourself to dream, to wish for more. It was literally called “100 sacred wishes”. The last step of the training was to write the biggest, most important, most sacred wish on a piece of paper, make a paper plane from it and let it fly in a location that was special, unique. So that’s what I did. The location was spectacular.

Funny thing? For the life in me I cannot remember what I wrote on that paper. But the paper plane flew far. I like to think that wish came true.

August 2020. Isolation and quarantine become more flexible, people go out more, more places are welcoming visitors in Brussels. I decide to join an acting class. Wishes must come true, right? And acting was something I physically longed for, since I was a child. I remember starting to realize at the age of 5 or 6 that in my life I would forever be confined to my own body, my brain, my reality. I found it both fascinating and incredibly frustrating. I was so curious about other people - what was going on in their heads, what they were feeling, why their faces made those interesting movements that I myself couldn’t seem to reproduce. I even tried to learn in front of the mirror to move my eyebrows differently, to have that unusual eye twitch some boy at our class had. It was fascinating. I loved playing dress up. I did theater from early teen years. I craved to study theater and be a little bit closer to that world where I could hopefully finally learn to crawl into the skin of another person. My dreams crushed. My parents thought theater was bad for me. They thought I was taking drugs (the obvious explanation for an emotional teenager struggling with puberty). They thought artistic world was full of addicts and it wouldn’t be good for me. I was banned from it.

So dipping my toe into that dream by joining an acting class was a very scary and also a very healing experience.

One that ultimately led to finding new love, getting a divorce and turning my life upside down. This is a story for another time.

Covid hit me in all kinds of unexpected ways. I’m sorry for all the people who suffered and knew loss because of it. I’m grateful for the soul opening and truck-hitting chain of events that it brought to me.

She is beautiful, smart, willful.

Somehow beautiful comes first.

Somehow I still fail

To let the feminism prevail

In my words and descriptions of her.

I work hard every day

To make her world a better place,

Not to pass down the traumas

That I inherited and lived,

So she feels strong and enough

No matter how rough

Things get.

Can I change the world?

I’m too small and alone,

Still working through shit

And it’s going too slow.

How can I undo

All this doom and gloom?

How can I create

Possibilities, future path

To equality and sufficiency

Instead of rush and deficiency,

And women always left feeling

Like they are just not succeeding,

At least not enough.

Never enough.

We need to try harder,

Fight louder,

Care better,

And be grateful, because

It could have been much worse.

I don’t want to be grateful.

I want the world to do better.

I want the men to be gentler,

To have less power,

To want less power.

It’s all about power,

But where is the love?

Love created us,

Power will end us.

That’s why we need women

To protect the shaky peace.

I want my daughter to live in a world

Where the war doesn’t exist.

Where harmony is success,

Where noone is careless

About other people’s feelings.

I’m too naive, I’m aware.

But what if we dare

To bring this to life?

At least around us,

For our daughters and sons.

Between the dream and the real

It’s breaking my heart because I know

Once it’s made, the road is sealed,

No going back -

Too black and white?

It seems to me as well

That’s why I’m questioning my mind

Not trusting its old tales.

I want to share with the world

But oh the fear of judgement

It lurks around and blocks my throat

No sound can come outside.

I want to be a better version

Of the shadow I live in

I want to be someone whose voice

Is loud. And clear. And clean.

I know that there is more to me than

I admit, more than I show to them.

But for the love of god I can’t

Uncover courage for this fight.

I keep on crawling, falling, stumbling.

I keep on going, attempting to move on.

I hide behind the daily groveling,

Pretending it’s the life I truly want.

But I’m a coward.

I haven’t made my choice.

I carry on like nothing

Is all that I deserve.

How can I make a better choice?

Break free from these charades?

How can I choose to just be me,

Let go of past mistakes?

They can’t define me as I am

Today, tomorrow, every day.

They can however show the way

In opposite direction.

To help me choose more truthful way

Towards my full potential.

As a person, as a woman, as a mom -

I owe it to my daughter,

I owe it to myself

To make a braver choice today,

And trust that in tomorrow

The courage will not fade away,

And I can keep on going.

I see a mom passing through the border control, holding her tiny baby in one arm, breastfeeding at the same time. She grabs her backpack with the other hand, throws it over her shoulder and starts undressing her baby so the little pumpkin doesn’t get sweaty. Still breastfeeding. Her partner is slowly walking next to her, pushing a stroller with his both hands. I wonder if the mom’s arm has gone numb from holding the baby. I wonder how much her nipple is hurting from breastfeeding on the go like this.

I see a woman washing her baby in a sink in a public toilet. The baby is fully naked. I wonder if she has a spare change of clothes or maybe she forgot that extra thing with 1000 songle chores she has to do before leaving . I wonder if she has had a chance to use the toilet herself.

I see a woman waiting for the train with a baby in her arms. I see a massive trunk next to her. The baby is wriggling and screaming his lungs out while she’s trying to close his onesie. I wonder how many people are judging her right now because the baby is crying. I wonder if anyone is going to offer help when she needs to get on the train with the baby, the stroller and the luggage.

It’s dinner time. I’m sure all the moms packed snacks or pumped milk or prepped bottles for their little ones. I wonder if they have some food for themselves.

This is so common. These women are not considered high performers, or outstanding citizens, or inventive creators. Just normal moms. Just common women doing usual things. Every day.