Recipes4Change

02/03/2026

Immigrants Are Not the Problem

Being half Lebanese and having lived through the early years of the civil war in Lebanon, I learned very quickly that discussing politics could cost you your life. Silence felt safer.

Years later, after building my life in the United Kingdom and now the Netherlands — two countries known for democracy and stability — I’ve realised something important:

In peaceful societies, silence is not safety. Silence is complicity.

The growing narrative that immigrants are the root of national and local problems is not only simplistic — it is harmful.

I am an immigrant.

In the UK, I worked in a major hospital within the National Health Service at a time when many local professionals were leaving due to low pay and high pressure. I didn’t have the luxury of turning the job down. I stepped in and filled a gap. That was not a burden on the system — that was contribution.

In the Netherlands, when volunteers were called upon in The Hague to support refugees arriving during the Syrian crisis, my language skills and cultural understanding allowed me to contribute again. Not as a problem — but as part of the solution.

Today, through my work as a coach and counsellor working primarily with internationals, and through networking, I see daily the determination, resilience, and value immigrants bring. I observe how immigrants are actively contributing to the societies they now call home. They pay taxes. They create jobs. They innovate. They integrate.

They also struggle, often quietly, to belong, to adapt, to learn the language, to understand the unspoken cultural rules.

Integration is not a one-way street. It requires effort from newcomers and openness from host communities.

We cannot keep scapegoating immigrants for complex structural challenges. Housing shortages, strained public services, economic shifts. These are multifaceted issues that require thoughtful policy, not emotional narratives.

On 18 March, we have municipal elections. Local politics shapes our schools, neighbourhoods, healthcare access, and community resources. Please vote wisely. Examine policies critically. Resist fear-based messaging.

Immigrants are not the problem. They are colleagues, neighbours, taxpayers, caregivers, and community builders.

I am one example. There are many more.

Let’s move beyond fear. Let’s choose dialogue over division. And let’s remember that strong societies are built not by exclusion, but by participation.

That is my humble opinion. You’re free to agree or disagree — but if we engage, let’s do so constructively.

26/02/2026

I moved from Lebanon and Ghana, where I completed my primary and secondary education, to the UK to pursue higher education. Adjusting to a new culture, a different education system, and an unfamiliar environment, quickly planted the belief that I had to work twice as hard just to keep up.

That belief followed me into university. I often felt like I didn’t quite belong — like everyone else was more capable, more articulate, more prepared.

During one lab experiment, I sat frozen, completely unsure where to start, trying to look confident on the outside.

Then two classmates walked over and said,
“𝘏𝘦𝘺 𝘙𝘢𝘸𝘪𝘢, 𝘸𝘦’𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨.”

I was stunned.

In that moment, two powerful realisations emerged.

1️⃣ I was not the only one feeling uncertain. The people I assumed were confident were also looking for reassurance.

2️⃣ Despite the anxiety inside me, others perceived competence and confidence. My internal narrative did not match external reality.

That experience changed something fundamental in me. I began to question the stories I was telling myself. I started to see how deeply our thoughts and feelings shape our perceptions, and how those perceptions, when left unchallenged, can quietly limit us.

Today, as a coach and counsellor working with internationals, I see this dynamic often.

Many of my clients are navigating new cultures, new systems, and new expectations. They are highly capable, intelligent individuals — yet internally they carry doubts about whether they are “good enough.”

Often, their perception of themselves is far harsher than reality.

Together, we gently explore those perceptions, where they came from, and whether they are evidence-based.

When perception shifts, experience shifts.

Confidence is rarely about becoming someone new. More often, it is about recognising who you already are — beneath the anxiety, beneath the adaptation, beneath the pressure to prove yourself.

That lab incident taught me something I now bring into my sessions:
Our feelings are real — but they are not always facts.

Sometimes breakthrough begins the moment we dare to challenge the story we are telling ourselves.

24/02/2026

Years ago, when I was a stay-at-home mum, I spent a lot of time engaging in creative activities, both on my own and with my children. Around that time, my mother gave me a small booklet about 𝗔𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗸𝗿𝗮 𝘀𝘆𝗺𝗯𝗼𝗹𝘀, including a stencil to create them. It was her way of adding something from Ghana to my creative world.

