A week ago, it was the last day of school before summer break. I was standing outside with a group of other parents, chatting as we waited for our kids to come out of school for the last time this year. The conversations around me were full of excitement. There was lots of talk of sleeping in, fun activities, family vacations, trips to see relatives. Everyone seemed so relaxed and happy about the weeks ahead.

When I was a professor at a private university in the U.S., I was in charge of our Master’s program in Translation Studies. Alongside teaching courses on translation theories, one of my core responsibilities was preparing students for life after graduation and how to find jobs they actually enjoyed. Every year, I ran career seminars, and again and again, I came across one major point of anxiety: informational interviews.

Time and time again I have wondered why keeping a tidy home feels like such an impossible task. Or, as my friend likes to say, like chasing a moving train while wearing roller skates. I love that analogy! For as long as I can remember, I’ve struggled with keeping my space clean and organized. As a teenager, a messy room was a sign of independence, of mild rebellious behavior against my parents’ rules.

When people come to me for coaching, they often arrive with a sense of urgency. “I just need a few tips,” they say. “Something to help me stop procrastinating,” or “Maybe if I had the right calendar system, I’d finally get things done.” And I understand. I've been there myself, convinced that if I just found the perfect method, everything would fall into place.

If you’ve ever raised your voice at your child and instantly regretted it, you’re not alone. If you’ve told yourself this time I’ll stay calm, only to lose your temper five minutes later … yes, I’ve been there too. As a mom of a neurodivergent son, I navigate these emotional minefields every day. And as someone who teaches workshops for parents of kids with ADHD, I know this struggle is heartbreakingly common.

When I worked as a professor in the States, I often felt like I was barely keeping my head above water. I loved teaching. I was interested in my field of German Studies. I enjoyed doing research, working on collaborative projects and was eager to support my students. But at the end of the day, I was constantly exhausted.

Last summer, I hit a breaking point. I was standing in the kitchen, staring at the pile of dishes in the sink while listening to my two sons fighting in their room, and I just lost it. Not in a loud, dramatic way but more like a quiet, exhausted collapse. My son had come home with a teacher’s note that he forgot to do his homework (again), a parent had called to complain about my son’s impulsive behavior toward her daughter and we had just been thrown out of my son’s soccer club because my son was spacing off too much during practice.

When I was a student, I hated oral performance grades. They always seemed to be somewhat unfair. I was a natural talker and participated quite a bit. But I was also easily bored and liked to chat with my classmates. Consequently, my teachers wouldn’t give me the high grade I thought I’d definitely deserved because they felt I was a distraction to my peers and disrespected my teachers by not paying enough attention.

My son and I used to have our fair share of battles over screen time. For him, it was mainly about Minecraft or Roblox since he was — and is — still quite young. But if he were older, we would have probably fought about social media such as TikTok and YouTube as well. I felt quite torn since screens are both an incredibly soothing tool for my son and a source of constant tension in our household.