The woman behind the words

Who am I?

A mother, yes. A writer, hopefully. But mostly, I’m someone still figuring out who she is beneath all these hats. I live in Antwerp, Belgium, with my 2-year-old son and partner. I hold two Master’s degrees in History and International Relations and Diplomacy. A background that pretty much means I have a passion for stories and an inclination for uncertain futures.

Writing has always been my thing, and so has the idea of making the world a better place. I got sidetracked a lot in finding my voice and identity, even before I became a mother. But when I did become a mother, that creative, idealistic part of me seemed to disappear into the fog of exhaustion and all-consuming care for my son.

Everything that used to matter… just didn’t. My self-care sank to the bottom of the barrel. But as the fog began to lift, I started to hear something again. A familiar whisper inside me. The urge to write returned, fiercer than ever. Looking back, I think it was a part of me fighting its way back, a piece I didn’t even realise I had lost.

Never-ending journey

Granted, I’m still figuring out who that person is. I’m not sure if I’m allowed to still say this in my thirties, but then again, I’ll say a lot of things on here that not everyone might approve of (especially not the mom police). I’m learning how to be a mom and to show that creativity doesn’t die with it. It just changes form. If motherhood has taught me one thing, it’s that identity isn’t static. It shifts, stretches, and rebuilds itself in the mess. And when you emerge from it, you realise you’re a completely different person than you were before.

One thing that hasn’t changed over the years, though, is that I live for Italian food, a good meme (even the bad ones), movies, the kind of romance novels you'd hide in your tote bag, and those rare moments when my toddler naps and the house is finally quiet. I’m a wildly sensitive human (my partner can confirm), who feels deeply and overthinks often. And I’m working on believing that’s a gift, not a flaw.

I complain, yes. Sometimes loudly, sometimes with memes, maybe too much. But never without love. My son is the greatest gift of my life. Watching him grow and learn fills me with awe and an overwhelming sense of responsibility. I want to raise him in a home where love is all around, mistakes are allowed, and showing up matters most (even in sweatpants).

And even when everything feels like a big mess, we can still feel like ourselves and find joy in all of it.

I don’t want to miss out on the beautiful aspects of motherhood, just because I haven’t figured out how to balance work, household, and a family (and friends, and fitness, and… the never ending list).

Why I write

Writing has always been therapeutic for me. But I think it’s the sharing part that makes the healing happen. I don’t write to teach or preach. I write to survive. And in doing so, I hope it helps someone else feel understood. Maybe even a little more hopeful.

When I started sharing my experiences, I realised I wasn’t the only one. Friends, family, strangers: they all began to share their own stories. Whispered confessions of overwhelm, of not feeling "good enough," of not loving every second of motherhood. I wasn’t alone. None of us are. And we’re not bad moms. We’re just human. Those confessions were like oxygen to me when I was deep in the trenches of self-loathing and self-blame during motherhood.

I may sometimes wonder if I’m as brilliant as my mom says (thanks, mom), and if I should be sharing all of this. But I once heard someone say: if you didn’t have a purpose, you wouldn’t exist. So maybe this is mine: to write things that make other mothers feel less alone. And maybe to remind myself too, that we don’t have to get it all right to be considered a good person, a good mom.

I want my son to see that. I want him to remember the quiet moments, the small gestures, the imperfect but always-present love. And I want him to know that his mother didn’t disappear into motherhood. She grew through it and from it.

So if you’ve stumbled across my words, thank you. Truly. Just knowing you’re here means more than I can say.

Right now, I share my stories. But I’m also creating tools and resources to help you feel like yourself again, or at least turn the chaos into something manageable. You’ll be the first to know when they’re ready.