Recently, during a bout of home decluttering, I came across that booklet again.

Adinkra symbols originate from the Akan people of West Africa. Each symbol represents a proverb or idea, carrying deep cultural wisdom. One symbol in particular stood out to me all over again: 𝗦𝗮𝗻𝗸𝗼𝗳𝗮.

Sankofa literally means “𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘵.” It teaches us that we must return to the past to retrieve what is valuable, in order to move forward wisely.

This principle sits at the heart of my work as a coach and counsellor. So often, the challenges people face in the present are rooted in experiences, beliefs, or patterns formed earlier in life that were never fully understood or resolved. When these are left unexamined, they can quietly continue to shape our choices and relationships.

By gently looking back and making sense of personal history, clients gain awareness of what no longer serves them, and what they may choose to keep. This process allows them to make informed, intentional choices in the present, rather than reacting from old wounds.

Sankofa reminds us that healing and growth do not come from forgetting the past, but from learning from it. When we do this, we create space for clarity, self-compassion, and a more grounded future.

Sometimes I wonder whether it was coincidence or something more meaningful that a gift I received from my mother over four decades ago so closely reflects the work I do today.

𝘐𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘦𝘥, 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘰𝘳 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵?

Please reach out if you would like support in that process.

23/02/2026

Civil war broke out in Lebanon the year I turned 14. Almost overnight, everything changed.

We moved to Ghana. The move was sudden and unplanned. It meant leaving not only a country, but also my home, my school, my friends — my sense of familiarity and stability.

Shortly after the move, I lost my appetite and began losing weight. My mother took me to see a doctor. After finding nothing physically wrong, the doctor looked at me kindly and asked:
“Are you happy?”

I remember thinking, 𝘏𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺? 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦?

At 14, I didn’t have the language to explain what was happening inside me. I didn’t know how to describe grief for a life interrupted. The loss of belonging. The shock of transition. The silent overwhelm.

But my body knew.

Looking back, I understand something I couldn’t see then:
Major transitions, especially sudden international relocations, don’t just change our address. They shake our identity, our sense of safety, and our emotional foundations.

As a coach and counsellor working with internationals, I now see how common this is.

People move countries for many reasons — opportunity, career, family, crisis. On the outside, they may appear resilient and capable.
But internally, they may be carrying:

😞Displacement
😟Cultural disorientation
😶Loneliness
😢Unprocessed grief
🤔Questions about belonging

Sometimes the stress shows up emotionally.
Sometimes it shows up physically.
Sometimes it shows up as a quiet question: “𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦?”

That doctor’s question stayed with me. It was the first time someone connected my physical symptoms to my emotional world.

Unhappiness often stems from beliefs formed early in life — quiet stories about who we are, whether we belong, whether we are good enough, whether we are loved as we are. These beliefs operate beneath our awareness, yet they shape our choices, our relationships, and even impact our health.

For a long time, like many people, I searched for happiness externally. But happiness wasn’t to be found out there.

It was inward.

When I began exploring my internal world — my beliefs, my identity, my patterns — everything shifted. The more I understood myself, the more aligned I became. And the more aligned I became, the more joy and fulfilment I experienced.

In my work with internationals, we gently step away from the external pressures — career expectations, comparisons, cultural adjustments — and explore the internal world.

When we understand what we are feeling, and give it space, healing begins.

As clients reconnect with themselves, something beautiful happens:

They begin to experience more ease.
More clarity.
More self-trust.
More joy.

If you are navigating life between cultures and feel unsettled, disconnected, or not quite yourself. Nothing is wrong with you.

Your system may simply be responding to change.

Let’s talk.

17/02/2026

As a child and teenager, music was my refuge.

During difficult times, I would isolate myself and sit with the radio pressed to my ear (this was before personal stereos and phones), allowing music to transport me somewhere safer and more hopeful. Sometimes a song would unlock grief I didn’t yet have the language to express, and I would cry, and feel lighter afterwards. Other times, music energised me so completely that I felt unstoppable.

Music was my first emotional regulation tool.

Growing up between Lebanon and Ghana, I also witnessed music as a powerful social force. In both cultures, music brings communities together, through dance, laughter, shared rhythm and collective celebration. It strengthens bonds, and creates belonging and meaningful connection.

Later, as a mother, I consciously brought music into our home. From nursery rhymes in infancy, to dancing to teenage favourites, music became part of our family culture. It created a safe emotional backdrop for conversations about challenges and struggles. I encouraged my children to use music and dance as tools to de-stress during overwhelming times.

Years later, during my NLP training, I learned that music can function as an anchor, a stimulus that shifts emotional and mental states.

I realised I had unknowingly used music in this way during my earlier career as a pharmacist, particularly after receiving a promotion that required me to step into greater responsibility. Certain songs helped me access confidence, clarity and focus. Once I understood the mechanism, I could intentionally choose music to move myself into a more resourceful state.

As a TA counsellor, I deepened my appreciation for music’s therapeutic potential. Music can help us access parts of ourselves that feel forgotten, suppressed or unresolved. It can evoke memories, surface emotions and highlight patterns that may still be influencing our present choices. When explored consciously, these moments offer opportunities for insight and change.

We often treat music as background sound, while we drive, cook or work.

But what if we became more intentional?
🤔What state does this song create in me?
🤔What memories or emotions does it evoke?
🤔What music helps me feel grounded, energised or calm?
🤔What playlist supports me before a challenging meeting?

Let music be your beach house, your hometown, your best friend, and the place where you meet yourself.

𝘋𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘤 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦? 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘧𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦?

16/02/2026

When I was 14, my family moved from Lebanon to Ghana due to the civil war. I enrolled in a British school, but my English wasn’t at the level required, so my mother arranged extra private lessons for my cousin and me.

That’s how I met Angela.

Angela, who had previously enjoyed a distinguished career in diplomacy, divided her retirement between writing — authoring several books — and teaching English. Ghanaian by birth, she had lived an international life, and carried herself with a quiet confidence and elegance that immediately captivated me. She spoke impeccable Queen’s English, dressed in beautiful African batik, and had the presence of someone who had seen and understood the world.

Beyond language, Angela taught us about posture, manners, and how to carry ourselves as ladies — lessons that amused my cousin and me at the time, but which stayed with me far longer than I realised.

What left the deepest mark, though, was her belief in me.

She read my essays carefully and often told me I had a talent for writing and storytelling. That she wouldn’t be surprised if I became a writer one day. Back then, with very little self-esteem, I dismissed her words as kindness rather than truth. But they planted a seed.

Years later, that seed has grown. I now write regularly, share reflections and lessons from life, and am working on my memoir as a legacy for my daughters. Writing is the one activity that makes me forget time entirely.

As a coach and counsellor today, I often think about Angela.

She saw potential in me long before I could see it myself. She held belief for me when I didn’t yet have it. And I know, both personally and professionally, how profoundly that kind of belief can shape someone’s emotional and mental wellbeing.

This is at the heart of my work: offering clients a space where they are seen, believed in, and gently supported until they can recognise their own strengths and possibilities.

One person’s faith can change a life.

Angela was an extraordinary teacher. May she rest in peace.

𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 ?

13/02/2026

Valentine’s Day often makes us think about romantic love. But in my work as a coach and counsellor, I am often reminded that love comes in many forms — and that 𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳-𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺 𝗮𝗹𝗹.

Many of the internationals I work with have relocated for love. Moving countries for a partner can be deeply meaningful, but it can also surface old wounds: questions of belonging, worth, identity, and “𝘈𝘮 𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦?” Especially when familiar support systems are left behind.

This is something I know personally. As a child, teen, and young adult, I did not love myself. Growing up in an environment that, directly and indirectly, communicated that I was not good enough as a Black girl shaped how I saw my own worth. I learned to work hard to meet others’ expectations in the hope of earning love. Yet no matter how much effort I made, that love never truly landed.

Through therapy, I came to understand something that now deeply informs my work: it is very hard to receive love from others when we have not learned how to give it to ourselves first.

That’s why, every Valentine’s Day, I intentionally return to self-love — sometimes quite literally by playing songs like 𝘍𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴 by Miley Cyrus. Not just out loud, but in my head, heart, and soul. As a reminder that my worth is not dependent on another person choosing me, staying, or validating me.

🎵 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘶𝘺 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴
𝘞𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥
𝘛𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴
𝘚𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥
𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨
𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥
𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 🎵

Self-love is not selfish. It is stabilising. It’s what allows you to stay grounded when everything around you is unfamiliar. It’s what helps love feel like a choice, not a survival strategy.

So, on Valentine’s Day, a gentle reminder: Please don’t wait for someone else to tell you whether you are loved or not.

Take that power back!

Go buy yourself flowers!

Happy Valentine’s Day 💐

10/02/2026

I recently received a reminder to schedule my car’s annual APK check-up – the mandatory vehicle inspection in the Netherlands, similar to the MOT in the UK, to ensure road safety and environmental standards.

It got me thinking:

We are legally required to check our cars every year to make sure they won’t cause harm to ourselves or others…

But there is no equivalent “APK” for our mental and emotional well-being.

Most systems are reactive. We seek support when we are already burned out, overwhelmed, depressed, or in crisis. Even annual health checks, where they exist, rarely include a meaningful conversation about how we are actually doing emotionally or mentally.

As a coach and counsellor, I see the consequences of this often. Small, unaddressed stresses accumulate. Emotional needs go unmet. Coping strategies that once worked begin to fail. By the time people ask for help, they are often already exhausted, disconnected, or hurting – themselves or others.

What if we approached mental and emotional well-being the same way we approach car maintenance?

Rather than waiting until something is “wrong,” we could recognise that prevention is safer, kinder, and far less painful than repair after breakdown.

I genuinely believe that proactive, regular check-ins with our inner world could lead to:
💫 less burnout
💫 less trauma
💫 less self-harm
💫 fewer eating disorders
💫 less bullying and domestic abuse
💫 less crime
💫 and, hopefully, fewer lives lost to su***de.

This is why I do the work I do. Not only to support people in repairing ruptures, but to help them stay well, aware, and resilient – preventing things from falling apart in the first place.

Maybe this idea sounds idealistic. But many of the systems we now take for granted once started as “dreams.”

And I wonder:
What kind of world might we create if we treated mental and emotional well-being as essential maintenance, rather than an emergency service?

09/02/2026

There was a time in my life when speaking in public felt completely out of reach.

I stayed small. I hid in the background, dressed to blend in, choosing silence because being seen didn’t feel safe. Fear was in control, although at the time, I didn’t fully understand where it came from.

What changed?

A breakdown. And, crucially, the decision to ask for help.
�That moment became the beginning of a breakthrough.

That moment wasn’t a quick fix, but it was the beginning of a different relationship with fear — one built on understanding rather than self-judgment.

Recently, coming across this old video reminded me how deeply past trauma, left unresolved, can shape our present lives. It reminded me just how powerful fear can be, and how it limits our confidence, and quietly shapes the choices we make, the opportunities we avoid, and the life we believe is available to us.

This is something I encounter in my work as a coach and counsellor. So often, it isn’t a lack of ability that holds people back, it is old fear standing guard at the door of the life they want and desire.

My story isn’t unique. However, it is a reminder: we are not stuck. With the right support, awareness, and compassion, change is always possible.

I wonder if Stephanie Ward or anyone from Women's Business Initiative International remember this.

Have an insightful week.

05/02/2026

Who am I?
Who are you?
What is life all about?

These questions were at the heart of a rich and deeply human conversation I had about a month ago with the wonderful Blanca Vergara on the podcast (link below).

We spoke about identity, not as a fixed label, but as something shaped by the roles we take on, the communities we belong to, and the beliefs we wrestle with. We explored culture and religion, the quiet difficulty of asking for help, and the profound inner shift that can happen when we finally allow ourselves to receive it.

It was one of those conversations that stays with you long after it ends.

I invite you to listen to the episode and see what resonates with your own story and lived experience.

When you hear the word identity, what comes up for you?

Thank you, Blanca, for your generosity, depth, and for co-creating such a meaningful conversation.

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05/02/2026

We often talk about our 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘤.
But we rarely talk about our 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳.

And yet, we all have one.

In the noise created by our inner critic, many of us have simply forgotten that a more encouraging voice exists.

Personally, my inner cheerleaders are my grandmothers. May they rest in peace.

In their own cultural ways, they reminded me that I am loved, that I am not defined by others, and that I should believe in myself.

My paternal grandmother’s voice, in particular, lives strongly within me. During moments of racism and discrimination in my childhood, it was her nurturing voice that carried me through. It’s no surprise that her voice became my inner cheerleader.

I was reminded of this power while working with a client who described how their inner critic dominated their thoughts at work, disrupting focus, draining confidence, and eroding energy.

I asked a simple question:
“𝘞𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧?”

Their physiology shifted instantly. Their posture changed. Their face softened.

Yes … there was someone.

I asked what that person used to say. As they shared those words, their confidence visibly grew.

Then I offered a gentle reflection:
“𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘤?”

That insight landed deeply.

In our follow-up session, the client shared how transformative this shift had been.

Managing your inner critic doesn’t require silencing it. It requires reconnecting with, and amplifying, the voice that encourages growth, courage, and self-belief.

If you’d like to further soften your inner critic, here are a few suggestions:

🔸 𝗥𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗴𝗻𝗶𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘃𝗼𝗶𝗰𝗲
Does it sound familiar? Does it remind you of someone from your past? Awareness alone can bring insight, and relief.
🔸 𝗗𝗼𝗻’𝘁 𝗮𝗿𝗴𝘂𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗶𝘁
Fighting the voice usually makes it louder. Instead, acknowledge it without agreeing:
🔸 𝗘𝘅𝗽𝗹𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝘁𝘀 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝗶𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻
This voice may once have tried to protect you. You can thank it, and gently let it know its services are no longer required.
🔸 𝗘𝘅𝗽𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁 𝘇𝗼𝗻𝗲
Each time you do the very thing your inner critic says you can’t, you gather evidence of your capability. Confidence grows through action, not perfection.

Inner work isn’t about silencing parts of ourselves. It’s about learning which voices deserve to be amplified.

𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 — 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥?

03/02/2026

Relocating to a new country puts you in an in-between space.

You’re no longer who you were, and you haven’t yet become who you will be.

For accompanying partners, that space can feel especially heavy.

I relocated more than once with my children to support my ex-husband’s career. Alongside my own transition, I carried the emotional and practical responsibility of helping my children adapt, regulate, and feel secure in a new culture.

What I remember most is how invisible I became.

No letters arrived in my name. No calls were for me. Once I stopped being employed, it felt as though I no longer existed. Motherhood, the most important work I was doing, was dismissed as “doing nothing.”

I still remember a dinner conversation where, after I said I was a stay-at-home mum, the person beside me simply turned away. No curiosity. No interest. Nothing.

Around the same period, I met a few stay-at-home fathers, who were treated like celebrities. Admired. Praised. Seen as exceptional. Meanwhile, countless women doing the same work were ignored or belittled.

That contrast revealed how deeply dysfunctional our societal narratives are, and how profoundly we undervalue the most important work of all. Family therapist Virginia Satir called it “people making.” How can something so fundamental be treated as invisible?

Twenty years later, in my work as a coach and counsellor with internationals, I still hear stories that mirror my own.
Accompanying partners, most often mothers, doing everything, everywhere, without recognition or support.

Women are still forced to choose in ways men are not. Fathers are not discarded professionally when they have children; mothers so often are.

To these mothers I say, there is nothing wrong with you. You do not need fixing.

What needs to change is how the world understands and supports women who relocate, adapt, and reshape their careers for family.

I never regretted prioritising my children. What I regret is believing the world would meet that choice with respect, fairness, or understanding. I was naïve to think there would be clear pathways back, or systems that reflected the realities of women’s lives.

Motherhood develops extraordinary skills: leadership, emotional intelligence, resilience, and adaptability. It was the most demanding yet rewarding role I’ve ever held, and the one that taught me the most about who I am and who I can become.

And yet, this dismissive attitude never diminished my passion for motherhood. If anything, it made me more determined to change the narrative, for my daughters, and for the women I work with, so that gender is never an obstacle in the path for choice.

This is what I bring into my work with accompanying partners.

𝘐𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘐’𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺.