August 9, Day 150 

Closing

When I started this diary, shortly after my stroke, all I knew was that I had to write. There was no plan, no goal — only the urgent need to give words to what was living inside me. In the beginning, it was mostly about recovery — about physical limits, fatigue, and the daily reality of a body that functioned differently than before. But soon, other stories began to flow in. Memories. Grief. Love. Old wounds that surfaced — sometimes painfully, sometimes healing.

What began as a record of recovery became a journey inward. I wrote about my childhood, my parents, my relationships, and about life itself. Themes kept returning like a heartbeat: loss, imperfection, taking responsibility, letting go, trusting. Sometimes there were moments of sudden clarity — a dream, a conversation, a memory lighting up — that took me one layer deeper.

Now, 150 days later, I feel the circle has come full. The change I was looking for has been set in motion. I no longer need to track it daily to know it continues. This journey doesn’t end — it simply takes a new shape. I will continue with the book that has gradually formed in my mind during these months: my path to self-realisation. This diary will remain a living example — not as a perfect path, but as an honest record of falling, getting up, feeling, and moving forward again.

To everyone who has read along: thank you for witnessing. These words could exist because they were received. I close this chapter with softness, curiosity, and trust. What is meant for me will come at the right time.

And so I lay down my pen, not as an ending, but as a breath between two sentences.

SATNAM (Gurmukhi — truth is my name)

For the past few days, I have been chanting this mantra:

Sat Siri Siri Akal,
Siri Akal Maha Akal
Maha Akal Sat Nam
Akal Murat Wahe Guru

The “Sat Siri Siri Akal” mantra is part of the Aquarian Sadhana and is often used in Kundalini Yoga. The mantra means “Truth, Greatness, Great Deathless One,” or “Great Truth, Great Deathless One.” It emphasizes the timelessness and immortality of the soul.

Mantra and meaning:

• Sat Siri Siri Akal: Truth, Greatness, Great Deathless One.
  
  
• Siri Akal Maha Akal: Great Deathless One, Great Deathless One.
  
  
• Maha Akal Sat Nam: Great Deathless One, Truth is His Name.
  
  
• Akal Murat Wahe Guru: Deathless Image of God, Wondrous Divine Teacher.
  
  

Meaning and use:

Timelessness and Immortality
The mantra reminds us that we are timeless, immortal beings.

Overcoming challenges
It supports us in overcoming three impulses that often arise during difficulties: to withdraw, to deny, or to live in scarcity.

Integrity and courage
It encourages integrity, courage, and a deep sense of connection with ourselves and the universe.

Preparation for death
It is also considered a preparation for the moment of death, guiding the soul through its transition.

The Aquarian Age
Yogi Bhajan described it as the mantra for the Aquarian Age — a time of rapid transformation.

In essence
This mantra calls me to stand in my truth, to draw courage from my eternal nature, and to live with integrity and purpose.

It feels fitting to close these 150 days with these words — a reminder that my journey is both human and eternal, shaped by challenges and nourished by trust. The path continues, but the foundation is here.

 For ten years, I hadn’t sung this mantra. It belonged to another chapter, a time I had consciously left behind. And yet, as I bring this 150-day journey to a close, it returns to me naturally — as if it had been waiting all along.

The words still carry the same power, but now they resonate more deeply. They are no longer just a practice, no longer something I do, but something I am. The sound reminds me that I am timeless — that my being reaches far beyond the story of my body, my past, or my limitations.

Perhaps this isn’t a return to the past at all, but an integration — the meeting point of everything I have learned, lost, and reclaimed. A circle closing, and at the same time, opening.

Sat Siri Siri Akal,
Siri Akal Maha Akal,
Maha Akal Sat Nam,
Akal Murat Wahe Guru.

SAT NAM.

 

 

August 8, 2025 - Day 149
Funeral.
A cousin of mine passed away and was buried today. My father had three brothers and five sisters — a family of nine children who remained closely connected throughout their lives. Their children, my cousins, have also maintained strong bonds. The ages range from sixty to eighty-five, creating three age groups within the same family that interact like longtime friends.

All in all, a close-knit family — in contrast to my mother’s side.

All nine siblings have now passed away. For the first time, I felt the transience of life.
The image of my aunt crying when her last brother died has never left me. She sobbed: “Now I’m completely alone.”
It hit me hard — maybe because I’m the youngest in our family, I don’t know. But it’s etched in my memory.

And now, slowly, the next generation is beginning to leave us.

What strikes me is that everyone is always present at a funeral — as a gesture of support, and at the same time genuinely happy to see one another, even under such circumstances.
To me, family isn’t defined by genetics, but built and sustained through love.

When I’m with my family, I truly feel that — and I’m grateful I received that, even despite the toxic events within our own household.

My father, whose genes I do not carry, tried to create and maintain a stable family.
He didn’t fully succeed, but he did give us a loving family.
And once again, the circle feels complete.

When I look at life this way, it becomes more and more beautiful.

August 7, 2025 - Day 148

My husband asked me why I love my parents. He felt the final sentence of yesterday's entry came out of nowhere.
Well, why do you love parents who have caused so much confusion and pain?

I believe that a parent-child relationship is inherently complex. They are the first people in your life, the ones you are dependent on—especially in early childhood. Basic needs like food, care, and safety are essential, regardless of how they are offered to you. If there isn’t enough food, you will be hungry. If there is no water or money for clothes, hygiene and care become difficult. When parents themselves have coping mechanisms around safety and emotions, it’s often hard for them to pass those on in a healthy way.

A child doesn’t know any better than the situation they are brought up in. The bond with parents forms regardless of how that connection is made—you love your caretakers/parents.
As you grow older and become more aware of your own limitations—like difficulty with emotions or intimacy, or challenges in building lasting relationships—you begin to reflect:
What was my upbringing like?
Why did it unfold that way?
Why do I behave like this?

When I became aware of all this, I got angry. I felt neglected, even abused. For years, I found myself in a zigzag movement—driven by loyalty, a sense of duty, and yes, love.
Pushing them away, pulling them close.
I want to see them, and I don’t want to see them.

Now, after so many years, I’ve processed those emotions, given them a place. And what remains is only the foundation.
And that foundation is love.

Love for them.
And love for myself.

To put it briefly: experiences can leave deep scars, and they influence how someone feels and expresses love. That’s why it’s so important to acknowledge the complexity of love in relation to parents, and to work toward a healthy connection, no matter the circumstances.
Even when they’ve passed on, as mine have, this still remains relevant.

I believe that in doing this—for my parents, for myself, and for my children—I am healing something on an energetic level.

August 6, 2025 - Day 147
My father would have turned 97 today.
It’s been 25 years since he passed away.
This man was my parent. The people you grow up with are your parents. Even if they’re not your biological parents — the ones you call mom and dad are your parents.
“You just feel that,” I told my sister a few days ago.

My father took parenting seriously.
He preached his morals, often through proverbs and sayings.
He was strict and tried to be fair. Of course, in my eyes, he didn’t always succeed.
I adored him, admired him, grew disappointed in him, even came to see him as a coward.
But above all, I continued to respect him — for being the father he was to me.
And in the end, he became simply a man to me.
A human being, with his own baggage, fears, and his own story.

My mother, too — with her narcissistic personality disorder — has, in my eyes, become just that: a person.
She was as mad as a hatter, which meant I also had a lot of fun with her.
She was completely inconsistent in her behavior.
Parenting wasn’t really part of her repertoire.
But growing up with her — that was.

Because of her disorder, which was hard to recognize — both for us and for the outside world —
every family member stood alone.
It hurt. It left scars.
It shaped the way I behaved.

I believe both my parents loved us in their own way.
In a way that was within their reach — not always how I would have wanted,
but love, nonetheless.

The past is made of stories that lie behind me.
And a story, as the Dutch word suggests (verhaal), is something you pull from afar (ver).
It’s no longer the here and now.
No — I can and may take responsibility for who I am now.
The pain, the misunderstandings — they belong in the story.
They can rest in an old box, with the lid gently closed.

And so, generation after generation continues with their own histories — their own stories.

I’m aware that I, too, am a mother.
And that until recently, I was still living in my own story.
Through that, I also hurt my own children.
That is something I want to take responsibility for.

I am deeply sorry.
I love all my children with all my heart.
From now on, I can be a warm, empathetic mother — free from the confines of my story.

And yes — I loved, and still love, my parents too.

August 5, 2025 - day 146
Standing still.
That’s the moment I’m in right now.
Not a literal standstill — more a pause in the process I’ve been going through. An inner process of reflection and contemplation. Maybe even a kind of celebration of a new phase of life. One that is slowly unfolding, with patience. Like the pregnant figure under the moon arch on an Osho tarot card, one I once turned into a large painting. Not waiting in frustration, but in trust.

She reminded me:
Every seed has its season.
Every story, its sacred rhythm.
Nature knows her moments of stillness, her seasons.
I’m learning to enjoy each one, and I realize that growth takes time — and what is meant for me will come at the right moment.

So funny — I used to tell my students that patience is one of the hardest virtues for a human being.

Shuni Mudra, also known as the “seal of patience,” is practiced by bringing the tip of the middle finger to the tip of the thumb, while the other fingers remain extended and relaxed. The middle finger symbolizes the courage to take responsibility, and the thumb stands for fire and the divine. By bringing these two fingers together, patience, focus, and discipline are cultivated. It is also said that Shuni Mudra helps to create a sense of stability, and to foster compassion and understanding for others, according to a yoga teacher. It can also help transform negative thoughts and emotions into positive ones.
So, if you're looking for a way to cultivate more patience, or simply bring more balance into your life, practicing Shuni Mudra might be a good option.

Even as I take this pause, I notice how silence fills me more and more with memories — from the time I taught, and wrote lessons. Useful knowledge is returning.
My head becomes clearer.
And I let the restlessness in my body do what it wants.
The change is tangible.
I’m so happy!!!

August 4, 2025 - Day 145
Reflection

Today was my third session with the therapist — and also the last. Not because I’m “done,” but because I’m moving again. Sometimes that’s all it takes: a gentle nudge, a safe space, a mirror that doesn’t judge but simply confirms. We both felt it. My words are back in my body, and my direction is clear enough to keep going.

When I started this blog, shortly after my stroke, all I knew was that I had to write. Openly, raw, without a plan. What began as a record of recovery slowly became an inward journey. Old patterns, childhood memories, loss, love, strength, grief — everything passed through. And between the lines, I found something I had long lost: trust in my own compass.

The therapy didn’t offer a solution or bring some grand transformation. But it did confirm one thing: I’m on my way. No longer merely surviving or trying to understand, but being. Feeling. Listening. Making choices.

I look back with softness.
And I look ahead with curiosity.
That is enough for now.

The image of the lemniscate, shading from white to black and passing through many tones of grey — that’s what the therapist gave me today. I’m no longer thirty. I’ve had a stroke. And I live with an underlying neurological condition. In other words: no more extremes, no overtraining or overworking. Rest often, and keep those grey tones alive — keep them moving, keep them lived.

The lemniscate, also known as the infinity symbol (∞), carries deep spiritual meaning. It represents infinity, eternity, and the endless cycle of life and rebirth. It also reflects the dynamic interplay of opposites — like giving and receiving — and the balance between self and other. It reminds us of the importance of equilibrium, both in our inner lives and in our relationships.

A meaningful image I will surely carry with me…

 

August 3, 2025 – day 144
I only remember the end of my dream, but it was enough.

In the dream, I’m speaking with someone — I don’t know who, but it feels like a guide, a voice I trust.
We’re talking about something I once initiated, in another world: the task of creating a garden on earth.
A green space where people are allowed to simply be.
A place to recharge, to release negative influences, where healing may arise naturally.

Years have passed. And I’m invited to come and take a look.
I see a man walking through the garden. The man to whom I once gave that task.
He’s talking amiably with a woman walking beside him.
They are equals, relaxed, as if they’re sharing something — something that feels right.
And I am deeply moved. The garden is alive. Organic, breathing, true to its own pace and growth.
No rigid plan, no design, but a place that has become itself.
And I see: he did it. A little piece of heaven on earth.

Then he turns around… and I notice a small deformed arm.
I look at the voice beside me, questioning. And the voice says:
“Yes, that can happen when the incarnation doesn’t fully go as intended. The human body then shows a defect. But… it also means you remain in contact with our world.”

And then I woke up.

What is this? A metaphor for the development I’m going through now?
The workshop I once wrote, now fully lived and embodied.
It’s allowed to exist now. For me — and for others, once the book is done.
Learning to trust the natural evolution of life, despite pain, despite imperfections.
The man and woman as equals, relaxed, a complete whole.
The down-to-earth explanation for being born with a disability.

It all feels so fitting within my story.
It doesn’t matter whether I’m dreaming the dream — or the dream is dreaming me.
It gives me peace.
And meaning.

 

 

August 2, 2025 - Day 143
Questions.
Memories are resurfacing. The questions I used to receive during the workshops I gave.
If it’s truly the purpose of life for humans to reach self-realization, then how do people in areas of poverty and famine ever get there?

That’s a good question — one that zooms out beyond my personal story.
The problem is that regions plagued by poverty, hunger, and war — often as a result of exploitation — create an environment where survival takes top priority. And when survival is at stake, other human needs, such as personal growth and self-development, fade into the background.

The immediate consequences of famine — malnutrition, disease, violence — make it almost impossible to focus on self-realization.
We're talking about economic exploitation (wealthy nations extracting resources), political exploitation (corrupt regimes, foreign interference, war), or social exploitation (discrimination and inequality) — and these are everyday realities in such regions.

Achieving self-realization in places of famine is an enormous challenge.
But if we address the root causes of famine and begin to empower communities, it becomes possible to create an environment in which individuals can reach their full potential.

At that point in the workshop, I’d often explain the model of macro, meso, and micro:
The world, the nation, the individual.
Efforts must begin at the global level, then move toward local governments, and finally to the individual — to make the growth of that individual truly possible.

And then I always return to one of the quotes I wrote down from a film:
"The sword is held with the heart, only a sincere heart can move it."

This quote suggests that wielding power — especially something as potent as a sword — requires more than physical strength. It demands purpose, integrity, and alignment with the heart.

It implies that any action — especially one with far-reaching consequences — must be guided by sincere intention and a strong moral compass.
A “sincere heart” represents a pure motive.
And the ability to move the sword (or power) justly is intrinsically tied to that sincerity.

This quote can also be seen as a warning: not to use power recklessly or for selfish gain, but instead to embody ethical leadership and accountability.

Sadly, in today’s world, this is a major issue.
Leaders like Nelson Mandela are the exception.

These kinds of questions bring me back to the here and now — with the realization that on a macro level, things have only become more difficult.
Which means that countless individuals are still being denied the chance to live their potential.

And I sense a shift in myself too:
I’m no longer only occupied with my own healing,
but through reconnecting with myself,
I begin to see the world around me again.

August 1, 2025 - Day 142
Moods.

Through the rediscovery of my ‘older’ self, I notice shifts in how I experience the discomfort in my body. I’ve always had a connection to the language of my body. Being ill often as a child. That aha moment as a teenager when I discovered the book You Can Heal Your Life by Louise Hay. That awareness drastically reduced the number of illnesses I had at the time.

As a young adult, all of my complaints — even those linked to my congenital condition CMT — virtually disappeared through excessive yoga practice. At one point, I had myself examined, wondering whether I had miraculously overcome the disease. Sadly, from a scientific perspective, it was still progressing: the nerves were slowly dying, meaning the muscle strength in my legs and arms would continue to diminish.

During that intense yoga period, my sensitivity — which I had always possessed — became more pronounced. At times, it felt as if something or someone else was taking over. I called that part of me Ptah. Through it, I learned so much — about movement, philosophy, science, art, and more. It all came from within me, but didn’t feel of me.

Since I’m quite a down-to-earth person and struggled back then to combine the invisible spiritual world with daily life, I more or less threw myself into my marriage with Michel and together we started a family. That literally brought me back down to earth. Grounded — yes, even in the soggy mud, I’d say.

Twenty-five years of slogging through that mud, slowly accumulating discomforts, worries, pain. And then suddenly, the stroke in January turns out to be a turning point!
How heavy and difficult life — and my literal weight — had become.
In mid-March, I decided to take the helm and start this blog to explore what drives me. Open and raw, honest, unfiltered — and shared with the world.

What a task I gave myself. OMG.
Memories, grief, sorrow and pain — all of it passes beneath my pen.
And then, in that same wave of energy, I recently found an old box filled with journals, all kinds of notebooks filled with my writings and ideas. And I realized: the teachings of self-realization had always been present within me.
I never truly lost what I once knew. Even in retreat, even in disconnection, the wisdom remained in me.

So today, I’m taking a little distance from that box — because rediscovery can be exhausting, and my body now shows more clearly what kind of impact my knowing has when I choose not to feel, see, or experience it.

It’s the coping mechanisms that can go into the box.

Today, I’m just going to relax and watch some Netflix. Then I remember that for years I’ve been saving quotes from movies that move me in a folder on my laptop — a special file: “Quotes from Films.”
So I pick one for today. Let’s see…

“A sword filled with anger can’t even cut a rotten pumpkin.”
How beautiful is that?

I have no idea what movie that quote is from — I didn’t write it down.
But it struck me, and that’s what matters.

The expression suggests that even a powerful weapon (the sword) becomes useless if it’s wielded in blind rage (emotion), even against something simple (the rotten pumpkin).
It reminds us that emotional control and clear thinking are essential for effective action.

Most of all, I’m grateful to see that Annette — in her essence — hasn’t changed.
But what has become clearer is how growth and development really work:

Listening again,
and again.
Always a little deeper…

July 31, 2025 - Day 141

Self-realization.
Being your authentic self, allowing your unique qualities to blossom, and following your own path — free from external expectations or limitations.
It’s an inner journey of self-inquiry, awareness, and taking responsibility for your own life.

Well… I feel like I took a side road, like I got lost for a while.
But can you even really lose your way? A road is a road, isn’t it?
Maybe I’m more of an adventurer — someone who willingly strays off track to gain more experience, to learn more.
Maybe I have a truly adventurous spirit, which means I can act like that child: walking step by step out of the darkness of the woods into the light — drawn not by fear, but by a sense of wonder.
Hahaha, maybe that’s a lovely way to frame wandering or forgetting.
I don’t think I ever forgot the essence — in fact, I’m sure of it — but life did become heavy because of all that forgetting.

The box of old journals and notes is still next to me in the living room.
I wrote them all myself, twenty or thirty years ago.
Each notebook carries my handwriting, my questions, my insights, my pain.
It’s like meeting myself in layers.
Not just words on paper — but moments in time, frozen breaths I couldn’t hold on to then, but could write down.

Sometimes I randomly open a page and come face-to-face with a version of myself I had forgotten.
And yet… I recognize her.
She was already looking inward. She was already searching.
She wrote about exactly the same themes that are alive again now: projection, emotion, self-image, truth, the other as mirror.

It feels like I’m walking in a circle — but each time, one layer deeper.
I used to tell my students that we humans think and live on a horizontal timeline, but in truth, I believe it’s a vertical one — always now.
When the film Cloud Atlas came out, I was deeply moved to see that others on this earth look at life this way too.

I’m yawning and stretching, and tears keep streaming down even though I’m not crying.
My body is opening in ways I don’t always understand.
Maybe I don’t need to.
Maybe this is simply how liberation announces itself — quiet, tired, but undeniably real.

All day, I’ve been typing out notes from a workshop I once gave, which I had called Self-Realization.
And I feel a quiet, deep pride.
As if I’m taking myself by the hand, thirty years later, and saying:
“Look — you already knew this.”

I’m sitting in my own class. And I’m listening.
But… am I really listening?

Do I dare to hear everything I once wrote down?
What happened in those thirty years that makes me only now truly receive it?
Am I still the same woman?
Or have I become someone else with the same voice?

Why do I keep walking over these old paths, as if they were new?

Maybe that’s what self-realization truly is.
Not a destination.
Not enlightenment as a goal.
But this:

The willingness to look again.
To listen again.
And to keep saying yes — to who I am.

 

 

July 30, 2025 - Day 140
Floating Between Worlds (and a Cup of Coffee)

Sometimes you just don’t land.
Or at least — not fully.
Your body feels like it isn’t quite ready to have you back, as if it’s saying: “Take it easy. I’m keeping the gate slightly ajar.”

Today is one of those days.

I’ve been on a journey.
Not a sunny holiday with sandals and cocktails, but an inner voyage through old layers of myself.
A notebook, written back in 2009, found its way back into my hands.
I had more or less forgotten it, but with every sentence I recognized myself.
Not like you do when re-reading old journals — cringing with secondhand embarrassment —
but as if I were meeting myself again.
As if I already knew back then.

Realms of reflection, love, music, emotional depth, wonder — layers filled with insight that I was now allowed to feel again.
And I did feel them.
Burping, yawning, my heart making strange little leaps, my head on the verge of exploding —
until suddenly… space.
My body spoke clearly: this touched something ancient. Something true.

And you know what?
It doesn’t make me feel floaty.
It makes me feel more grounded than ever.
Because in those old words, I recognize the very choices I’ve made since.
That I’ve stayed true to what I feel most deeply, even when others didn’t understand.
That I don’t act out of revenge, or with a pointed finger —
but with care.
And sometimes with courage — even when something first startles me.

Today, I mostly feel grateful.
Grateful that I once wrote a kind of map.
And that now, all these years later, I’m walking it — in real life.

So yes… I’m tired.
Tired, and tingling.
But also clear.
A little lifted, and yet still standing in the mud of real life.
And coffee.
That helps too.

 

 

July 29, 2025 - Day 139
Birthday.

I woke up this morning with a splitting headache. The therapy is really stirring things up inside me. Yesterday, I felt the constant swirling in my guts — my solar plexus. It’s a sensation I know well, something that has always been with me, but now I suddenly became fully aware of it. When I’m emotionally triggered by someone or something, this inner spin speeds up. But because it was so clear this time, I could immediately identify what had upset me. The moment I acknowledged, recognized, and named it — the swirling stopped, like a candle flickering out.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve woken up each day with a sharp, buzzing, electric sensation in my belly and solar plexus. If I stay still and breathe slowly, it fades after a few minutes. Strange? Perhaps. It’s not something you hear people talk about — maybe no one ever does. But for me, it’s normal. I deal with so many different types of pain that I treat them casually. I’m not the type to complain about every ache and pain. If someone asks, I’ll tell them honestly. But what are they really asking when they say, “Are you doing okay?”

What if I said, “Well, I had to recover for half an hour from stabbing, pulsing pain in my torso… walking to the bathroom felt like knives in my feet… and at breakfast, my whole skin felt like it had walked through fire…”? That’s not what people want to hear. And sometimes, the little dragon in me wants to say it anyway — just to watch them squirm a little. There, now you know what discomfort feels like too.

This morning, I also noticed my vision was incredibly blurry. Double, even. At first, I thought I’d forgotten to put on my glasses. But no, glasses or not, I couldn’t read a thing. I told Ton casually that my eyesight had dropped by about 70%. “Well, let’s wait and see if it gets better. First, let’s have some coffee.” So, with both Tons (because I saw him twice), I sat down to enjoy our morning chat.

Then suddenly I went quiet… All that fussing about my eyes had distracted me — I hadn’t felt the spinning in my guts!

Why not?

Because this morning, for the first time, it wasn’t there.

The recognition and naming of my emotional trigger yesterday had led to a breakthrough. My body has apparently been in stress mode all my life. That swirling in my solar plexus — which I thought was just me — was actually stress. And when I finally saw it for what it was, it began to dissolve. And this morning, it was gone.

Usually, the whirlpool quiets down at night, but the “on-switch” stays activated. That built-up electric charge releases when I wake up, triggering the pulsing pain. But today it didn’t. My blurry vision and headache seem to be signs of a deeper process — of release, of healing.

My body and mind are working hard to return me to a version of Annette who is stronger, freer, and more grounded. Annette who can be warm. Annette who can embrace emotion.

 

 

July 28, 2025 - Day 138

I went to the CranioSacral therapist today. It was a special experience — during the treatment I had all kinds of physical sensations. At one point, when he was working near my heart, I suddenly started crying intensely.

He explained something to me using a metaphor. If you get shot by a bullet, the impact creates a massive wound. But if a needle enters your body and you do nothing about it, it might slowly travel through the tissue over the course of years — and one day come out, say, through your leg. The sharp tip gradually makes its way through the body, slicing through layers at a glacial pace, while the tissue behind it quietly closes again.

It might even pass through organs without doing damage.

In his philosophy, the pericardium — the sac around the heart — functions in a similar way. It protects the heart, but pain and emotion can pass through it. When the pain or trauma is too severe, however, the pericardium can start to harden.

If this keeps happening, like it did with me, it turns into a kind of impenetrable armor. The result? New pain and emotion can’t reach the heart anymore — it becomes numb. And likewise, the love and warmth that live inside you can’t get out either, because the shell is too thick.

I hope I’m capturing his explanation correctly here. I believe this was what he meant by what’s happening around my heart.

Apparently, the treatment will continue working through the coming week. So I’m curious to see what will unfold.

During the conversation before the session, I stumbled over the word “sadness.” He used it as just another emotion. And something in me reacted to that.

What is sadness, really? Isn’t it just a big container people use to throw everything into? “How are you feeling?” “Sad.” That’s too easy. Too vague. I can’t work with that.

I even told him: “If Ton talked to me like this, about emotions in such general terms, we’d probably end up fighting.”

The relationship with a therapist is different, so I tried to channel my resistance a bit.

As we talked, I slowly realized something: the real feeling, the raw emotion — I had tucked that away long ago. No, not just tucked it away. I buried it in my heart, built a wall around it, and sold the sledgehammer.

I always say: “I don’t know. I really don’t. I don’t understand it.”

But it’s not my fault. This is a survival mechanism I’ve used since I was very young. I always thought, “It wasn’t that bad.”

But it was that bad.

Little by little, it shut me off from the warm, loving woman I could have been — a woman without fear, without shame.

Let’s just say: I’ve bought back the sledgehammer. And I’ve already taken one solid hit at the wall around my heart.

Still a long way to go.
Work in progress.

July 27, 2025 - Day 137
Shadow Journal

I started this blog as a form of self-coaching—or rather, an inner travel journal—after my stroke. I never could have imagined it would have such a profound impact on me. Consciously observing what moves me, exploring why I fall into certain emotions, examining the memories that resurface, and translating my dreams—it’s a lot, and it’s complex.

I approach my journal with openness and honesty, sharing it as a blog with the world. But there’s a catch to being this committed: sometimes there are even deeper feelings that I don't want—or can’t—express publicly. I don’t want to be mysterious, but I think it’s fair to say that some experiences inside me feel deeper or more painful than what can be seen or heard. After all, everyone carries their own kind of secrets.

Let’s call them secrets, but perhaps they are better described as inner truths that feel fundamentally different from what others around you might understand. Sometimes I feel fear about revealing them, and sometimes I want to protect others from being hurt by them. I think everyone has the right to protect their inner world—to themselves and to their surroundings. I honor that right, both for myself and for others.

This way of writing—as an inner journey—is slowly becoming a form of inner liberation. That’s why I feel it’s necessary to begin, alongside this diary, a Shadow Journal. In a sense, to grant myself a deeper release. To become like a lotus flower rising from the mud, reaching toward the light, purifying the waters around me.

I want to treat this Shadow Journal with respect and reverence. That’s why I’ve given it a name, and written a dedication at the beginning of the book. I’d like to share it with you…

Dear book, I name you Ptah.
To you I entrust my deepest stirrings. They may contain my anger and unresolved emotions, in the hope that one day they may crystallize. They may hold my thoughts that others aren’t ready to hear, or that are too hurtful to share with the outside world. After all, everyone develops their inner life at their own pace. With respect for myself and others, I offer my thoughts to you… my Ptah.

July 26, 2025 - Day 136

For the past few weeks, I’ve been taking new medication. It doesn’t really matter which medication—it’s what it’s doing to me that matters. Yesterday the cardiologist called to ask if I’d noticed anything. Very casually, I told him I hadn’t noticed a thing. And that’s true! At least not in relation to the reason I was prescribed them. On that front, nothing has changed.

But a few hours later, I got up from my chair and felt my upper legs completely stiff and sore. Suddenly, the familiar “Willy Wortel” lightbulb went off. Every morning I wake up stiff with pain in my shoulder blades and upper arms—so bad that I need at least an hour before I can move my arms at all. The stiffness in the rest of my body is nothing compared to it—the pain is too sharp, too dominant.

I’m not someone who reacts quickly when my body signals discomfort. I usually find some kind of explanation: poor sleep, too much activity, overexertion, you name it. Or I assume it’s my body expressing a mental pain—though that particular pain hasn’t surfaced yet. And so you keep spinning in circles. Of course, sometimes that explanation is right—but not always.

Since yesterday, the dosage of the medication has been increased. My head is spinning and buzzing again, and the stiffness and pain have increased significantly. Only now does it dawn on me: it’s the meds!

I tell my husband (who happens to be a doctor), and of course it turns into a discussion—he says I’m giving off too many mixed signals. Sigh. Instead of letting it spiral into a disagreement, I took a step back, mentally. Half an hour later, he came into my room, and I was able to calmly explain what I’ve been experiencing, how I view it, and what I want to do—namely, stop taking the meds immediately.

I’m not entirely sure what changed in that hour, but this time it wasn’t a discussion—it became a plan we could both stand behind. Apparently, I found the right tone.

I’m curious to see how soon I’ll notice a difference. I wonder if I’ve sensed this correctly. A bit odd, really—that it took more than three weeks before I connected the medication to my discomfort.

Taking meds has never really been my thing—it feels unnatural. On the other hand, it’s a good thing they exist. So here too, Annetje needs to find balance and learn how to handle it. That will happen by staying alert, and not taking discomfort for granted.

Maybe that’s a wise idea to apply across the board in my life:
don’t take discomfort for granted.

July 25, 2025 - Day 135
Climbing Kids.
We went biking again today, off to the climbing park.
It was so fun watching the girls scramble and zip-line from tree to tree.

Standing among the trees, looking up at them fearlessly navigating the course, I felt a deep joy watching them do something so free, so physical.

I’ve always enjoyed watching the people I love move — really move.
There’s no memory in me of jealousy, no frustration about not being able to do those things myself.
I’ve spent my whole life on the sidelines, physically limited.
It’s all I’ve ever known.

Now that I think more about it, as a child, I did feel anxious whenever we went to the playground.
It was anything but fun for me.
Outings like that were pure torture.
As I grew older, I just avoided them altogether.

Eventually, I accepted my limitations.
Somehow, that never stood in the way of friendships.
Because of my laid-back attitude, I was never a burden.
We still had fun — even if I had to sit things out for a while.

Later, when I had kids of my own, I loved watching them move, full of life and energy.
But I was extremely jumpy and anxious.
If they walked near an edge or balanced on something, I’d panic.

Michel, my husband at the time, helped me unlearn that.
He said I had to trust their healthy sense of balance — that they needed to explore, to climb and tumble, to become physically confident.
He was right.

When they were little, I was scared of everything.
Now, with my grandkids, I feel none of that fear.

I feel pride watching them climb — and invent ways to reach the next step.
Maybe it’s because I’m older and wiser.

I no longer project my own immobility onto others.
That alone is a huge shift.

I now clearly experience the world differently than people who are physically healthy.
But I truly feel joy watching others do what I cannot.

And that’s something, isn’t it?
It feels good to recognize something positive about myself — to shine a little light on it.

Who knows, maybe I’ll discover more of these glimmers over time.

July 24, 2025 - Day 134
My Granddaughters.
This morning, my two granddaughters arrived — two sweet girls, aged 8 and 10.
Of course, they're always sweet. But maybe that’s because they only visit grandma a few times a year.

They don’t live nearby, and they lead busy lives.
Both of them come from blended families — two dads, two moms, and five sets of grandparents. Add to that tennis, judo, gymnastics, school, and friends.

Honestly, I had always pictured something very different when I imagined myself as a grandmother.
I thought they’d live nearby, coming and going freely, calling their parents to say, “I’m staying for dinner at grandma’s” or “I’ll sleep over.”
I imagined them dropping by after school, a little art table waiting for them in the corner of my studio — part of my daily life.
A place to rest, unwind. Nothing expected, just being.

But that’s not how it turned out.
Every time I see them, they’ve grown taller.
It’s becoming painfully clear that I’m not a regular part of their world, just an occasional visit.

For the first time, they brought their bikes. That gave me a sense of freedom — movement.
In the summer, I often feel trapped in my apartment when I have guests, especially children. Winter is different.
Normally I have to rely on my car to take them somewhere, but that usually means walking once we get there — which is exhausting for me.
Then I’m surviving more than enjoying.

Today we biked to the woods to walk the dogs.
Well — they walked the dogs while I sat on a bench.
After that, we biked to a thrift store in the Alblasserwaard, then headed into the town center for ice cream, and the girls wanted to do some “shopping.”

It was lovely. I felt free and happy, biking along with those little darlings trailing behind me.

It’s strange, but with my granddaughters I’m able to cuddle.
Not for long — but I do it, and I enjoy it.

I never did that with my own children. I never liked it either.
Ridiculous, isn’t it?
I’m such a complex and quirky woman.

Are my own children too close? And so what if they are?
Do my grandkids have just enough distance?
Or is it simply because I see them less often?

Does it have to do with my own growth?
Am I more open now than I was 30 years ago?

I don’t know. But I do notice the difference.

They’re asleep now.
Tomorrow, I’ll go on spoiling them some more.
Just soaking it in.

July 23, 2025 - Day 133
Open Book.
Now that the book has been opened again, I figured I might as well look into what’s currently known in the Netherlands about my condition — CMT type 1.

There’s a Charcot-Marie-Tooth expertise center, linked to the AMC, LUMC, Erasmus, and Radboud.
I was diagnosed in Leiden 50 years ago.
Time to see if there are any breakthroughs, because if there are, I might consider reconnecting with the system.

I read everything on their website.
Honestly? No major breakthroughs that I can see.
Still no certainty about whether muscle training helps.
For some, yes; for others, no. Why? Nobody knows.
Still the same support with orthotic shoes and devices. Psychological support — same as 50 years ago.

Symptoms still vary wildly, even within families with the same gene mutation.
There are new studies, especially at the AMC — with groups of about 50 people.
But no clear conclusions yet.

Apparently there are now 1600 known CMT patients in the Netherlands.
Fifty years ago, there were 13.
That means roughly 1 in every 11,250 people now has this disorder.
In my town alone, there are three of us.

It’s still rare — but we’re moving forward.
The more data there is, the greater the chance for future treatment.

I’m not exactly fired up yet, but I am going to reach out — maybe I can learn something new.
Hopefully, I can enter that conversation on equal footing.
Not as a “patient,” but as someone who might contribute to the science — and learn from it in return.
If it turns into the typical doctor-patient dynamic again, I’ll walk away.

I’ve mentioned my CMT in the hospital multiple times — especially how it might affect recovery post-stroke.
But I’m still treated as if I’m a healthy person who simply had a stroke.

It’s become very clear to me: there’s more going on inside me than they’ve considered.
Now that I’ve reopened the book, I started looking into this too — and yes, Annette was right again.

A person with both Charcot-Marie-Tooth disease and a stroke faces a complex combination of neurological challenges:

• CMT already causes muscle weakness and coordination issues.
  
  
• A stroke can exacerbate this — even leading to hemiplegia or further loss of control.
  
  
• Cognitive symptoms after a stroke (memory loss, difficulty concentrating) worsen the daily impact of CMT.
  
  
• Emotional shifts post-stroke (irritability, apathy, impulsivity) layer more struggle on top.
  
  
• Central pain syndrome after stroke can intensify pain already present with CMT.
  
  
• Fatigue from either condition complicates rehab.
  
  

Treatment must be tailored.
On top of CMT management, there’s the need for intensive rehab:
Physio, occupational therapy, speech therapy, cognitive training.
The goal: to improve mobility, communication, mental clarity, and overall quality of life.

So here’s my question:
If I can look this up, why aren’t the specialists doing the same?
Why don’t they take my medical history seriously?
When someone has diabetes, it’s considered in every treatment plan — why not with CMT?

Why can’t they just say, “We’re not familiar enough with this. Let’s refer you to Erasmus”?
What is it with that system?
Why must I always reinvent the wheel?

I’m already chronically tired by nature.
But this makes me even more exhausted.

Sorry, but letting off a little steam about how the healthcare system works actually feels pretty good.

That amazing therapist from Monday gave me something vital:
The energy to stand up for myself again.

My grandchildren are coming to stay for a few days.
So next week, I’ll follow up on all this — with energy, intention, and clear boundaries.

 

 

July 22, 2025 - Day 132
Flabbergasted.
True to his word, the therapist I saw yesterday sent me some reading material on consciousness and co-dependency from a professional journal. I was stunned by what I read.
Not just the content, but also the evolution of psychiatry — how it's increasingly approached through a holistic lens. How psychoanalysis is being reframed, and how insights are expanding to include the human being within the context of their social networks, family dynamics, partnerships, and more.

How will this be described in DSM III? What treatment approaches will follow? We’re talking here about theories from the 1970s, 80s, and 90s — exactly the period in which I was diagnosed, and eventually walked away from the medical world altogether.

You can clearly see that, especially back then, there were many different approaches and even progressive insights. From experience, I know that Dutch medical science — including psychiatry, psychology, and neurology — is deeply conservative and painfully slow when it comes to implementing new perspectives.
My disappointment in that system led me to shut the book completely.

But because of that one conversation yesterday, and the articles about co-dependency and consciousness, I’ve opened that book again.
And suddenly I remembered — my psychologist eight years ago had hinted at the exact same thing my therapist suggested yesterday.
At the time it sounded plausible, but it clearly didn’t land with the same impact as it did now.

So what is co-dependency, really?
Co-dependency is a behavioral pattern where someone’s feelings and needs are overly tied to those of another — often a partner, family member, or friend.
It’s a dynamic where someone erases themselves, putting their own well-being below that of the other — often believing they are helping, but at great cost.

A few key traits of co-dependency:

• Hyper-focus on the well-being of others, while neglecting one's own needs.
  
  
• Self-worth tied to the approval and reactions of others, rather than coming from within.
  
  
• Difficulty setting healthy boundaries, often overextending oneself for others.
  
  
• Attempts to control or fix the other, hoping to “save” them.
  
  
• A deep fear of abandonment or rejection.
  
  
• Suppressed personal identity and stalled emotional development.
  
  
• Fatigue, stress, emptiness, and often toxic relationships that lack healthy balance.
  
  
• Low self-esteem and an overreliance on external validation.
  
  
• Frequently rooted in childhood — environments that lacked emotional care, or were abusive or neglectful.
  
  

This summary is for myself — and for anyone reading this blog — a basic outline of what co-dependency entails.

The full articles I received went much deeper, with examples that moved me deeply.
I couldn’t stop reading — tears streaming down my face.
The recognition hit me hard.
A bullseye.

 

 

July 21, 2025 - Day 131

Supertramp.
This morning I got up on time because I had an appointment with a Craniosacral therapist — just a conversation to begin with. And right away, it felt completely right.
For me, this man is a conversation partner in optima forma — and that’s not something I say lightly, so it must mean something.
Did he touch on something urgent or deeply confronting? No, not exactly. But I did feel that he understands me — and as I wrote yesterday, that is incredibly important to me.

I got the sense that he might be able to stimulate my brain in such a way that he’ll pick up on something that hits me directly — something I can immediately work with.
He gave me some light behavioral guidance. Not that it was anything I hadn’t heard before, but it served as a reminder — a gentle push in the right direction.

If I had expected the conversation to go a certain way, I was mistaken. It took a completely different turn. Of course — a classic eye-opener.
It didn’t go into my family or my children, but rather into my relationships — my partners.
Funny, really, because those are the people you spend the most time with. The most emotionally intense connections. How I perceive them — and what I feel toward them — actually says a great deal about myself.

Yes, I would say the conversation gave me new insights. And as always, insight gives me peace — the sense that I’ve moved forward somehow, that I’ve learned something. Growth in awareness, toward consciousness.
Yes, reflecting on it now — it was a really good conversation and a wonderful start to my day.

When I got home, the song "Goodbye Stranger" by Supertramp kept playing in my mind. Over and over I found myself singing it.
So what does this mean?
I always pay attention to dreams or random thoughts that come out of the blue — they always have something to tell me.

"Goodbye Stranger" is a song about letting go of a relationship and embracing the future.
It’s about accepting change and looking forward, even in the face of sadness and uncertainty. The song speaks to a kind of emotional detachment, and the recognition that something is over.
The “stranger” becomes a symbol of a new phase — a future still unknown.

Yes — I can definitely work with that.
Grateful for this therapist — this conversation partner.
It turned today into something beautifully light.

 

July 20, 2025 - Day 130

Understanding.

Today was okay. I slept last night — I’d rate it a 7 minus. So, definitely room for improvement. Lately I wake up every morning with intense pain in my upper arms. It takes half an hour before I can move them without too much pain, and hours before it stops bothering me. It never fully goes away. But… like I said, it was still a good day.

What about my head? Still foggy, dull, and buzzing.

Ton and I went on a mission today to find mason jars in North Brabant. Above the rivers, shops like Boerenbond are closed on Sundays. But here in the Catholic south, things work differently — they have their own pact with God. As long as you can confess, anything goes.
It suddenly occurred to me that I might’ve had fewer issues with my darker sides if I’d grown up Catholic. Who knows?

Back to reality. I do feel calmer than I did last week.
Tomorrow I have an appointment with a Craniosacral therapist, and August 11th I’ll see a psychologist.
I’m finally taking the bull by the horns.

I noticed I really want to explain to Ton how emotions work for me — and how that’s connected to my condition. I thought, “This is the moment. I feel grounded.”
But while I was talking, he started to interrupt me, with a disapproving look on his face.
Instantly, the noise in my head grew louder. Rage surged through me.
Thankfully, Ton pulled back. No shouting match like earlier this week.
Still, his face looked wounded, and he chose to go do his own thing. Probably wise. It gave me space to let the blood simmer down.

Now, as I write, my head feels just as numb as earlier this week — the buzzing is back full force.

What happened just now?
I think I know.

It’s so hard to explain what I feel. Not just the emotions, but how my body works.
I’ve faced this all my life. I look “normal.”
You can now see that I limp — but it kind of fits with my age and my stylish walking stick.
I’m cheerful about 95% of the time. That’s my default.

Hilde said to me yesterday, “I used to get angry at how people treated you — but you always laughed it off.”
Yep. In public, I’d rather laugh than cry.

It’s hard for people to know how I’m really doing.

I remember my little boy once said, “Mama, sorry, but I forget you have a disability.”
If your own child doesn’t see it, what can you expect from others?

Specialists may know all the symptoms, but they don’t understand the impact — the complexity — of living with my neurological condition.
I once told Prof. A.R. Wintzen, a renowned neuromuscular specialist, that while he may know everything scientifically, I know how this disease feels.
He completely agreed.
We had a long, heartfelt talk. I still remember it.
It brought me peace — because I felt understood.

That’s what I long for: understanding.
Maybe even more than love.

Being misunderstood is torture.
But — I don’t know how to relate to healthy people.
There’s no recognition.
We’re all human, sure — but that’s where it ends.

I’ve spent a lifetime trying to be “normal.”
But I’m not.
I’m a different species — shaped by a malfunctioning body and everything that’s come with it.

Recognition often comes through shared experience.
So how can anyone understand my body?
How could I possibly understand theirs?

Understanding is tied to recognition.
And I’m checkmated before I even begin to explain.
So why do I keep trying?

Am I a masochist?

Why do I keep asking for understanding?

I feel lonely.
Not when I’m alone — but when I’m with people.
My husband, my children, my friends, my family.
People make me lonely.

 

 

 

July 19, 2025 - Day 129

On Hilde’s advice, we got up early this morning to go for a bike ride. It was going to be a hot day, and riding in the heat is never pleasant. So we planned to go to bed on time — which in our case still turned out to be 1:30 a.m. Unfortunately, I couldn’t fall asleep because of the pain in my body and the persistent noise in my head. Around 5:30 a.m., after taking two paracetamols, I finally drifted off.

Ton and I had agreed to be on our bikes by 10:00 a.m. The alarm went off at 8:30. Dizzy and completely exhausted, I decided to stick to our plan anyway.
Haha — it’s always a challenge for Ton to be somewhere on time. He tends to do everything at the last minute or arrives just a bit late. I’m the opposite: I prefer to be half an hour early.
Unbelievably, this time we were on our bikes at exactly 9:53! The temperature was perfect — not too hot, not too cold, just pleasantly mild.

Hilde had told us about a nice spot she often visits. Ton and I have been together for seven and a half years now, and for the first time this week we had real tension between us. Thankfully, that’s behind us again. Normally, we’re not quite on the same wavelength. I’ll think we should go right, and he’ll think we should go left. No problem — sometimes I adjust, other times he does.
But today something different happened. I came up with a route we’d never done before — and Ton had thought of the exact same one. That happened a few times today. Wow — so we can be in tune.
Maybe my emotional earthquake earlier this week had something to do with it? Or maybe we're both adjusting. That distance between us really wasn’t nice. Hopefully we both learned something from it.

On the way I said, “Hey, what if Hilde and her boyfriend show up too? Could happen.”
And sure enough, after our first cup of coffee, they walked in. I was glad to see her.
I’ve always had friends I see from time to time, but Hilde is the only one I used to see at least once a week. We also went on holidays together, while our partners stayed home watching TV. Since she started a new relationship, I hardly see her anymore.
She’s enjoying a different kind of life now — and that’s beautiful for her. But for me, it’s different. I miss our time together, the depth of our conversations.
We’ve built a unique language and rhythm over the years — one glance is enough to understand each other. Being with her feeds my soul.
Lately, though, my soul has been starving.
I know life changes. I accept that. And when one door closes, another opens. I can’t see it yet, but I trust that something new will come — something that will nourish me again.

July 18, 2025 - Day 128
It’s now clear that I’m dealing with shock from stress.

The numbness. The buzzing in my head. Even a loss of strength on the right side of my body — it hasn’t gone away.

I’m relieved I’ve got an appointment with a psychologist, but it’s confronting to feel this way.

Ton and I went cycling today — just to move, to be outside. It was a welcome distraction.
But the foggy feeling in my head and the loud buzzing is still so intense that I can barely concentrate. Writing is hard.

Ton noticed my right arm and leg are weak again.
And then I wonder — did I have another TIA?
Was the short-circuit in my brain really that intense?
Or is this a kind of setback after an intense stress response?

It feels like a good decision to work on this with a professional.
I’m completely in the dark myself — no clue why my reaction is so extreme.

So what does happen after a shock from stress?
It often refers to the emotional and physical response to a stressful event — where someone feels shocked or like they’ve lost control.

It can manifest as acute stress disorder, with symptoms that usually fade within a month,
or as post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) if it lingers longer.

Yes, that’s exactly what it felt like — loss of control.

Let’s just hope this buzzing and all these strange sensations ease within a month.
Pffft. That’s what I’m aiming for!

Can I just say — out loud, even — that this year has dealt me a really rough hand?
Seriously, it’s not easy sometimes.

But… I keep telling myself:
Chin up, Netje. Keep going. Go on, goat. 🐐

 

 

July 17, 2025 - Day 127
Lies

I’ve been lied to my whole life.
As a child, a teenager, and an adult, I’ve confronted my parents multiple times, asking them to admit the lies they had told me.

When it became clear my father didn’t have long to live, I begged him to tell the truth.
My mother was made of lies — I sensed that already when I was three — and I never had the feeling it would change.

My father was different.
As far as I could tell, he was a righteous man, so I hoped he would open up near the end of his life. But no.
He looked at me with his blue eyes, helpless.
I’ll never forget those eyes, suddenly deep wells of sorrow. It’s the last vivid image I have of him — sitting in his chair, one leg folded under the other.

My mother heard my question and came rushing out of the kitchen, screaming that I had always been a spiteful brat and how dare I still ask questions now.
She told me to get out of the house before she’d throw me out herself.
I was no longer welcome.

A few months later, on the day he died — Christmas Day — I was allowed to come.
Everyone took turns sitting with him.
Not me.
I sat there in a kind of trance, observing everything from a distance.

After he passed, the family doctor — who was also my doctor — came to the house.
When he stood by my father’s side, I walked over for the first time.
It was just the two of us — the doctor and me — and my father’s body.
The doctor put an arm around my shoulder.
I sobbed: “What do I do now? My mother took away my contact with him. I was never allowed to speak to him again.”

The doctor said, “Do you respect your father?”
“Yes, of course,” I said.
“Well,” he replied, “if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that he respected you, too.”
Those words gave me peace.

That spring, Michel and I were at our little holiday cottage with the kids.
My youngest brother called to say he wanted to stop by with our mother.
“She has something to tell us,” he said.

“Yes, come,” I replied. “But I already know what she wants to say.”
He had called on a Tuesday, but he said she couldn’t come until Friday — she had bridge club and some other nonsense.
That hit me the wrong way.
So I said, “I get that you don’t want to say it, but if it’s what I think it is, then you come NOW. She’s spent forty years condemning me for this, and now she needs to finish her card game first?”

He agreed and brought her that day.

She walked in laughing and gave me a hug — something she had never done before, and never did again.
She said, “Yes, you know, don’t you?”
“You were right all along. So shall we just forgive and forget?”

Seriously — that was the whole conversation.
She laughed through it, like forty years of lies were some kind of joke.

After they left and Michel came home with the kids, something happened to my brain.
Everything went numb and started buzzing.
In bed, my head grew hot — burning hot — like thousands of worms writhing through my skull.
In the middle of the night, I stood under the shower hoping it would ease.

Michel said, “I don’t get it. You finally hear what you’ve always said was true. Shouldn’t it be over now?”

No. That strange feeling in my head didn’t go away.
I had literally short-circuited.

My sister and I both went to our doctor, and he gave us a referral to a psychologist.
(That doctor, by the way, is now my husband — but that’s another story.)

The psychologist explained that I had physically sensed a shift.
Imagine all the information you gather over the years as a kind of library.
For forty years, you’ve been told lies. You’ve been denied and dismissed — sometimes violently.
So that information gets shelved somewhere deep — fourth shelf, right corner.

Then suddenly you find out you were right all along.
Now that information belongs on the first shelf, front and center.
But your brain can’t reorganize that instantly — it short-circuits.
That’s what I felt.
It was a massive experience.

This week, after my sons left on Tuesday, it happened again.
The numbness. The buzzing.
Today, I only managed ten minutes of rehab — I literally fell off my bike because my brain was behaving so strangely.

Something’s really off mentally right now.
I managed to book an appointment with a psychologist for August 11 — pretty quick, considering the waitlists.
I just hope my brain calms down a bit in the meantime.
It’s a little unsettling.

But I’m going to trust it’ll be okay.
That’s all I can do for now.

July 16, 2025 - Day 126
Numbness

After my sons left yesterday, I had a terrible headache, sore eyes, and aching jaws. I haven’t been able to sleep well this entire week — just short naps throughout the day. But last night I slept for nine hours and fifteen minutes straight.

When I woke up, I felt numb. And that numbness stayed with me all day. I was clearly cut off from all emotion and unable to hold a conversation with anyone. It’s evening now, and the numbness is slowly starting to fade.

In line with the mission I had when I started this blog, I decided to look into the meaning behind this emotional numbness.

Emotional numbness: when feeling becomes too much.
It’s a heavy-sounding term — and sometimes, it really is.
It’s that familiar flat feeling. You don’t feel joy, but you’re not exactly sad either. You’re not angry, but you’re not relaxed. You float somewhere in between, living on autopilot. It often happens when you’ve been under long-term stress. It’s a clear sign that something is off.

So what is emotional numbness?
It’s the inability to fully feel or express emotions. Even expressing emotions becomes difficult. It’s like being switched off. You’re here, but not really present. Life happens around you, and you watch it like a movie — from a distance, not really involved.

Derealization can be part of this. A form of dissociation in which the world around you doesn’t feel real. This is deeply familiar to me — honestly, it’s been there all my life. But it’s been a long time since I’ve felt this numbness so clearly.

It’s obvious now that this is one of my coping mechanisms. A way to deal with stressful situations or overwhelming emotions. Strategies I use to survive difficult experiences.

So why does this happen?
Emotional numbness is the brain’s way of protecting itself.
Stress, overload, sensory overwhelm or trauma — it can get to a point where the system shuts down part of your experience in order to protect you. Like a shock absorber. The brain disconnects you from emotional pain to avoid further harm.

You’re in survival mode — shielding yourself from situations that demand too much.

What does emotional numbness feel like?
Often the signals are subtle.
You stop enjoying the things that used to bring joy.
Good news gets a flat reaction.
When something ends, you don’t feel sadness — but not relief either.
The dominant feelings are fatigue and emptiness.

This is so familiar.
I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned it in this blog before, but I’ve noticed for years that my emotions have become very flat.
To the point where I can’t even relate to the sadness or joy of others anymore.

I’ve known this about myself for a while now. But today, I can see it more clearly for what it is: emotional numbness.

My son touched on a trauma yesterday, and I think I need to seek help to bring this “little monster” inside me into the light.
To confront it.
To process it in a healthy way so I can finally leave it behind.

Tomorrow I have my rehab session, so I’ll make an appointment with my GP for Friday.

July 15, 2025 - Day 125
My boys were with us today.

It turned into a difficult conversation about the past. I got very emotional, and afterward, I regretted that deeply. When I react like that, I don’t leave space to truly listen and hear what lives inside the other. Damn it!!!

It’s clear that as long as I still carry unresolved things within myself, I will continue to respond emotionally. And yet I know how to hold space in a conversation. I know how to create a safe environment. But no — I go straight into panic mode. As a mother, that makes me feel completely worthless.

There are many things I’ve buried so deeply I don’t even consciously remember them anymore. My memory is like Swiss cheese — dark holes where anything too painful to process simply disappeared. Talking about it makes me feel desperate. So much helplessness, and worse: feeling the pain without having the memories.

Within our family, so much pain lies buried. Michel is gone, and back then I felt like a ship that had taken heavy damage in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, drifting aimlessly, completely alone in the world.

By now, I’ve realized that my survival mechanism is so strong that my children ran up against it too. Their mother is a fortified concrete wall when it comes to emotions. Except, of course, when something triggers me — and then I explode like a hysterical piglet. Also completely out of proportion.

I think there’s still a long way to go between me and my children.
Can I open those armored concrete doors of my soul?
Or is it wiser to keep them shut?

Some psychiatrists have backed away from the idea that every locked door of the soul must be forced open. They wonder: perhaps the protection is there for survival. If a severe trauma is buried deep, and someone is otherwise functioning well, why dig it up?

I don’t know. Maybe one day I’ll be ready to talk about it — assuming the memories come back. The pain is already there. I believe it will surface when the time is right. Forcing it makes no sense. That also goes for the children. We can only move forward when all of us are ready...

Heavy evening. Eyes full of pain.
But still — I’m glad the boys came for dinner.
One day, as a family, we will make it through this.

July 14, 2025 - Day 124
Chaos

The chaos in my head is not the enemy. It’s a signal—an invitation to pause, turn inward, and listen. Not to fix myself, but to find myself again. Honesty, self-reflection, and the courage to let go of assumptions—that’s what leads to peace. Not by giant leaps, but with one small, honest question: How am I really doing?
I allow myself to answer that truthfully:
“I’m mostly just tired.”

For months now, I’ve been working hard—both physically and mentally—to change what needs changing, to preserve what’s worth keeping, and ultimately to find more acceptance and inner peace. It’s been a rollercoaster. Today I couldn’t get going at all. Thoughts started swirling again:
Why am I so tired again?
Am I lazy?
Do I need to push harder?
Be tougher on myself?
Or is it okay to just listen to this fatigue?
Can I decide not to judge myself for it?

Yes. I choose to pause. And that gives me space to feel. It makes it clearer that I’ve been pushing so hard to “get better”—but again, without building in true rest. Just pushing ahead, full force, in classic Annette style.
So today, out of self-respect, I hit the brakes. I rested. I took little naps. I trusted that this would bring me back to my strength.

I’m definitely someone of extremes—learning, still, to find balance. Maybe I’ve always been striving for perfection. Maybe that’s why I take everything so seriously and intensely. This journey is a serious one, yes—but perfection is not the goal. Growth through chaos, through honesty and self-reflection—that is the path I’ve been consciously walking for over half a year now.

And I see more and more clearly that the chaos in my head is allowed to be there. I don’t need to act on it. I can just observe—and ask myself a question when needed.

Yesterday was a complete mindfuck. My husband was the victim—in my thoughts. Everything he said or did annoyed me. I rarely think so harshly about someone, especially not someone close. Some people lash out when angry—I don’t. But holding all those negative thoughts inside for a whole day totally drains me. Exhausting.

I already sensed it last night while writing my blog. Today I pulled the emergency brake. I gave myself the gift of REST.
And it feels good—so good—to see my own patterns, to witness my own thoughts, and to just be honest about them.
It really doesn’t matter.
Because all of it comes from a good heart.

July 13, 2025 - Day 123
Loving...

Another tricky concept. What is loving someone? Can you actually feel love? I can feel pain. I can feel shame. I can feel guilt. I can feel infatuation. But love...? I’m not so sure. It doesn’t feel like an active emotion. I say: “I love my children, my husband, my friends.” But why do I say that? Because I feel something? Not really. Is it attachment? Maybe, but that’s not a word I strongly relate to. If someone is close by, or even gone from my life, I can cope either way.

I enjoy someone’s presence—maybe that’s it? Yes, that seems to fit. I accept someone as they are—yes, I try to, as much as possible. And when I struggle with that, I try to look within myself to understand why. I trust that person. Yes, that’s important. I don’t trust many people—but I do trust my husband, my children, and my friends.

I try to support those I believe I love in their interests—as long as it doesn’t mean I have to adopt those interests myself. I’m generally kind, though maybe my gestures are small, even invisible. As far as I know, my intentions are always good.

My husband is the nurturing type. You’d think that’s nice—and to a point, it is. But for me, it can also feel suffocating. Especially now, when things are physically harder for me, he tries so hard to ease my burden. “If you do this, then that,” or “if you feel this way, then try that.” It drives me nuts! To the point where I start fantasizing about leaving—though I don’t know how or where I’d go—I just want to escape the suffocation. Time and again I’ve told him not to baby me, and time and again he doesn’t listen.

Today it got too much. I told him I’d just about reached my limit. He eventually responded: “I understand,” and walked off like a wounded puppy. Half an hour later, he came back and told me he’d been listening to Leonard Cohen. Tears in his eyes, he said: “His lyrics are so beautiful.”
“There is a crack in everything—that’s how the light gets in.”

That’s when he gets me. All that mental chaos about what love even is melted away. Yes, we need some brokenness to see beauty. We need to experience struggle and resistance to be able to recognize light. If that’s possible—then maybe that’s what love really is.

 

 

July 12, 2025 - Day 122
.Logic.

Logic is a fundamental part of philosophy and is used to analyze philosophical arguments. It's crucial in mathematics as well, helping to construct and evaluate mathematical proofs. In short, logic is a powerful tool for clear thinking, analyzing reasoning, and constructing valid arguments. But what is logical thinking? Logical thinking—or logical reasoning—means focusing on a particular task by following a step-by-step thought process. Simply put: you analyze a situation and arrive at a reasonable, sensible conclusion. Logic is based on rational thought, while spirituality often emphasizes subjective experiences and intuition.

And that’s where I find myself—on both sides. On one hand, I’m a fairly down-to-earth person who logically examines cause and effect. On the other hand, I’m also guided by impulses, intuition, and sudden, inexplicable experiences. How do I put this? I try to use logic to recognize connections and gain insight, which in turn deepens my spiritual awareness. Or... does that already sound too woolly?

It’s an awareness of a deeper connection between myself and the world around me—and maybe even beyond that. I always refer to “the universe,” because I feel part of it. “God” is a difficult concept for me—too abstract. I can’t picture anything concrete. The only thing I can think is that it must be something that lives within me, and within everything and everyone around me. So either everything is divine—or nothing is. A binary thought, perhaps, but in my logic, it’s all just + and – or 1 and 0.

Apparently I’m in a philosophical mood today. But who really knows how things work? I don’t think anyone does. Everyone follows their own beliefs, the ones that feel right to them. Sometimes I feel like a figure in an Escher painting, where everything is connected and yet makes no logical sense. Maybe that’s the point—that there’s coherence in life, in the events that happen, but not always logic. Maybe it’s impossible to let go as long as we’re searching for logic. Maybe trusting in the coherence is enough. Maybe we don’t need to know the meaning behind it. Maybe that is what true letting go means…

 

 

July 11, 2025 - Day 121
Besties

In my life, I’ve had three besties. Fifteen long-time friends, more than 30 years of friendship, and among them, these three besties: Carina, Birgit, and Hilde.

Because I spent the day yesterday with Carina, I suddenly started thinking about what all my besties have in common—and what I have in common with them. Birgit sadly passed away last year, but that’s not what my thoughts are about now. What strikes me is how I myself "do" best-friendship.

For me, a bestie is someone I spend a very intense period of time with—often daily. These kinds of bonds intertwine deeply with personal life, and vice versa. Since Carina has been my bestie since school, something became clear to me.

This pattern also applies to Birgit and Hilde, and really to all my other friends. Carina and I were in the same class, besties, but we each had separate circles of friends. We went out with different people.

Carina, Birgit, and Hilde have always had broader social circles—many people they called friends.
I never had that.
I only bonded with my besties, and stayed at a distance from others. I wouldn’t even call them “friends.”

I never hung out with my besties’ other friends.
All my friendships are one-on-one.
Cross-connections, group friendships—those just aren’t for me.

Strange, right?
And yet, I never noticed this so clearly until today.
Why is that?
That question lingered with me all morning.

It is unusual, isn’t it?

And then, as I sat down with my crossword puzzle at lunchtime, a word came to me. I scribbled it in the margin of my puzzle book:
Lone Wolf.

Ton and I went for a bike ride around three and didn’t return until eight in the evening.
The words echoed in my mind the entire time: “Lone Wolf, Lone Wolf…”

Where did that come from? Why does it haunt me?
Back home, I realized—it’s the answer to the question I’d thrown into the ether this morning.
Why are all my friendships so strictly one-on-one?

It’s obvious. I’m a Lone Wolf.

But what exactly is that? That deserves some exploration…

 

What kind of personality is a Lone Wolf?
This personality type belongs to people who enjoy being alone and who tend to avoid large crowds or social gatherings. They’re not interested in popularity; they value quality over quantity—especially when it comes to human connection.

Lone Wolves can be classified as introverts or even shy, but that’s just part of their story. Often, becoming a Lone Wolf is a conscious choice—shaped by behavior or by life experience.

Funny enough, as a child, a psychiatrist in Leiden once described me as introverted. People around me often see me as extroverted—probably because I speak quite directly, and that sometimes feels abrupt or even “harsh” to others. But internally, I feel far more introverted. I share very little of what I truly feel or perceive, even if it appears otherwise on the outside.

Lone Wolves don’t need superficial relationships. Some may struggle with self-worth or social anxiety. Others simply prefer a solitary path, not because they’re unhappy, but because it’s how they thrive.

Stereotypes aside, they’re often highly introspective, emotionally intelligent, and extremely independent. Many creatives retreat into their own world to focus, finding small talk draining.

Just like any other personality, being a Lone Wolf comes with strengths and challenges:

1. They’re extremely self-aware.
   Lone Wolves often analyze themselves deeply and know exactly who they are—including their flaws and virtues. They rarely make promises they can’t keep and have a solid understanding of their own emotions.
   If that means I’m extremely self-aware—then yes, I guess I am. I’ve just never thought of it that way before.
   
   
2. They’re highly self-motivated.
   They don’t rely on others for momentum. They push themselves forward, even through hard times. That couldn’t describe me more perfectly. This is exactly how I function.
   
   
3. They love to create.
   Often, they’re artists or makers. They think outside the box, resist peer pressure, and pursue their vision even when fear creeps in.
   This hits me to the core—this is me to a T.
   
   
4. They keep a small social circle.
   They enjoy being alone, but that doesn’t mean they’re lonely. They choose their people carefully and step away when a situation no longer serves them.
   Absolutely accurate. This is exactly how I handle relationships.
   
   
5. They crave meaningful conversations.
   Small talk makes them uneasy. They’d rather be silent than engage in idle chatter. They long for depth, spiritual connection.
   Sometimes I even feel physically uncomfortable when the conversation is superficial.
   
   
6. They know what they want.
   They understand themselves, their boundaries, and what they’re willing to give or receive in relationships. They fight for their space when needed—even if it’s not always appreciated.
   This hits close to home.
   
   
7. They value solitude.
   Time alone helps them recharge. Nature is often a key part of this.
   Yes, 100%. Nature and solitude are my healing ground.
   
   
8. They can seem mysterious.
   Because they only speak when they have something meaningful to say, others may see them as distant or hard to read.
   Ton sometimes struggles with this—when I don’t want to share what’s going on inside.
   Only he and my besties get to peek behind the curtain.
   
   
9. They’re excellent listeners.
   They absorb more than they reveal. People often feel truly heard by them.
   Ton always says I hear and see everything.
   I take in a lot, and when someone needs it, I respond in depth.
   But I sometimes wonder—do I listen just to avoid speaking? Is that easier for me?
   
   
10. They’re sharp observers.
    They notice non-verbal cues, read between the lines, and understand people’s motives instinctively.
    I’ve written about this before. Observation is second nature to me.
    There’s a big difference between looking and seeing.
    Seeing brings insight.
    
    

It amazes me that I asked a question in the morning—and received an answer by nightfall.
The words “Lone Wolf” came to me out of nowhere.
How beautiful is that?

I’ve never used that phrase before.
In Dutch, it would translate to “eenzame wolf,” but that misses the nuance. It’s not about being lonely—it’s about being someone who walks alone.

Translation doesn’t always capture the depth.
But it’s becoming clear.

I’ve never really reflected on this part of my personality before.
Now that I do, I feel more accepting of who I am.
Maybe I don’t need to be more social.
Maybe I don’t have to change.

Who knows…

But I’m grateful for these insights.
Feeling strong again today.

July 10, 2025 - Day 120
Old and new

Ton and I visited Veere today, where my friend Carina recently moved with her husband and dog. We've been friends for 50 years now. Besties since our first year of secondary school. So different in character, often confronting one another, but never any real fights that I can remember—just a pattern of drawing close and then drifting apart again. Intense contact followed by long periods of silence. And yet, we’ve always remained part of each other’s lives.

We’ve both been through a lot—family, relationships, our children. When we meet, it’s familiar. Instantly, we become those schoolgirls again, and at the same time, the women we are now: grown, evolved, softer, and more accepting—so much so that the differences between us seem to have disappeared. Her husband even remarked that we are very much alike now, emotionally and in the life stage we find ourselves in.

Carina and I are both now married to men who are 14 years older than we are. The men joked that this makes them the wiser ones. Carina and I, being truly wise, just let them have that one. What we both clearly see is how, through the love of these men, we have finally been able to feel content with ourselves. We both feel unconditionally supported by our current partners—a true gift, especially later in life.

We now mostly see the similarities in our life paths, although they may have always been there. When you’re young, you’re more focused on differences. You want to be unique, to stand out from the crowd. But the older you get, the more you realize that, through life experience, you simply become more human. A unique individual, yes—but also very similar to all other people. After all, nothing truly human is foreign to us.

We can be everything, we’re allowed to be everything, and we get to choose.
And when you look at aging this way, it becomes something truly beautiful.
There’s something profoundly special about literally growing up and growing old with someone—reflecting together, mirroring one another, staying young in the heart even as the body tells a different story.
I’m grateful to have such a friendship.

 

 

 

July 9, 2025 - Day 119

Vitality 

 that’s what I strive for.
How do I do it?
By training, eating healthy, and neutralizing the ghosts of my past — through writing.

What does “vitality” actually mean?
Vitality refers to life force, life energy. It includes both physical and mental resilience, the ability to sustain energy to meet daily challenges. A vital person feels energetic, fit, motivated, and has a positive mindset.

My husband often admires my mental strength and zest for life.
That’s lovely, of course — but sometimes, I have to fake it just to keep going.

I’ve had a few good days.
For me, that almost always means I’m doing better physically.
Mentally, I’ve always been strong — thankfully.
But how much easier would it be if my body were just a little more stable?

Unfortunately, today I found training incredibly exhausting again.
Instead of two half-hour sessions, I only managed one — and felt drained the rest of the day.

To avoid being dragged down by my faltering body, I chose to stay mentally vital.
So I finished the painting I mentioned yesterday.

I called it “Regain Vitality.”

It’s full of color — symbolizing a vibrant life, lived by a dynamic person.
The movement is shown through circular forms.

The triangles are rigid, but softly colored —
In other words: conquerable.

You see winter fun (for someone born in January, winter is closer to the heart than summer), skaters, cyclists, and a hiker.
Athletic joy in nature — that’s how I portray myself.

Small in the image, maybe far off still,
But certainly reachable
If I continue, steadily, on the path I’m walking now…

July 8, 2025 - Day 118

Nostalgia.
A nostalgic mood is a feeling that evokes connection, comfort, and positive memories.
Revisiting the past can deepen one’s sense of meaning and well-being, and help to process negative emotions.

Nostalgia often centers around cherished memories.

While painting a new piece today, two songs started playing in my head:
“Burning Down the House” by Talking Heads, and “Bridges Are Burning” by Wally Tax.

I used to be a huge fan of Talking Heads.
Byrne’s absurd stage presence, the simplicity yet intrigue of their concert film — it captivated me.
It brings me back to a time when I felt happy.

In an interview, David Byrne explained the metaphor behind Burning Down the House:

“It wasn’t about arson. When I wrote the lyrics in 1982, the title line was a metaphor for destroying something safe that was keeping you trapped… I saw it as an expression of liberation, breaking free from whatever was holding you back.”

Wally Tax’s song is very different.
At the time, I was simply fascinated by it — mesmerized by the track.
Tax himself always struck me as a strange man. But I sensed he wrote this as a confession: to show the world he was destroying his own life.

I interpreted it as a metaphor too:
Burning things down to start anew. Rebuilding bridges.

Just like with my dreams, I tend to assign meaning to whatever suddenly lands in my awareness.
Even old songs I haven’t listened to in years.

So why these two?

The painting I’m working on now is unusual.
The way I’m creating it, the form it’s taking — it’s really different from my usual work.
It looks simple, but it’s intriguing.

I realize I’m slowly letting go of my past, especially the trauma.
I’m literally leaving it behind.

Yes — I think I understand now why those songs came to me while creating.
I’m in a good place right now.

A top day.

 

 

July 7, 2025 - Day 117

Five and a half months since the stroke, and I can say with pride: I’m doing much better.
Every day I either cycle or walk. Walking in particular has improved significantly. Still heavy at times, but I now walk 3 to 5 kilometers — instead of just 100 meters. That’s real progress!

My balance is visibly improving, too.
Bit by bit, I’m becoming physically and mentally healthier.

My neurological condition, CMT, might look like a troublesome illness to an outsider. And even though it’s progressive, I experience it as part of me. I literally don’t know any different — I was born with it.

So everything else I feel — that is what I interpret as illness or deep discomfort.
In other words, I’m absolutely over the moon with this progress.

Today consisted of training, relaxing, and painting.
Few thoughts. No worries. Just contentment.

Nothing much to report — boring for the reader, perhaps —
But this lady is feeling at peace today.

 

 

July 6, 2025 - Day 116

Following yesterday’s entry, my sister sent me a quote she had just read in the newspaper:

“It is a great mystery of human life that suffering slowly transforms into quiet, intimate joy, that our bitter tears eventually become tears of emotion and purification of the heart.”
– Fyodor Dostoevsky

He also wrote:

“The mystery of human existence is not only in staying alive, but in finding something to live for.”

Dostoevsky lived from 1821 to 1881. Two hundred years ago! It goes to show: humanity never really changes. Technology evolves, appearances shift, the natural world transforms through human interference — but the inner human being does not.

The spirit of the times may determine how thoughts are expressed — I’ve even seen that in my own relatively short life. What’s considered acceptable to say has changed significantly.
For example, we used to sing lyrics in school like: “Little Moor, black as soot.” And all those traditional Sinterklaas songs, full of now outdated and unacceptable references. Understandably so.

But that’s not really my point. What I find striking is this:
Humans have always been preoccupied with inner awareness — and that hasn’t changed, regardless of the form or flavor of the time.

Toon Hermans once said:

“To live is a privilege; to know how, is an art.”

No one has a manual for how to live. Every person is a unique building block — part of a vast whole.
And you need many other blocks to see who or what you truly are.

That’s exactly why we need other people in order to grow.
And if I extend the metaphor further, I think about the diversity of bricks needed to build something beautiful: a supporting brick, a cornerstone, a connecting brick, a rebellious one, a colorful one, a shaping one, and so on.

All of it is necessary to make humanity whole.
Everything is allowed to be here.

This realization brings me more and more peace — and acceptance of who I am.

July 5, 2025 -  Day 115

Today it’s been 10 years since Michel passed away.
To me, he’s still here — every single day.
What I miss most are the conversations we used to have. We lifted each other up. We grew together, inspired each other, sharpened each other. No one has ever done that for me the way he did.

I believe that when something or someone falls away, life brings new challenges.
Living with Michel required a certain intensity — a level I haven’t encountered since.
Ten years older now, I’m literally and figuratively in a different phase of life. Not comparable.

Still, I talk to him in my thoughts — as if he’s an angel, a guide, still whispering things to me.
His “lay down” mentality — that calming presence — is something I still need now and then, to let go of my worries.

By now, I’m certain: he will always be a part of me.
Because of that, I feel free to take on new challenges.
His path ended in this life.
Mine still continues.

I have a new partner now — Ton. We’ve been married for two years.
There are very few similarities between Michel and Ton. Actually, there’s just one: they’re both men.
Hahaha — that’s about where the resemblance ends.

It’s not that I compare them.
How can I explain?
Michel is now a part of me — integrated — he has shaped who I’ve become.
Ton is with the Annette as she is now, complete with that inner Michel-part.
Together, we form an entirely new relationship, with different ingredients.

We are not each other’s solution to the past —
There is simply love now.

That means we don’t try to fix each other’s old wounds or past relationships.
We focus on the love we share today, and the future we want to create together — without dragging the past along.
We’re two individuals with our own histories, and we’re not responsible for each other’s past.
We love each other as we are now, shaped by everything we’ve lived through.
We don’t try to change or “repair” one another.

No — we enjoy a life in which we can both experience new things.

Losing your partner is deeply painful.
But on the other side of it, I’ve come to see something else: a gift.
Now, I get to discover new aspects of myself — because Ton holds up a very different mirror.

It’s become clear to me:
Life takes, and life gives.
It took Michel —
And gave me Ton.
It took away my health through a stroke —
And gave me renewed insight in return…

July 4, 2025 - Day 114

The painting is not a mask — it symbolizes my face.
The way I experience life at this moment.
As I look at it, the pupils really stand out. They look sharply into the world.
In the past, people sometimes commented on how I look at things. One woman — a stranger to me — once said I had a "piercing gaze." I remember being shocked when she said that. I don’t see my own eyes, of course. But I do know that I often want to truly understand what I’m looking at.

My children sometimes find my gaze unsettling. They don’t react to what I say, but to how I look at them. Apparently, my eyes reflect the stirrings of my soul — at least, to the viewer, I seem to be an open book.
People often respond to me before I’ve even said a word.
And I wonder:
“Do they see what’s going on inside me?”
Or
“Am I a mirror for the person looking at me?”
It depends on how you look at it.

What else stands out to me in the painting?
The colors are notably bright and feel sunny.
I usually paint with deeper tones.
This painting makes me feel happy.

The black pupils are present, but they don’t feel like a dissonance.
The most prominent colors are light blue, orange, and pink.
I also see blue, yellow, gold, white, and soft green.

Here’s what these colors mean to me:

Light Blue – calming, peaceful, linked to clarity, loyalty, truth, wisdom, and spiritual willpower.
Blue – symbolizes depth and expansiveness; represents harmony, honesty, and creativity, but can feel distant.
Yellow – the color of the sun, warmth, joy, curiosity, spontaneity. Cheerful and uplifting.
Orange – spiritual awakening, creativity, energy, originality, vitality. Warm, adventurous, and optimistic.
Pink – love, compassion, inner peace. Helps with self-acceptance and emotional connection.
Gold – divine energy, purity, power, healing, transformation. A source of light and spiritual abundance.
Light Green – renewal, growth, vitality, harmony with nature, and fresh beginnings.
White – purity, truth, peace, completeness. Symbolic of the divine and of new beginnings.

These are beautiful meanings to assign to my color choices.
It’s clear to me that I’ve gone through a period of growth.
Some things have been processed more deeply, and I feel more balanced than before.

The flowers in the painting represent my desire to be in nature — to nourish myself from it. For me, this is an encouraging painting.

I used real plants: lamsoor (sea lavender) and gerbera.
Spiritually, lamsoor is associated with resilience and endurance, growing in tough conditions. It also symbolizes affection and friendship in some traditions.
Gerberas represent joy, vitality, and positivity. They’re linked to innocence and happiness.

I’ve titled this painting “Inner Face.”
The “inner face” is often a metaphor for our inner state — our emotional and spiritual self — and how that subtly shows in our appearance.
Or how a face can reflect the essence of someone’s personality.

 

July 3, 2025 - Day 113

Second opinion.
I went to see a different cardiologist today, in Rotterdam. I don’t think anyone particularly enjoys going to a hospital, but for me it’s a kind of PTSD. In the past, I’ve done several EMDR sessions to work through it.
(EMDR stands for Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing. It’s a form of therapy used to reduce the emotional impact of traumatic experiences. Through stimulation—like eye movements or taps—the brain is helped to process disturbing memories so their emotional charge decreases.)

As a young teenager, I was used as a test subject—with my parents’ permission. Therapy has softened the sharpest edges of those experiences, but the sheer number of hospital visits I’ve had this past year forces me to actively suppress the aversion and nausea I feel.

Today, I went in feeling relatively calm.
How do I know that? Well, usually, just before I have a doctor’s appointment, I get very short-tempered with Ton. This time, I didn’t. Well—except for a brief snap when he took a wrong turn, but overall, I was easy-peasy.

The consultation went well. The cardiologist was kind and clear in his explanation. On the way home, we decided to go for a bike ride later in the day. That seemed like a good plan—especially since the recent heatwave had kept us mostly indoors.

But once we got home, I realized just how tired I was.
At the hospital, my blood pressure had been perfect—clearly a sign of my inner calm. But at home, I could feel how deeply it had affected me. Yes, I’m much better at managing my emotions now, but these things still hit hard.

Where did the time go—the time when I almost never saw a doctor?
The time when I didn’t take a single pill?
Sometimes it’s hard to believe I’ve ended up in this medical circus again.

I’ll have to shift my point of view—from resistance to the medical world, toward gratitude that it exists. Gratitude that the medicine keeps me healthy.

It went well today.
Calm in the moment.
Tired outside of the moment.
Let’s call it a step in the right direction.

 

 

July 2, 2025 -  Day 112

Creativity.
According to my husband, it’s always a good sign when I start painting again. I feel the same way. My thoughts quiet down; it feels like entering a meditative state. It's a way of connecting with my inner world of experience. There’s no plan—just pure expression, driven by intuition and emotion, without concern for the final result. As far back as I can remember, I’ve done this. In the past, after finishing a painting, I would look at it for days. I called this “mopping” — letting the work reveal things to me. It helped me get to know myself, gain insights, a kind of exploration to discover my true self.

Normally, I paint from a flow, often triggered by something—something I see in nature, something someone says to me. It doesn’t matter what: TV, a book, anything can set me off into that creative current. When I'm in that flow, I can paint day and night until it's done. A kind of passionate obsession. Lately, I’ve been trying to change this. I’m trying to allow myself to pause, to sleep. That’s incredibly difficult, because when I’m in that state, I can’t seem to sleep. Still, I want to teach myself to take breaks even in the middle of a creative flow.

A few things stood out to me today:

• There was no trigger—just an unavoidable inner urge to create.
  
  

• The color palette is very different from what I usually use.
  
  

• The base was a face.
  
  

• Working for hours made my body very tired. My stamina isn’t what it used to be. I took a nap and immediately fell into a deep sleep.
  
  

• After the nap, I could slip right back into the flow.
  
  

• I could even write my blog—something I’m sure I couldn’t have done in the past.
  
  

• The painting isn’t finished yet, but it already radiates so much positivity.
  
  

I’m very curious to see what this painting will tell me once it’s done—just like my dreams.
Either way, I’m happy to be working on it.

 

 

July 1, 2025 -  Day 111 

The Flow of Life

My oldest child has her birthday today!
Ton and I sang to her at 00:01.

Over the weekend, my daughter told everyone that Ton—back when he was her doctor—once gave her a heel prick as a baby. There are even photos of him holding her, 38 years ago.

How unpredictable life can be.
How your path unfolds is truly a mystery.

Could I have known, back then, that I’d marry that same doctor 30 years later?

I remember how I used to picture my future—vivid images, full of conviction.
Even the first time I got married, I was certain it would match the dreams I had.
I believed my visions would manifest.

Not realizing… they were just illusions.

After the first disappointment, I picked myself up and continued, trying to control life again and again.

Looking back, I always thought I was moving spiritually with “the flow of life.”
Yes—I wanted to go with the flow.
But what I really did was fluff up the pillows each time and think: “Okay, this is it. This will stay.”

But it never did.

Life keeps moving. There’s always something unexpected.
Yes, I’ve learned to adjust—eventually. But now I realize something deeper:

Going with the flow of life doesn’t mean adapting afterwards.
It means being flexible in the moment.

You can only feel joy or happiness NOW.
Afterwards, you may feel satisfied—or disappointed—but it’s never now again.

Making plans or imagining the future is madness.
Before you know it, you’re trying to control it again.

No—I need to stop focusing on things outside this time and space.
Stay alert to what’s unfolding right now.

Life is a vast ocean you can play in—
As long as you let go of judgment, preference, and your grip on long-term plans.

Be open to what comes, as it comes.

And if I stumble?
I’ll get up. Brush off the dust.
Laugh out loud
And carry on.

I might be wrong,
But I think I’ve finally reached a point where I can really live this way.

 

 

June 30, 2025 - Day 110 

Heat and Emotional Blockades

Heat is the worst for me. My body can't release warmth properly. I retain fluid suddenly, like a balloon swelling up, causing pain.
My internal thermostat is broken, you could say.

Even as a young girl, heatwaves rendered me useless.
And as I grow older, it only gets worse. Now I truly understand how elderly people can die from heat.

So I stay inside with the air conditioner on.
No other choice.

This morning I also got caught in an emotional rollercoaster due to some miscommunication.
It hit me so deeply I can’t even write about it in detail.
All I can say is I felt nauseous, teary, and completely shut down.
Blocked—because talking about the issue wasn’t possible.

What is an emotional blockade?

It’s an internal wall that stops you from fully experiencing or expressing your emotions. A kind of self-protective mechanism—avoiding pain or discomfort by suppressing feelings.

But those blockades create other issues: isolation, stress, problems in relationships.
You might feel nothing at all, suppress everything, or get caught between contradictory emotions.

Wow… maybe that’s also what happened yesterday.

So, what can I do?
Let go of what I cannot change.
Focus on myself. My recovery plan is going well—my training schedule feels strong.

Respect my limits—physically and mentally.
Start truly respecting myself.

This life is mine.
And I can enjoy everything that is going well.

After a day full of emotional pain, I find myself back at this same conclusion:
Worrying about things beyond my control is useless.
For anyone.

 

 

 

June 29, 2025 - Day 109 

Present, But Not There

Sailing with the whole family on the Linge River in a BBQ donut boat—it was a unique experience. Ton and I celebrate our birthdays together every year in June or July, with all our children, their partners, and grandchildren. This year we were 20 people strong.

I’m always the one to organize it and I’m glad when as many as possible can attend. This time, it was supposed to be everyone—but one person cancelled.
You’d think: “How lovely! So gezellig!” (cosy, fun!)
And it was… for everyone. Except me.

Here’s the strange part: I felt absolutely nothing.

This happens to me a lot. After a party I’ve organized, people tell me how much they enjoyed it—even years later. But me? Nothing. No feeling. No emotional response. It’s like I wasn’t really there.

Over time, I’ve learned to answer affirmatively when people say, “Wasn’t it great?” I nod, not to ruin their good vibe. But inside—nothing moves.

I feel like someone who observes everything but isn’t part of it.

Today, again, I found myself asking others if they enjoyed it. Because I can’t tell on my own. Normally in larger groups I’m hyper-aware—sensitive to atmosphere and tension. I react instantly to emotional cues.

But at family gatherings? I’m physically present—but mentally spaced out.

When I get home, it all becomes clear: I was emotionally absent.

Why is that?
Is there some deep stigma attached to family for me?

My own children and grandchildren feel safer to me than my extended family.
Or is it the responsibility of organizing it that detaches me emotionally?
Should I seriously examine this pattern—or just stop organizing these events?

From a maternal standpoint, I think it’s good for the kids’ connection.
It’s healthy to facilitate those moments. But what does it mean for me?

Is there a way I could enjoy it too?
Why do I feel so empty, indifferent, numb during these gatherings?

I’m honestly wondering.
Especially because I’ve noticed this in myself for years.

Family weekends with my siblings, nieces, and nephews from my side of the family trigger heavy PTSD. I’ve decided never to go again—only to birthdays, and even then with an escape plan.

Weirdly enough, family events with my dad’s side—cousins and all—feel like a warm bath.

Such different responses in different contexts.
I have no idea why I let nothing in on days like today.
No highs, no lows. Just... blank.

I’m not necessarily looking for an answer.
But I am curious

 

 

June 28, 2025 - Day 108 

Where You Come From, Where You're Going

“Who you are is not only defined by where you come from, but also by where you're going.”
My friend Hilde sent me this quote after seeing it at an exhibition at the Fenix Museum in Rotterdam. It struck me deeply.

If people truly knew who my biological parents are and how they’ve behaved in their lives, I’d feel ashamed to be their offspring. Not just shame—but a deep fear of resembling them. Physically, sure—that’s obvious. But internally…! I don’t even want to imagine it.

If I think about it seriously, it’s the kind of thing that could keep me awake at night.

I’ve mostly tried to live by the strict and dogmatic rules of the man who raised me. His standards were extreme too, but at least they made some sense. Of course, I broke the rules from time to time—like any good rebellious youth.

But those rules still shape me to this day. They’ve made me uncompromising, rigid, even harsh at times. People who know me also know I have an extremely free-spirited side.
There’s rarely a middle ground with me. Balance is often nowhere to be found—it’s either black or white.

Suddenly it hits me: living with someone like me must not be easy.

From now on, I no longer want to feel ashamed of being a child of Heidi and Peter. No—I’m grateful they made my life possible.
Well… to put it more accurately: I’m grateful that I’m here.

Now it’s time to meet the one and only Annette 4—and to really get to know her. Because Annette 1, 2, and 3 (the thinker, the emotional one, and the observer) are on their way to becoming her.

Annette 4 is the one I’m moving toward. A version of myself that is more balanced, less fragmented, more unified.

All the aspects that make me “Annette,” finally integrated into a beautiful whole—balanced, free, and joyful.

That is my path. That is my mission.

 

 

June 27, 2025 - Day 107 

Love Is...

Love for my partner.
Love for my children.
Love for my friends.
Love for my animals.
Love for humankind.
Love for the things I love doing.

The word is used so often. But is love the same for everyone? Is it unconditional? Does love have layers? Or dimensions?

What are we really talking about?
Passion? Devotion? Affection? Attachment? Tenderness? Infatuation?

I find it hard to define.

Love for a partner always fluctuates for me. It’s tied to my emotional state—my emotional allergies. Still, I see a partner as a mirror, a sparring partner through whom I can learn about myself.
From experience, I know that when love starts strong, it’s up to me to help it flourish. But it’s not always easy.

Love for my friends is mainly about loyalty. There are specific aspects I connect with—and that’s what we share. The rest, I leave untouched. That’s probably why friendships often last forever. With friends, you get to pick the beautiful parts. It’s less confronting than a partner.

Love for my animals—that’s something special. I call them “my little hearts.” I’m always amazed how clearly they love me. Ton feeds them and walks them, yet they’re more attached to me. They give me comfort, warmth, and endless cuddles.
I don’t even like physical touch from people—yet with animals, I can cuddle all day. With them, I feel truly safe.

My passions lie in creativity and nature. Loving people? That’s trickier. I respect and accept them, and I’ll help if asked. But I don’t reach out to strangers easily. I usually observe before I engage.

And then the hardest part… my children.

I enjoyed all of my pregnancies. Those were beautiful periods. Holding my babies close, breastfeeding, being with them 24/7—it was deeply fulfilling. For my two youngest, I even worked at their school to stay close.

My husband and I believed that gave them a safe, strong start.
But something went wrong in the bond somewhere. Things don’t flow as smoothly as I’d hoped.

Did it start when my husband died ten years ago? Or earlier?

I always hoped the feeling of connection and unconditional love would always be there. But their unpredictable behavior unsettles me.

Is my love for my children truly unconditional?
Is their love for me?

Can love change?
Will love prevail?

Why is this so hard?
Why does it scare me?

My children are my greatest blessing.
I love them—and I’m incredibly proud.
But they are also my most vulnerable spot.

They can hurt me more than anyone. They can also make me happiest. Because I’m not detached from them—not emotionally.

Physically, yes. They live elsewhere. But there’s an invisible umbilical cord that will never go away. It still feels like part of my physical being.

That’s why I’ll always be vulnerable when it comes to them.
Maybe I, too, just need to go through the pain here.

June 26, 2025 - Day 106 

Fake it Till You Make It

It’s a saying that means pretending to be confident and competent—even if you’re not yet—until eventually, you truly become it. You act your way into belief. It’s a strategy where you influence your own mindset and how others perceive you by adjusting your behavior.

With my bold mouth I often say: “I can do anything.” A bit of an exaggeration, sure. But when I set my mind to something, it often does work. Mentally and creatively, there’s very little I can’t handle.
But… the big but… I also have a body.

Even physically, I’ve often done the impossible, despite my condition. But right now, I struggle with the simplest of exercises. Like stepping over a 15 cm line without toppling, or walking in a straight line with even steps—it seems impossible!

These almost infantile exercises are real obstacles for me. Inside, the dialogue starts again:
“‘Can’t’ doesn’t exist in my vocabulary.”
“If I think I can’t, I don’t even begin.”
“So why am I doing this then?”
“People only see what I can do—at least as much as possible.”
“Haha, am I fooling myself now?”
“Even the blind could see something’s off.”
“People have seen it my whole life.”
“Annetje, you’re capable—but also incapable of many things.”
“This isn’t about ability—it’s rehab.”
“Don’t get frustrated—just keep practicing.”

That’s the loop in my head.

I told my therapist I’m in a new mode now. A choice between being a depressed elephant or a vibrant older woman in pain. And I absolutely choose the latter.

So now, it’s daily training: 75 minutes of physio twice a week, 30 minutes at home five times a week. Cycling doesn’t count—that’s just movement.

This plan feels realistic and sustainable. It’s as if I’m seeking a physical catharsis. That word is often used for emotional cleansing. Catharsis means experiencing deep emotions like grief or rage, then finding relief. Writing gives me some of that emotional catharsis.

Now it’s time for my body to go through its own. Through pain and insecurity, toward strength and lightness.
It’s possible—I’m certain of it!

 

 

June 25, 2025 -  Day 105  

Through the Pain

Twice a week I go to rehab: fitness and exercises. If possible, I try to cycle every day. Unfortunately, each time I suffer an injury, it sets me back for a week—or often several—confined to bed. That’s been my reality for the past two years, resulting in a weight gain of 20 kilos and a slow descent into a downward spiral.

Lately, I stop whenever I feel additional pain—by that I mean pain different from the chronic discomfort I’m already used to. Back when I was actively teaching yoga and living that philosophy, I handled pain in a very different way.

This morning I woke up from a jumble of dreams. I can’t recall the details, but during my morning rituals, a voice surfaced in my mind: “Do you remember the enormous pain you had during your first yoga trainings?”
“Yes, I absolutely do!” I replied to myself.

“Then why do your shoulders and upper arms hurt now?”
“Because of the exercises you did yesterday.”
“So what are you going to do? Quit again? Or push through the pain like you used to?”

“Annette, are you willing to go for it? What do you have to lose? Do you really want to spiral down even further?”

No—I need to pick up the gauntlet again. Train actively. Every day.
THROUGH THE PAIN!

No sooner said than done—or better: no sooner thought than done. I unrolled my yoga mat and got moving. After a few exercises, a lot of sweat, and yes—pain—I felt proud and satisfied. Strange how I rediscovered how much I enjoy pushing my limits. It’s always been that way.

I know this will likely come with sore muscles in the beginning. But that’s okay. This time I’ll keep it simple: 15 to 30 minutes of intensive training a day. No more quitting when it hurts. Just carry on. It helped me enormously 40 years ago—why wouldn’t it again?

For me, things work differently. When people say “listen to your body,” I almost have to do the opposite. My body naturally asks for rest. The less I do, the less pain I feel. But in the end, that only weighs me down—literally and emotionally. Moving helps me feel better mentally. It gives me energy and motivation. My body always responds with pain. It’s a dilemma.

Do I want to live with as little pain as possible, but heavy and sluggish?
Or... do I want to live full of energy, light in spirit and body—but in pain?

I’ve lived the first option in recent years. I used to live the second, from age 20 to 40. And now I’m going to return to that second path—but more balanced this time. A little bit each day. Not all day like before.

I’ll start my mornings with rituals, ending with exercise. Yes, it’s another commitment—but this time, not out of discipline, but out of love for myself.

I know I need to start moving to create change. Lately, I feel like a frail old woman. I’ve long been able to separate that feeling mentally and physically. But if I keep going like this, I’ll become old in mind too. And that’s not how I want to see myself.

Transformation will take a lot—mentally and physically. It’s not my goal, but it will be my path.
And I’m giving it my all.

June 24, 2025 -  Day 104
Dominance.
My friend Hilde and I are both widows. We both had husbands who kept a youthful, hippie-like spirit their whole lives. For 25 years, we were used to men who went along with whatever we suggested.

Today we talked about how easy it was that our husbands just followed our lead. People often describe us as dominant women. But… are we really?
What is dominance in a relationship, anyway?
Dominance can mean being bossy, ignoring the other’s feelings, being self-centered… not very compatible with mutual respect.

Bossy? Maybe.
But disregarding feelings? That’s not us. We’re both soft at heart. We cry when we see someone in pain.
I’d say we’re more like initiators who happen to be a bit persuasive.

But now we’re both in new relationships—with men who have their own opinions. And guess what?
It turns out we’re not always as “loving and patient” as we thought.
We still want things to go our way.
We’re not used to hearing:
“No, I don’t want that.”
“Why don’t you do it yourself?”
“Can we talk about it first?”

It’s a whole new ballgame.
We can laugh about it, but yes… we might have to admit we’ve got a bit of dominance in us.
It’s time to let go of always needing things to go our way—and focus on the beauty of what is mutually possible with our new partners.

While we’re on the subject of dominance:
Why are people who speak their minds and take initiative always labeled dominant?
My husband used to disappear into his book and ignore the world. I found that to be a kind of silent dominance—or avoidance of responsibility.
Those who seem passive—burying themselves in books or hobbies—can be dominant too, in their own quiet way.

At least I see it now. I recognize my own habits of always pushing my way through. But now I also see there’s another will in the room—his.
And that awareness softens the label of dominance a bit.
It’s exciting to test this still-untouched side of myself in a new relationship.
You’re never too old to learn.

June 23, 2025 - Day 103
Choices.
The intention behind this blog is pretty clear by now. In my mind, I gave myself a year to do this daily. What surprises me most is that I’ve actually managed to get into a flow each day and write about a theme that showed up.
My father instilled in me the importance of always keeping your promises… and finishing what you start. He was full of these moral slogans. Out of deep respect for him, I wanted to be the perfect daughter who lived up to them all.
As a result, I’ve always felt a lot of pressure—which sometimes backfires, leaving me drowning in guilt and shame. How ridiculous is it to keep setting the bar this high? If I say, “I’ll cycle every day,” I impose that on myself, even if it leaves me with blisters in places I’d rather not mention.
Because of my neurological condition, I never know how I’ll feel tomorrow—or even in an hour. Canceling a plan simply because I don’t feel well? That thought rarely crosses my mind. And so, I push through on sheer willpower, flashing a smile, only to collapse in bed for days or weeks.
But yeah—no one sees that. No one knows, except my husband. What matters is that I kept my promise—with my last bit of energy and a brave face!
I can see now how this behavior pattern is one big trap. Absurd.

So, how did I get on this track again? Oh right... Today at rehab, I was on the exercise bike next to a woman I hadn’t seen before. She said, “Humid today, isn’t it?”
I mumbled, “It’s not that bad.” (Not true. I just pegged her as a chatterbox and hoped that would end it.) Silence. Good.
Then she went: “I’ve been on holiday for four weeks.”
I said, “Oh,” and thought, Keep pedaling, Netje.
Then again: “It must’ve been because I was outside all day, camping.”
I closed my eyes—still eight minutes to go—hoping she’d take the hint.

While cycling in my little bubble, it hit me: this is not how I want to be. This wasn’t just antisocial—it was borderline rude.
But why do I always have to be social? Don’t I get to choose?
Why do I always summon “the father” in me and suppress “the mother”?
Isn’t there room for Annette—the one who can say, “I just can’t today”?
Who’s allowed to not feel like it? Who is free to just be?

So what if I skip a day of writing? That’s okay too.
When will I finally let go of all those dogmas?
Come on, Annette—you’ve got this!
It’s okay that I didn’t want to talk to anyone today. No guilt or shame needed.

When I told my husband, he said:
“Maybe think of a way to end a conversation nicely. Surely there are better ways.”
“You do have choices.”
So yes, I made a choice today… but it could’ve been more graceful.
Closing my eyes—literally and figuratively—was a bit extreme.

Sigh. My brain shuts down immediately when I think of how to kindly tell someone I don’t want to chat.
How do you do that, face to face, without sounding rude?
Honestly, I don’t know.
Maybe one of my readers does?

 

 

June 22, 2025 - Day 102

Dreams about a transgender person, who turns out to be intersex—she didn’t know that herself. She wants to be a man and eventually discovers she already has a penis. In the dream, I witness the discrimination and bullying she experiences. It’s not a sexual dream; I’m more of an observer of her struggle. It’s a struggle I don’t know personally—I don’t feel pity, but I do feel compassion. In a split second, this person briefly changes into one of my children, then reverts to being a stranger. The dream isn’t a story with a clear narrative but rather short, repeating scenes with small differences.

Then suddenly I see the Rolling Stones as 80-year-old men, and I hear a voice say: “Now we’re truly talking about the end of an era.” And I immediately understand. That’s when I wake up.

Not much actually happens in the dream, but it lingers for hours after I wake. Normally, I think: “I should write this down later,” but no matter how hard I try, I can never remember. Sure, I could keep a notebook next to my bed, but I’ve chosen to only analyze dreams that stay with me. I trust that if they stick, they’re important for me at this time. Never say never—maybe someday I’ll place that notebook there. Just not now.

So, what does this dream mean?

Dreams about a transgender person can reflect themes of identity, uncertainty, fear, or even the acceptance of diversity and transformation.
Some possible interpretations:

• Identity and self-acceptance: This dream may mirror my own search for identity—why I do the things I do. That’s the essence of this blog.
  
  
• Fear and insecurity: I’ve always felt insecure in my body—it responds unpredictably. I even questioned my sexuality as a young woman, explored the idea of being lesbian, but that didn’t quite suit me. Through my children, I later encountered many other expressions of sexuality. I think I relate most to the label of pansexual. Am I afraid of that? No. Even while I’m in a traditional, happy relationship.
  
  
• Change and acceptance: A lot is changing right now. I like to think I’m accepting of diversity, though maybe that’s worth exploring more deeply.
  
  
• Social awareness: I’m aware of the prejudice and challenges transgender people face. It fascinates me—the choices, the surgeries, the name changes. Through my kids and their friends, I’ve seen so much. Was it always like this? Or is this a new phase in human evolution? I find it fascinating, not offensive.
  
  
• Symbolism: The transgender person might symbolize an aspect of myself—inner masculinity or femininity, or a desire to feel more whole. I’m not sure I long for that, but I’ll keep the question open.
  
  

Some context for reflection:

• In the dream, I felt calm and observant.
  
  
• The transgender person was unknown, but briefly looked like one of my children.
  
  
• My relationship to transgender identity is mostly through my children and friends. When someone finds their “true” self through such a journey, they become happier. That’s beautiful. Who could be against that?
  
  
• This dream likely reflects my recent emotional developments—growing awareness, my changing relationship with my children, my inner transformation.
  
  

So yes, I believe this dream is a mirror of my inner process—conscious and unconscious. I’m grateful for that, because I believe there are no fixed answers. But there is a path. A personal path, guided by an inner compass. I follow it by listening to my heart.

Writing, for me, happens in flow—without thinking. Afterwards, I read my own text as if I’m an outsider. As I’ve said before, I have Annette 1, 2, and 3 inside me. Annette 3—the observer—reads and says, “Ohhh… so that’s how it is!”
Isn’t it amazing how this works for me?

 

 

June 21, 2025 - Day 101

When an adult child treats you in a way that leaves a painful emptiness in your heart—how do you deal with that?

I have five children: three I gave birth to, one stepchild, and one foster child. Five very different personalities, which means that now they’re adults, my relationships with each of them vary. With some it’s easier, with others more complicated. Different interests, but also shared ones. None of them live close to me.

Letting them go so they could learn to fly on their own has always been important to me. My husband Michel and I didn’t care what they wanted to study or what they looked like. Their friends were always welcome—anyone could join us for dinner or stay the night. We were curious about how they would develop.

Sadly, the two youngest were only 16 and 17 when Michel passed away. That had a huge impact on all the children—and on me. During that time, numb from grief and living in poverty, I wasn’t able to guide them through their mourning process the way I should have. They moved out around that time to start their studies. Father gone, mother emotionally unreachable, no money. It was a very heavy time for them.

Ten years have passed now, and the scars—those unresolved traumas—have become more visible. Should I have done better? Could I have done it differently? Offering a sincere apology works with one child, but not with another. I feel responsible. I feel guilty.
There’s nothing worse than watching your child struggle—and feeling powerless to help or even reach them.

Michel and I were a real team when it came to parenting. We balanced each other out to understand and support our children as best we could. Our kids were often the center of our conversations. When I had trouble connecting with one of them, Michel would step in and vice versa. We were able to ‘channel’ together—to help communicate more clearly and lovingly with them.

When he died, that balance vanished. I remember so clearly how communication with the children became strained after that. Terrible. Knowing that that dynamic would never return.

The child who resembles me the most is the one who creates the most distance. For years, it's been a cycle of almost no contact alternating with periods of intense connection. And as I write this, I realize: I have that same tendency. I, too, am extreme in many things.

Figuring out my stance is always difficult. Do I say too much? Or too little? Do I ask for too much? Or not enough?
It makes me anxious—even nauseous—and, as I said at the start, it leaves a painful emptiness in my heart.

I try to listen without reacting. But how do you do that when your child says nothing?
How do you set boundaries for respectful communication when there’s no communication at all?

It’s so hard, so confusing.

The only two things I still have are trust and hope.
Trust that, someday, this silent child will come to understand that I love all my children unconditionally.

 

June 20, 2025 - Day 100

Secrets and honesty.
The things a person can be occupied with…

I’ve spent the whole day in the coolest room in our house, lying in bed.
Hopefully this is the last day of pain from the treatment earlier this week.
I can already move a bit more easily.

A lazy day, really.
Ton is out, so it’s just me and the dogs—who seem just as lazy as I am.

On my laptop, I scroll through series, websites, Facebook, Instagram, WhatsApp…
I see a lot of photos—holiday snapshots, people clearly enjoying themselves.

And still, I think:
“OMG, how can anyone find this enjoyable?!”
Or:
“How can people think this is beautiful?”

These thoughts run through my head.
And yet, despite them, I send a polite thumbs-up, a heart emoji, or even a cheerful message.

Am I a hypocrite?
A Pharisee?

And here comes the dilemma:
Is this honest?

What is honesty?
When should we be honest?
And how?

Are our thoughts even ours to share?

Must we always reveal what we truly think or feel?
Is that even desirable?

If you don’t express your true thoughts, is that a secret?
Are unspoken thoughts a form of privacy?

What is a secret, anyway?

According to the dictionary:

Secret (noun): something that is hidden; something not meant to be shared.

So yes, if your thoughts remain hidden, they are—in a way—a secret.

To me, this remains a slippery slope.

Thoughts arise consciously and unconsciously.
Conscious thoughts are what you actively think about.
Unconscious ones just sneak in.

Why?
Because of your experiences, conditioning, emotions, desires, past, present, future—you name it.
They shape who you are in any given moment.

Whether you like it or not, humans are constantly thinking.
Through meditation, you might create more peace—but even then, the little voices return.

Those thoughts say something about me, just as every emotion says something about me.

Emotions—I can reflect on them.
And if they were directed at someone, I can apologize.

But thoughts?
They live inside me.
Unspoken.
No one gets hurt by them.

If I look at them honestly, I can learn from them—become gentler, grow.

Or I can simply observe them and say:
That’s me. So what?
That’s them. Fine!

No, I don’t think it’s always honest—or helpful—to speak my thoughts aloud.
Especially if they might hurt someone.

So yes—thoughts can remain private.
And yes—secrets can be honest.
And honesty can be unfair.

Each of us probably draws that line—between expressing and withholding—in different places.

I think we’re all just trying to be “good” people.
We all carry our secrets.
We all try to be as honest as we can.

I’m just a real human being—
searching how to be good to myself,
and to others.

 

 

June 19, 2025 - Day 99

Friendships.

I’m grateful to have friends who truly love me.
They want what’s best for me, they offer support, and they respect who I am.
They care deeply, and from that place they try to help.

Friend A told me she attends NA (Narcotics Anonymous).
She reads my blog and said it reminds her a lot of the 12-step program that NA and AA use—
things like acknowledging your behavior, self-evaluation, admitting mistakes, and being willing to change.

That meant a lot.
It made me feel like maybe I’m not doing so badly after all.

We’ve known each other for 50 years.
She told me that, in her eyes, I’ve never changed.

There was a time when she hated the way I “was.”
And now, through my blog, she sees more of the real Annette—the one I’ve always been.

She still has letters I wrote her 40 years ago—in the same style I use now.
I’ve always acted from a place of inner wisdom.
Life has tested me many times, and I’ve drifted from that wisdom too—but I always found my way back.
Back to the light at the end of the dark tunnel.

Friend B has been my bestie for over 25 years.
She wants to protect me—figuratively and literally shield me from harm.
She’s always consciously working on awareness—through books, courses, and conversations.

Whenever I’m in a low place, physically or mentally, she tries to lift me up.
She’ll recommend books, videos, or workshops.
Her arguments are often strong—she really wants to move me into action.

But somehow… I always go quiet.
I feel resistance—not to her, but to the idea of having to read or listen to something.

After a while, she’ll laugh and say:
“Oh well, what am I talking for—you never do what I suggest anyway.”

And it’s true.
But I do hear her.

I’ve had a strong inner compass since I was young.
I’ve often referred to it as “my angels.”

It doesn’t matter whether it’s “real” or not, whether it comes from outside or from within.
Who can say?

What matters is that this force has always guided me—especially in my darkest moments.
It’s a strength I can trust.

I remember the shock I felt when I discovered that books had been written with the same wisdom I thought was uniquely mine.
I wasn’t the only one?! That shook me.

The first book I ever read like that was when I was a teenager staying with my sister:
“You Can Heal Your Life” by Louise Hay.

The second I read in my early twenties, a gift from a student:
“Initiation” by Elisabeth Haich.

I devoured both in one sitting—tears streaming down my face.
The recognition was overwhelming—almost as if they had been written by me.
It was eerie.

Only later did I realize that others, too, live from this inner wisdom.
And yes—here I go again, talking about inner wisdom.
So what about my “angels”?

Well…
In my experience, I receive answers through my body, through my senses.
That’s how they reach me.
It feels honest, authentic, and real.

All my life, I’ve felt, seen, heard, smelled and sensed things that weren’t there.

I haven’t always listened to them blindly—and I still don’t.
As a child, they were my only guide.
As a young adult, I fought against them.
It felt like an invasion of privacy.

Later, through yoga, that connection opened up again.
My master—a real Sikh—once warned me:

“If you drown in it, it will lead you off your path.”
(He made a gesture, as if brushing something aside.)

He said many Westerners get lost in it.

In a one-on-one conversation, I learned this:
First and foremost, you are human.
And that means finding balance in all things—even spiritual ones.

So here’s where I land:
I’m a human being.
With all my ups and downs.

But when things get really tough—on any level—
I always find my way back through myself—through those inner insights.

That’s when I don’t need a book or a course.
Because what’s meant for me always comes from within.

What I call “inner” is, in my view, part of something larger.
I know some people may find this woo-woo.
But this is how it really works for me.

My husband Ton thinks it’s nonsense.
He laughs when I talk about “angels.”

That’s okay.
It works for me.
It makes me feel good.

There’s no resistance in me anymore.
I accept this part of myself.
And I know for sure that I’ll keep following this path—
regardless of advice, regardless of opinion.

I remain deeply joyful and grateful for this part of me.

June 18, 2025 - Day 98

I woke up from a very strange dream.
In the dream, I have a swimming pool in my house. A large pool—light blue, crystal clear, in a bright, airy room. Apparently, even in my dream I’m occupied with my physical pain. Being in the water relaxes my body.

Well—“swimming” might be too much—I’m really just playing in the water, letting myself float, sometimes sink down to the bottom. All in a relaxed, thoughtless atmosphere.

Suddenly, I notice a tear about ten centimeters long in the pool floor. Something like a piece of sheet fabric is sticking out. I tug on it, but it’s wedged into the concrete. I swim to the surface and have it examined.
By whom? That’s unclear—there are no other people in the dream.

But the result:
Underneath the pool, a mass grave is discovered. Twenty-three people.

It doesn’t scare me.
Instead, I feel curious—fascinated, even.
I know this because at the end of the dream, I see myself walking around in a walk-in closet, looking for something to wear while thinking about the mystery.

The closet is tidy and well-organized.

Then I wake up—completely at ease.

It’s striking that this dream didn’t frighten or disturb me.
A mass grave under my beautiful pool…
Water, concrete, light blue… a sunny space.
And it ends in a closet.

Haha—so the skeletons didn’t come out of the closet.
But… what did?

Naturally, I looked up what this dream might mean.
Here’s what I found:

A dream about a hidden mass grave can symbolize suppressed emotions, fears, or unresolved past experiences. It can also indicate a sense of uncertainty, loss of control, or a hidden part of yourself that is seeking to emerge.

Possible interpretations:

• Repressed emotions: The grave may represent buried feelings, memories, or trauma.
  
  
• Fear and uncertainty: The dream could point to a fear of facing the past—or anxiety about the future.
  
  
• Loss of control: A mass grave might reflect a feeling of helplessness.
  
  
• Suppression: You may have repressed aspects of yourself or your past, and the dream signals they are ready to surface.
  
  
• New beginning: It can also be a sign of renewal—of letting go of the old and making space for the new.
  
  

Further reflection:

• Was the dream dark and scary, or calm? Were others present?
  
  
• What emotions did you feel in the dream?
  
  
• How does the dream relate to your current life situation?
  
  

Take time to process your dream and consider what it might mean for you. Talking about it or seeking professional dream interpretation may help.

Hmm… I can work with this.

I actually told all of this to my doctor yesterday.
After the stroke, I felt like I lost control over my emotions—as if the “lid” came off.
Memories started flooding back.
Fears returned—familiar ones from long ago.

I made a conscious decision to do something constructive with this confusion: to write about it daily.
I laughed and told her:
“In a way, I feel like I’m reinventing myself.”
“A discovery—Who is Annette?”
“Maybe it sounds silly, but I’m grateful for the stroke. It’s taking me deeper into my development.”

She smiled and said:
“Yes, Annette, that’s a beautiful way to approach it.”
“And it’s true—many people struggle with emotional regulation after a stroke.”

Ton had a few questions too.
The doctor—who specializes in rehabilitation and neurological conditions (like MS, spinal cord injury, Parkinson’s, neuropathy, chronic pain)—said:
“I think Annette knows her body very well and knows what she can and can’t do.”

That felt good to hear.

People often think I push myself too far.
Ton thinks that too—he wants to protect me from pain.
I get that.

But yes—I make my own choices.
I seek my limits, and that’s only possible if you’re willing to cross them sometimes.

I see this dream as a translation of the conversation I had with my doctor yesterday.
It reflects what I’m working through.

The only things left to interpret are the pool and the number 23.

Water in dreams usually represents emotion. A pool—being a contained, structured body of water—can symbolize emotional control or a sense of safety. The clarity and calmness of the water reveal your emotional state.

The number 23 is linked to creativity, collaboration, and spiritual growth. In a biblical sense, it’s associated with divine inspiration. It may be a call to share your unique voice.

Now I understand why this dream felt so peaceful!
It was beautiful.
All the ingredients of my life woven into one image.

What a joy this journey of self-discovery is!

June 17, 2025 - Day 97

About six years ago, after a nasty fall, I ended up at a doctor specialized in musculoskeletal medicine.
My sacrum had twisted, causing unbearable pain in my hips, legs, and back.

This doctor essentially realigned my entire skeleton.
It took several treatments to get everything to stay in place.

After each session, I always feel very unsure.
My whole body feels bruised.
The next day usually feels worse—and by the third day, it can feel excruciating.
I always think: “Now it’s really messed up!”
But then… by day four, all the pain is gone.

By now, after six years, I know this pattern well.

I had a session again this morning.
So the coming days will be about resting through the discomfort.

I see this doctor as a gift from the universe.
On her website, I read a description that really resonated with how I see life myself.
And after meeting her, I found her to be exactly as she had described.

Because I can’t walk normally—and because of that fall—my bones and vertebrae shift easily.
That puts pressure on nerves and causes increased pain.
She straightens me out—and I can move forward again.

How beautiful is that?

I can tell she has a holistic approach.
To her, I’m not just a skeleton made up of bones, muscles, and tendons.
I’m a human being—with a history.

To me, she’s a gem in a sea of cold, empty-headed specialists.
(I know that’s not kind to say—but over the past year, I haven’t had many great experiences with medical professionals.)

I do still hope to find new specialists who listen—and are willing to think with me.

Here’s part of her philosophy, which really made me think:

“For me, movement is the opposite of stagnation.
Physical movement is always linked to mental movement—and vice versa.
The key to movement is balance.
That means aligning muscle groups with each other, and matching effort to capacity.
Mentally, it’s about regulating stimulation and sensitivity.
Without balance, complaints arise.
My mission is to identify that imbalance and help people restore it.
Depending on the cause of the imbalance, I search for the best way in.”

So—how does that translate to me?

For me, cycling is essential—because it literally keeps me from standing still.
She says: “Body and mind are one.”
“Physical movement is mental movement.”

Yes—that’s how I see it too.

But… I’ve also taught myself to mentally disconnect from the physical.
Because if I didn’t, I fear I’d become deeply depressed.

Being physically limited has taught me to be grateful for the small things:
the sight of nature, a smile, a purring cat next to me—you name it.

Movement = balance. That seems obvious.

Unfortunately, physically I have very little balance.

Put me in a pitch-dark room and I can’t take a single step.
I literally fall over.
No joke!

All my movement is visual.
No light = no motion.

“Without balance, complaints arise,” she says.
Well—that becomes more and more obvious as I age.

My life will always be a search for some form of balance.

Maybe…
Maybe it’s the internal split between the physical and the mental that makes me so extreme in everything I do—whether in the plus or the minus.

Funny…
Could this be the answer to what I was writing about yesterday?

 

 

June 16, 2025  -  Day 96

Finding Balance.
The intensity with which I do everything is limitless.
Take yesterday’s example: everyone always welcome versus shutting out the world.

As a child, it didn’t look like I was going to grow old.
Doctors once told me I probably wouldn’t live past twenty.
That news sent me on a mission: to experience as much as I could, as quickly as possible.
It also made me a bit reckless.

During my teenage and early adult years, I really went all out—there’s no other way to say it.
Shyness wasn’t in my vocabulary, and neither was fear.

Much later, I began to feel a sense of responsibility—for myself and the people around me. That only came during my second marriage.

Do I regret that earlier time?
No!!!
Because it gave me an early taste of letting go, of feeling truly free.

That’s something people usually have to learn in life—if they’re lucky. Sometimes they never do.
In my case, everything unfolded a bit out of order.
The worries, fears, and trauma didn’t hit with full force until after I turned thirty.

What has stayed with me from that time is my tendency to do everything with deep seriousness and intensity.
Which, of course, has two sides.
If the “positive” side of the coin is +10, then my “negative” side is -10.
In my case, the + is 1000—and so the - is also 1000.

I can be incredibly patient… or have the shortest fuse.
I’m either super social… or full-on hermit mode.
I eat everything… or nothing at all.
And so on.

Today, my childhood friend Carina called.
After two months touring around in her camper van, she’s back in the country.
We lived through our teenage years together—intensely.
We’ve both led turbulent lives.

Our friendship has seen deep valleys and incredible peaks—because of who we are.
After fifty years, it’s safe to say: this is a friendship that will last until death, and maybe even beyond.
That’s how it feels to me: like she has always been there, and always will be.

That’s the beauty of soul connections.
They just are.
And you can’t lose them.

We talked about how we both know what life is about—but that awareness isn’t enough. You have to practice.
Like learning to play an instrument: every day, again and again.

Reflect daily:
What did I do?
Why?
How?

Be honest with yourself—and with others—every day. Without fear.
Be grateful—every day.

She does it in her own way. I do it by writing.
Two middle-aged women, growing side by side, with the same realization:
We are learning—every day.

Every day we look in the mirror.
Every day we practice letting go.
And every day, we are grateful.

What a gift it is to grow older.

June 15, 2025 - Day 95

What do you write about on a day when it feels like not much happens—let alone something worthy of reflection?
I’ve been sitting here for a couple of hours trying to think of what I could share about myself today.

Then I remembered a Taoist quote:
“Some answers only come when you stop asking.”
It just sounds better in English.

And because of that quote, I gave myself permission to stop thinking and just enjoy a British detective series.

True to Taoist philosophy, while watching the show, something surfaced that usually stays buried deep—but is very much present:
a not-so-nice, possibly selfish side of me.

Because of physical overload, I’m struggling to walk right now.
Every movement hurts.

So there I am, sitting on my bed with cool massage oil on my back, my dogs keeping me company, watching a series.
My husband takes care of me—brings me drinks regularly, and otherwise leaves me alone.
Perfect!!

But then… it’s Father’s Day, and Ton’s sons text that they’re coming over.
Sweet, of course.
But this inner gremlin in me groans: There goes my peaceful day.

Then my friend Hilde asks if she can drop by.
Damn it, I think. There goes my TV day again.

Truly! That was my first thought.

But it shifted quickly, and I felt grateful that Ton’s sons, the grandchildren, and Hilde were coming over.
Of course it’s lovely when they’re here.

Still, I had to go through an internal process to get there.

Especially with Hilde, I’m usually happy right away when she comes.
But with my own children, it’s different.
They confront me.

Why?
I don’t fully know.
Scary, isn’t it—that I’m writing this out loud?

But it’s the truth.

Once, my house was an open home—everyone was welcome.
For years, we had extra guests at dinner almost every night.
People without shelter stayed with us.
Everything was possible. Everything was allowed.

After Michel passed away, the kids eventually left home too.
Once I was alone again, I could—literally and figuratively—reclaim my space.

I think that’s when the other side of the coin kicked in:
An aversion to drop-ins. No more big parties. As few unplanned things as possible.
Not quite a hermit… but close.

Living a solitary life means you don’t have to reflect as much.
There’s less friction, less mirroring.

Maybe I needed that—after all those turbulent years.

Now I want to be more socially engaged again.
And I am, in fact.

But today, I admit there was still a flicker of reluctance.

Let’s call it a start, at least, that I’m willing to acknowledge it.

Maybe it also has to do with my physical condition.
When I feel well, I can handle much more.
When I feel like I do now—unwell—I probably prefer to be alone.

People say shared sorrow is half the sorrow—
That’s something I still need to learn.
To share my sorrow.

Pffff… that’s going to be a long road.

Let me close this day with another Taoist quote:
“Life never stops teaching. Why would you stop learning?”

 

 

June 14, 2025 - Day 94

A cousin texted me today asking whether I really said “jerk” to Ton in the video yesterday.
Yes, I did—though I followed it up with a forgiving smile.
It was one of those Murphy's Law kind of days: when one thing goes wrong, and then everything else follows. I think everyone knows what that’s like.

My cousin reads my blog every day.
Me: “It means a lot to me that people I know want to read it.”
Cousin: “I imagine it must feel quite vulnerable when it’s people close to you.”
Me: “Yes, but I’ve reached the point where I want to talk about my feelings—my experience.”
“I honestly don’t care anymore what people think of it.”
“A lifetime of showing the world what they wanted to see is over.”
“I don’t want to adapt myself anymore—though I do want to change difficult patterns.”
“How can a feeling be dishonest?”
“Or how can a feeling come from a bad intention?”
“If you really think about it, that’s absurd.”
“Still, I always pushed my real feelings aside, assuming the listener couldn’t handle it. Isn’t that ridiculous?”

Cousin: “Yes, it really is. And yet—I still do it. It’s hard not to.”
Me: “You’re still young. Can you imagine how long I’ve done this?”
“Why do people feel attacked when someone shares a feeling?”
“Wouldn’t it be beautiful if we could just listen, accept it as real, and then take it into account—regardless of how we ourselves feel?”
“So that both people can see how differently the same situation can be felt or experienced.”
“And... most importantly: that it’s all true!”

Cousin: “Yes, absolutely.”

Me: “I’m using this conversation in tonight’s blog.”
“I’m lying in bed because I can’t walk—so I don’t have much else to write about today. Ton went to Veldhoven to pick up the dogs.”

Cousin: “Are you in much pain?”
Me: “Yes, short and simple answer.”
“I’m not sick, just nauseous when I try to walk, so I’m staying in bed until it passes.”

Cousin: “Yeah… I kind of know what that’s like.”
“Sometimes I can do nothing but stare at the ceiling.”

Me: “Yes, it’s inconvenient, maybe annoying—but it doesn’t really affect my mood.”

Cousin: “That’s a relief.”

Me: “I’ve had a lifetime of training in pain and doing nothing.”
“I go through it, and that’s all.”
“Just thinking about our vacation makes me happy again.”

Cousin: “It really looked like a wonderful trip.”

Me: “It was. We’ve booked another week in August—when the heath is in full bloom.”

First of all, I feel honored that a cousin takes the time to read my blog and respond now and then.
That, too, is a gift that brings me joy.

When it comes to respecting other people’s emotions, I’m actually pretty good at that. But the closer they are to me, the harder it gets.
Ha! Maybe I should apply that more consistently to my husband.

He simply is different from me—and that’s okay. I’m not perfect. I’m clearly a control freak.
One person is easygoing and loose, which can spiral out of control. The other is rigid, which limits spontaneity and adventure.

And well… why am I stressing?
No one died.
Things just turned out differently than I’d imagined.

 

 

June 13, 2025 -  Day 93

Friday the 13th!
Now I get it...

This morning we went for one last little ride near the hotel—one final spin before the predicted heat arrived. But something went wrong in my hips again, causing my legs to buckle. Walking became nearly impossible. Still... we had a beautiful vacation, and that’s in the bag.

Ton packed the car and loaded the bikes onto the trailer. It took forever, and while I was waiting, the temperature began to soar. Normally I’d get involved, try to help, or push things along faster. But this time, I just waited patiently, even with the nerve pain in my hips. I was proud of myself for staying calm and kind to Ton. Yep—emotions and frustrations under control.

For me, the worst kind of weather is heat—I call that “severe weather.”
Storms, rain, lightning—I love those. But heat? No thanks.
We planned to avoid highways and stop somewhere in the woods for lunch. Keep that holiday feeling going just a little longer.

Then Ton tells me that his son is performing in Almere this afternoon.
Internally, something flares up.
But I breathe in, breathe out, and ask calmly:
“What time?”
“Do you want to go see him?” I ask.

He checks his watch, and I immediately feel like the vacation is over. With his usual innocent eyes (I know that look), he says, “No, not necessarily.”

Again, I let it go. I’m able to release the irritation fairly quickly and dive back into my romantic holiday mood.

Driving through the woods, I spot a cozy restaurant at the forest’s edge. I suggest we stop there for lunch. But Ton hits the gas, and off we go—leaving the woods behind, heading home via the Betuwe region.

On these back roads, we pass some cheap gas stations. I ask Ton,
“Shouldn’t we fill up soon?”
Mr. Mijs says no, and keeps driving.

We don’t come across any nice cafes or bistros. My stomach starts growling. Then we see a brown sign with a fork and knife. We follow it into a village called De Klomp.

After several kilometers, it turns out to be a sign for a campsite canteen.

For weeks, I’ve been avoiding fried food and carbs—and my stomach has been much happier. But now we’re down to a plate of fries and a croquette. It’ll have to do.

End result: hunger gone, but now stomach pain and gurgling intestines.

Still avoiding the highways, we now drive along the Diefdijk—a long, narrow road full of unpleasant bumps and curves.

Ton’s driving style… let’s just say, I’m not a fan. I’m terrified.
Yes, I know—that’s my issue, I admit that.
But normally I’d drive myself. Unfortunately, my car doesn’t have a towbar, so we’re using my daughter’s car—and I can’t drive it.

As we bump along the dike, my stress levels keep rising.
I’m quietly panicking, trying not to start a fight. That already takes a lot of energy.

Ton picks up on the tension and says,
“Shall we take the highway for the last stretch?”
“Please. I just want to go home.”

We merge onto the busy A15 entrance...
Drip. Blub. Blub. Tank empty.

Stress through the roof—but I try to stay calm. No yelling, no blaming... until—
Ton wants to get out of the car so that people “see movement.”
Cars are flying by at 100 km/h, just inches away!

Okay. At that moment, I wasn’t exactly feeling warm and fuzzy toward Mr. own-MIJS. But “getting rid of him” wasn’t the plan either.

We called roadside assistance.
Breathe. In. Out. Ignore the heart palpitations. It’ll be okay.
Light-headed. The heat is unbearable. Am I going to faint?

Ton can’t sit still—he fidgets with his phone (which is dead), reaches for stuff in the back seat, then back again.
All I want is air. Peace. Stillness around me.

Then the ANWB tow truck arrives!
I can’t walk anymore, and I’m overheating with serious heart palpitations.
The driver says,
“Ma’am, you’d better stay in the car. I can’t get you up into the cabin.”

Ton wants to wave at me like, “See you in a bit!”
NOPE.
“I’m not staying alone in this car while it’s being towed!”

Thankfully—for the first time today—Mr. own-MIJS listens to his wife.
So up we go, both of us, car and all, on top of the tow truck.

Later, Ton said he never meant to leave me alone.
It just felt that way, in the heat of my high-stress moment.

In hindsight: another wild adventure.
And honestly—I’m proud of myself for managing to keep so many emotions in check.

Once home: straight upstairs, clothes off, into a cold shower...
Then: REST.

Friday the 13th.

 

 

June 12, 2025 - Day 92

I was awake all night! That’s a different story when you’re in a hotel room. At home, I could just go sit in the living room and maybe watch a film or something. Sitting with my laptop in the hotel bathroom didn’t seem like a good idea either. Nothing helped—deep breathing, counting sheep, quiet meditation techniques...

I didn’t fall asleep until 5:45 a.m., only to be wide awake again at 8:30. Why? I honestly don’t know. The only thing that came to mind was: Maybe it’s a full moon? I’m pretty sensitive to that kind of energy—and now, even more than usual. So I just checked... and yes! It was a full moon.

During a full moon, it stays lighter outside for longer. As a result, your body produces less melatonin. The bright light from the full moon interferes with melatonin production, which means you get less sleepy.

There’s a full moon every month, of course, but the one in June is sometimes extra special. That’s because the moon is lower in the sky and takes on an orange-red hue. It also appears larger from that low position.

This year, the moon is exceptionally low, which makes the color and size stand out even more. The red tone becomes more pronounced due to atmospheric light refraction—just like during a sunset.
In some traditions, the June full moon is called the “Strawberry Moon,” because it coincides with the strawberry harvest. The fact that its color resembles the fruit may just be coincidence.

The moon won’t be this low again in June until the year 2043. In the Netherlands, you could see the colored moon between 10:45 and 11:15 p.m. on Wednesday night.

Still, I felt energetic enough to take on another 50-kilometer ride today.

You might think all forests look the same... but no. Ton and I keep noticing how diverse the forests of the Veluwe are. Each type of woodland has its own unique atmosphere.

I read that the forest near Putten is home to one of the most beautiful tree collections in the Netherlands, including the oldest sequoias (dating back to 1853) on the European continent. The Kleine Pinetum and Grote Pinetum—pinetum meaning conifer collection—originated from old tree nurseries grown for the estate’s forests. Some trees planted in the mid-19th century are now over 40 meters tall—think of a 13-story building!

We also came across tree carvings in stumps where the roots were still deep in the ground. There’s no information anywhere about who made them or why. But it was pure delight.

During lunch at a café terrace in Putten, I got a message from my sister. She wrote:

“What I keep thinking about is that I’ve never heard you use the word ‘happy’ when talking about your own feelings!!”
“I’m impressed.”
“Long live your stroke—it’s been a gift.”

Wow. Is that true? Since the stroke, I do find it easier to talk and write about my feelings.

And yes, ever since I got my cargo trike—and can cycle independently, be outdoors, be active in nature—I have felt happy. I’ve felt this especially since I started riding regularly through the Alblasserwaard. That cargo bike is the best thing I’ve ever bought.

HAPPINESS, for me, is...
independence... freedom... being physically active... being in nature.
Right now, I have all those ingredients in place.

June 11, 2025 - Day 91

After a good night’s sleep, I was up bright and early. Very unusual for me—I rarely get out of bed before 10:00 AM. But at 7:30, I was already in the shower, eager to start the day.

Spending all day in nature and being physically active—that’s my personal formula for happiness. The soreness and aches I’m feeling are a good sign. Proof that I did something. Proof of life. Pain after activity always makes me happy. It might sound strange, but to me it means: I had energy. And that’s something to be grateful for.

At 10:15 AM we were back on the bikes. It was overcast but dry. Today’s plan was to do the loop to Elburg.

I noticed several swallows flying low, which made me suspicious despite the forecast.
“When swallows fly high, the weather will stay dry. When they fly low, expect rain.”
This bit of old weather lore is actually grounded in science: when the weather is fair, insects fly higher; in bad weather, they stay lower. Swallows follow them, adjusting their flight based on air pressure. Thanks to a special organ in their inner ear—essentially a built-in barometer—they sense those pressure changes.

Around noon, when we arrived in Elburg, the sun actually came out. We had fried mussels for lunch in this charming little town, and afterward cycled around a bit more to explore.

A woman was sitting on a bench near our bikes, having lunch. I spontaneously started a conversation with her—part of my new social efforts.

Later, we wanted to visit the church, where I had a brief chat with the sexton. I told him how clear it was that people here take pride in their town. The facades, the flower pots, the general tidiness—it all radiates care and love.

My bike mirror had come loose and kept slipping down, so I had to hold it while riding. It turns out I rely on that mirror more than I thought. In a side street, I saw a carpenter at work and cycled over to ask if he had an Allen key. And yes—this kind man fixed the mirror for me so I could ride on with ease.

Ton was surprised and impressed by how assertively I handled it.

This vacation is priceless. The best kind of rehabilitation I can imagine…

June 10, 2025 - Day 90

We’re staying in a small, living-room-style hotel. At breakfast, you immediately see all the other guests—a group of 70+ year-olds, all here for the same reason: to cycle through the area.

It’s pouring rain, so at every table you hear people coming up with new plans. In the end, Ton and I were the only ones who actually went out cycling. After all, we didn’t pack rain gear for nothing!

It wasn’t just rain—it was also windy. We left at 11:00 AM and came back around 6:00 PM. For the first few hours, it was just Ton and me, alone in the wild elements. Halfway through the day it dried up for a while, and that’s when we started seeing other people again.

In total, I think we spent about fifteen minutes in what you’d call “civilization.” The rest of the time was pure forest, heathland, and sandy plains. It was pure joy!

In the forest, as far as the eye could see: Digitalis purpurea—foxglove. Deep purple, lilac, pink, and white—an absolute fairytale! Neither Ton nor I had ever seen it like that before.

On the heath and sand plains, it felt like being on a faraway savannah. Only the dramatic Dutch skies and weather reminded us that we were, in fact, still in the Netherlands.

Sure, I’ve been to the Veluwe before—but short walks or drives by car can’t compare to this kind of immersive experience by bike.

When it stopped raining, or only drizzled lightly, you could hear birds singing nocturnes after emerging from shelter. Enormous birds of prey flew like acrobats through the forest. One massive bird of prey was perched on a post in the middle of the sandy plain. Sadly, my phone wasn’t up to the task of capturing it in those conditions.

We braved wind, rain, and even hail—but it wasn’t until we got back to the hotel that I felt the toll it had taken on my body. Sore butt, aching thighs, stiff muscles, pain in my back and neck, and my face glowing with heat.

Despite all that, both Ton and I look back on the day with deep gratitude. It was a gift—an incredibly happy day!

June 9, 2025 - Day 89

Whit Monday!
We’ve gone on holiday—a cycling trip through the Veluwe. We booked a small hotel in the village of Vierhouten. On the way there, it started to drizzle, and once we left the highway, it turned into a full-blown downpour! But it didn’t dampen our spirits in the slightest. We’re true Dutch hardy types, ready for anything—including rain.

We unloaded our bags, brought them to our room, and stored our bikes in the covered bicycle shed. Despite the rain, the temperature was pleasant—about 18 degrees, I’d guess. And just as we were getting ready for our first little ride, the sun came out—and we didn’t see another drop all day.

Being in the forest, cycling across the open plains of the Veluwe—it reminded me a little of South Africa. My thoughts completely shut off, and I felt totally relaxed. The flowers, the plants, the trees, the sound of raindrops still falling from the leaves—simply magical. If a little fairy had flown by, I wouldn’t even have been surprised. It felt as if I had stepped into a fairytale.

We cycled about 25 kilometers. At home, that would feel like quite a distance, but here I didn’t even notice. In the Alblasserwaard, we know every square centimeter by now—beautiful in all seasons, yes—but this new environment makes it feel like I’m just floating along. I’m so glad we decided to do this.

The hotel owner has created a whole collection of cycling routes and mapped them out for guests to take. We’ve picked out four of them. Tomorrow we’ll do a 52-kilometer route to Ermelo. It’s the first time in my life I’ve planned a cycling holiday.

We cycle a lot at home, so the idea grew naturally. It’s great to be moving and doing something active myself. Walking is very difficult—really a challenge—so that’s not an option for a vacation. Spending an entire holiday in a wheelchair or mobility scooter didn’t appeal either. This is ideal. I hope I can keep up the positivity. We’ll see how it goes.

 

June 8, 2025 - Day 88

Divide or share?
Today, my sister responded to my blog. Until now, she’s been reading it quietly, without commenting. She says that overall, she recognizes my writing—so much so that it could easily be about her too, for at least three-quarters of it.
I’m truly glad she reached out.

We come from the same family, and we’re both daughters. With a narcissistic mother, that’s no small detail.
Girls in such a family dynamic start out at a 5–0 disadvantage.

As I’ve said before, this kind of dysfunction is often invisible to the outside world.
We siblings love each other, but… there’s a big “but.”
Why is that?

I’ll try to explain as simply as I can.
A narcissistic parent sows division within the family.
That’s how they maintain control.
A child is, by nature, loyal to the parent—and the narcissist uses that loyalty.
Each child’s individual loyalty gives the parent leverage to create unrest and suspicion between siblings.

So yes, among us there’s always been a kind of conditioned caution.
There are fixed roles we’ve each been assigned over the years.
Our mother’s gossiping—talking badly about one child to another—was a daily occurrence.
It did not help our sense of cohesion.

We love each other, but… we don’t really trust each other.
We’ve all played the game for the outside world:
a cheerful family that shows up to birthday parties, that takes four-day trips together every Ascension weekend.

I think the fact that we kept what went on behind closed doors hidden from the world, is a reflection of something deeper. Each of us, in different ways, developed a fear of expressing real feelings—sometimes even in unhealthy ways.
All four of us have survival mechanisms so deeply ingrained that it’s scary to expose them.

Now my sister is also starting to face the ghosts of the past—to give them a place, to move on without fear.
That’s what I’m doing by writing this blog.

It’s bizarre, really, how much there still is to unpack at our age.
Things I thought I had long since processed still have a poisonous tail.
It’s no coincidence, I suppose, that the sting is in the tail...

My sister suggested that we talk about all this face-to-face—when we both feel ready.
The fact that we’re both open to that is huge.

I responded:
“Writing is working wonders for me. I try to respond to what I’m writing in a kind of flow. I aim to be as honest as possible about what’s there. Sometimes I even feel nauseous when I write it down. I’ve given myself a year for this. When I feel ready to talk about it without too much pain, I’ll let you know, okay?”

Probably, a few more layers need to be peeled away before we can really talk openly and freely.

We’re both terrified.
But the door to openness and love is ajar…
How beautiful is that?

 

 

June 7, 2025 - Day 87

On May 31, I wrote about a dream I had sent to someone who partly makes a living out of dream interpretation. After she had responded, I woke up again with another dream—the one about the K-pop band SHINee. I sent that one to her too, and today I received another reply:

Hi Annette,
Sorry, it’s been a busy week, and your messages kind of got snowed under. But I still wanted to respond.
Reading what you wrote, I got the sense that there are situations where you hold yourself back. And you don’t have to. No matter the situation, you’re always allowed to set your boundaries. You’re allowed to say that something hurts you or that you disagree. It’s even possible that certain perceptive people around you know this about you—and take advantage of it. Completely losing your temper may not always be ideal, but you can still make it very clear, in a calm way, that something is not okay. If you’re very angry, you can also pull someone aside. Or come back to it later. The way you do it isn’t the point. What matters is that in certain situations, you don’t speak up. And that is exactly what these dreams are showing you.
I hope that’s becoming clearer for you.
Best wishes, Yvette

And yes, even though I do know how to speak up, I almost never truly express how I feel.
Afraid of confrontation? Of hurting someone? Of being seen as childish? Of doing it wrong? Of not being liked?
Whatever it is—it probably is a mix of all these fears. When someone personally attacks me, I hardly ever respond. And yet, strangely, people outside of my partner, my children, and my best friend have a completely different impression of me. They really believe I say whatever is on my mind! But when it comes to my personal feelings, I absolutely don’t.

That’s something I want to work on: being more direct about how I feel.
The key lies in how I express it.
My dreams are making that point again and again—and so does this woman, Yvette.

Now that I’m more aware of this underdeveloped part of me, I do see signs of slow change.
What’s important to me is that I want to be assertive from now on—not retroactively. I don’t want to go back and confront people about past hurts. That would quickly lead into the territory of blame.

As a psychologist once told me: “Blame creates distance.”
That struck a chord. I’ve used that phrase many times since.
So from now on, setting boundaries must be done kindly, but firmly and transparently. I’ll need to stay alert to the temptation of slipping into blame.

I do wonder whether it will make me feel freer.
Now that this theme is alive in me, I can look more deeply at what it feels like to suppress my emotions.
Honestly? It feels like being sealed off—trapped—completely suffocating. Even as I describe it now, I can physically feel the paralyzing tension in my body. So it clearly affects me more than I previously realized.

It’s fascinating that every day, in complete silence, I write a small piece about something that arises—and I experience it so directly and physically.
By looking this closely at what literally and figuratively moves me, a whole new world is opening up.
A world that has always been there, but has remained untouched… until now.

 

 

June 6, 2025 - Day 86

A bit of a setback today after a long but memorable day yesterday. First, physical rehabilitation, then dinner in Amsterdam, the theater, and a taste of the city’s nightlife. We only got home around 4:30 a.m. this morning.

No surprise that my body’s protesting now—especially my head, due to tension in my neck and shoulders. Since my stroke, that’s been one of the more noticeable changes: I build up tension very quickly in those areas. Sitting or walking for too long, or trying to keep my body upright for extended periods—those things take a toll. Crowds and being surrounded by people are draining too.

Yesterday, I was able to be in the moment. It was a lovely, relaxed day—or at least, that’s how it felt at the time. In hindsight, I can tell that some hidden tension crept in nonetheless.

Does that mean days like this aren’t worth repeating? On the contrary—I think Ton and I should do this more often. With time, I might learn how to stay relaxed and let go of that quiet build-up of stress.

It’s worth it to feel more at home in my body again and to truly enjoy social experiences. I’ll never be a super social animal. That’s okay. But avoiding everything completely? That’s just the other extreme.

Too much of anything is never good. And as yesterday clearly showed, social interaction plays a real role in increasing our sense of happiness.

So today: a bit of rest for the body—and onward, with good spirits.

June 5, 2025 - Day 85

How do I become happier?
Today we went to a live recording of the Volkskrant’s science podcast, Ondertussen in de Kosmos. The editorial team explored the question: How do you become (more) happy? Hosted by science editor Tonie Mudde, a range of experts offered insights on living a happier life—including columnist and professor Ionica Smeets, former Journalist of the Year Maarten Keulemans, universe expert George van Hal, journalist Anna van den Breemer, and internist Dr. Liesbeth van Rossum (Erasmus MC).

It was like a crash course in happiness studies: science-backed relationship advice, insights into what weight-loss medications do to body and mind, lessons in cosmic perspective—and even a special experiment with the audience!

Before the event, we had dinner at the restaurant in the Hotel Americain, a beautiful art deco café with stained glass windows and lamps. Gorgeous! It truly felt like stepping back into the 1920s. In my mind, I saw myself in a loose, straight dress with fringes, sequins and beads, a low waist, a bob haircut, accessorized with a cloche hat, a headband, and a string of pearls—dancing the Charleston. Yes, that’s how far my imagination goes in such a setting.

The food, however, was a bit disappointing. My chicken ragout was watery. The taste wasn’t bad, but I’m very sensitive to texture, so I only had a few bites.
When the waitress kindly asked, “Is everything to your liking?” my honest (and rather blunt) answer was: “No!!!”
Ton was astonished: “You never say things like that! Usually, you just tell me, then brush it off.”

Funny how I’m changing—just a little—without even noticing. Normally, I would have felt bad for the waitress, but now I could express myself firmly yet politely. In the end, we got our dessert for free. That used to embarrass me—but not today. That tells me something is shifting. Through writing and consciously observing my own behavior, I’m changing, however subtly.
It felt good. I wasn’t embarrassed after speaking up—very unusual for me.

At the DeLaMar Theater, various scientists shared what makes people happy. Things like: do you have a roof over your head? Enough to eat? Support in your life? Good health? These seem to be the four key ingredients for happiness.
It made me pause—because I’ve lacked all four at some point in my life.

Another expert talked about happiness in terms of probability. Is that more about hope, belief, or just wishful thinking? Her conclusion was: the more things you try, the more likely you are to find happiness.

The internist, together with someone with lived experience, spoke about obesity—not as the result of overeating, but as a complex disease. Many factors contribute to weight gain. Weight-loss medication should be carefully supervised and only prescribed after identifying the underlying causes. At a recent conference in Málaga, new breakthroughs in this field were discussed. Losing weight doesn’t just boost happiness because of a more socially accepted appearance, but also because it literally changes brain receptors that increase the sensation of joy.

Another scientist spoke about the beauty—but also the dangers—of the universe. Lightning storms in galaxies, black holes… it made me realize: it’s sheer luck that we live on Earth.
Someone else explained the healing power of nature. Apparently, even renaming an ugly apartment building in a crowded area to something like “Green Park Flats” can measurably increase residents’ happiness. Being in nature increases endorphins and makes people feel better.

Then a music teacher got the audience singing “Happy” by Pharrell Williams. Singing—especially in groups—boosts happiness.
Another speaker, a relationship therapist, gave tips on improving relationships—mainly by recognizing and managing irritations, like messiness. The audience laughed in recognition. Arguments are healthy, she said, but only if you make agreements and sometimes simply apologize for your own bad behavior.

And finally—my personal favorite—a scientist spoke about cats. He explained how humans and cats have lived together since ancient times. He showed videos like the ones on Instagram. People feel joy just by watching cats. It literally makes us happier.

I felt a bit more at ease about my weight afterward. What clearly brings me joy is nature. I miss it in Papendrecht, but I try to make up for that by cycling through the Alblasserwaard. My animals—cats and dogs—definitely make me happy. I always call them my heartbeats.

My relationship is good. I complain a lot about Ton being messy. Sometimes I lose my temper, but I almost always apologize quickly. Hahaha—maybe we’re doing just fine. Although… he genuinely doesn’t see the mess. In his mind, he is cleaning! Clearly, that’s a fixed point.

Singing? Maybe I should do that more.
Social contact? Still a work in progress.

My own conclusion: Happiness is a choice. You create the feeling yourself.

 

 

June 4, 2025 - Day 84

Responsibility.
Today, my blog might take an unusual turn. What does this actually have to do with me, personally? Yesterday, the Dutch government collapsed because Mr. Wilders of the PVV pulled the plug. For as long as I can remember, I’ve followed parliamentary debates on TV. To me, it’s a kind of people's theatre, much like football is a form of popular entertainment. Except the rules of the game have changed over the years—almost to the point of disappearing entirely. The only thing that seems to matter now is getting the ball in the goal, no matter how. That metaphor seems to come pretty close to today’s politics.

Once again, I’ve been watching the entire debate today about the fall of the cabinet. What strikes me is how everyone blames each other, with zero self-reflection.

I believe in micro, meso, and macro energies. By that, I mean that the way people behave at the top (macro level) is mirrored on the smaller scales (meso and micro). On the other hand, I also believe that if the individual (micro level)—a single drop in the ocean—starts behaving differently (in this case, by reflecting and taking responsibility), this change can ripple upward, if enough individuals do the same.

Blaming others doesn’t get you anywhere, not on a small scale, and not on a large one either. Whether between people or between government parties, it leads to deadlock. A state of gridlock where no one is willing to shift, and solutions become unreachable because everyone is clinging to their own views. Blame-shifting reveals a deeper pattern: a lack of self-responsibility, an unwillingness to confront one’s own flaws, fears, or insecurities—and maybe even a lack of self-compassion.

Personally, I strongly believe in taking responsibility for my own emotions, reactions, and actions. Of course, I can look back and examine where certain behaviors or conditionings stem from—this blog is full of such reflections. Writing about my upbringing and the situations I found myself in brings me peace and clarity, and opens the door to possible change. But still, I remain responsible for how I view and handle things now.

All the bickering in parliament brings me right back to myself, and how I want to live my life—with the hope that one day, our government might be led by people with the emotional and intellectual intelligence to treat each other with respect and to govern this country from that place.

If those at the top refuse to change, it’s up to the individual. That’s what I believe: that enough people are capable of introspection.
There is always hope…

June 3, 2025 — day 83

A blessing in disguise?

Yesterday I wrote about my positive focus—even in negative experiences. It’s a very strong survival mechanism. For many people, it’s something they could learn. But what do I need to learn here?

Another aha moment. My current husband always tries to tell me that I skip large parts of the grieving process. “You forget to feel the pain or to be shocked; you immediately flip it into a new possibility or a positive intent. You jump too quickly to the end of the process.” I find that hard to hear. “Of course I feel it—but I also instantly see other things. Isn’t that actually good?” From what I wrote yesterday, I suddenly realize it’s a conditioning—an ingrained survival pattern so deep in me that I don’t know any different. Many people have to learn how to draw something beautiful out of something ugly. Those people often cry; they visibly struggle—which I don’t understand. Now I can see that I have to learn to cry, to feel the pain, to even linger in it for a moment and then see the light. So even a seemingly “good” outcome of a conditioning or survival mechanism has its shortcomings. The lack of emotion—and lack of understanding for others’ emotions—is one of mine.

You’re never too old to learn, I suppose. How is it possible I’m only seeing this clearly now? It’s not that I never searched. Apparently, only now was possible. Why now? I think I get it. As I’ve written, my emotions were uncontrolled after the stroke. Out of the blue they exploded—usually at my husband. It had nothing to do with him; that’s just how it came out. Probably long stuck inside me, well hidden, and then suddenly—boom—released. One catharsis after another, resulting in clarity and insight. No resentment or bitterness—more a contemplative discovery journey I’m grateful for.

June 2, 2025 — day 82

Mother–daughter relationship.

The series I’m watching centers on a mother–daughter bond. It makes me wonder: how do I do that? I am a daughter, a mother, a stepmother, and a foster mother. I didn’t cuddle much with the girls, but I did with my son. I always used to say, “He was so cuddly—the girls didn’t want to.” Now I ask myself: is that really true? Did I copy my example? Did I simply not know how? I’ve always felt a block toward my daughters, while at the same time I love them with all my soul. It feels like a professional swimmer drowning in the kiddie pool. Why? Why did I create this lack for myself and my daughters? Can I still change it? Isn’t it important to cut this thread? Is it possible to let it stop with me?

My narcissistic mother put her own needs first. I have no memories of her ever hugging me—my father luckily did. The boys were a different story for her; they visibly got more love, but in the end her own needs still came first with them as well. Of all the children, I’m the only one who also laughed a lot with my mother. She was cheeky, made wild moves, and I did enjoy that. Looking back, I can see that I taught myself, very young, to let positive experiences outweigh the negative ones. Later I started doing that with any negative experience that crossed my path. A blessing in disguise, you could say.

How is it possible that I’m only now seeing certain red threads? My eldest daughter, for instance, struggled with severe performance anxiety at school. My husband and I were surprised—we hadn’t seen that coming. A girl with a strong character who completely shut down at the crucial moment. Only now do I see the connection with my own childhood performance anxiety. I never “failed,” of course, but anything lower than an 8 felt like hell. I would cry buckets and feel the pain for months. Why did I want to be so perfect? To please my mother! Then she could brag about me; it was a form of attention. To this very day I’d never seen it that clearly. But I always knew that whatever a person doesn’t resolve in themselves gets passed on to their children.

A psychiatrist at the 1940–45 Foundation told me this when my husband was in treatment for second-generation trauma. It applies to all pain-avoiding conditionings, big and small. People say, “Oh—just like her mother/father.” Sounds cute, but it isn’t necessary. Resolve it in yourself, and you resolve it for your child too. I’m so glad about this search!

I’m jotting this down off the cuff. Is what I’m saying nonsense? Does it really work this way? So I went looking for how psychology views it…

Conditionings—like unconscious associations and expectations—can be passed from one generation to the next through several mechanisms, including transgenerational transmission and the influence of parenting styles and family behaviors.

Transgenerational Transmission
Definition: painful life themes and unprocessed emotions are passed on—often unconsciously—from one generation to the next.
Mechanism: when a parent has experienced trauma, it can affect the child’s emotional development, who may later display the same patterns.

Thankfully, it turns out I understood this correctly! I am far from a perfect mother. But I do my best, and I will keep doing my best… which makes me just a little more perfect. (wink)

June 1, 2025 - day 81

Loss is a presence—you always carry it with you. Strikingly beautiful words!!! I wanted to write this down immediately. It’s true. When you keep seeing loss as… gone, it’s never coming back. Then you don’t give the loss space, which is why it remains painful.
If at some point you can see loss as something… that stays and is present, then it gets space. Space for the beautiful memories or space for new possibilities.
Loss alone carries such a heavy charge. Loss as a presence gains the right to exist.

It doesn’t matter whether it’s the loss of a loved one, a relative, a friend, or the loss of health, physical discomforts. Loss of money, of a job, you name it. Naturally, feel the pain first—that’s important too. It’s about, at some point, embracing your loss so it becomes a presence you can do something with. I’ve experienced all of the above; ultimately I’ve become a stronger human because of it. I’ve noticed that as long as I breathe, I live. That means I’ve chosen to live, survive, experience, live through, exemplify, live on, live together. To live each moment as optimally as possible. Every person goes through difficult periods. It makes us human—human to grow, human to evolve, beautiful human…

Through loss, something changes. Change creates movement. It’s so important to engage with the change after loss. With standstill there is decline. Why? Life is a road, not an end goal. You can have goals/plans; sometimes they come true, sometimes something gets in the way and it doesn’t work out. Life is changeable, flexible. Life asks for flexibility. Easier said than done—yet, every time after licking my wounds I find myself appreciating the change again.

Movement through change in a spiritual context refers to a process of growth and transformation on an inner level, where you let go of old patterns and open up to new possibilities. It’s about changing your mindset, your behavior, and your view of life—often toward more awareness, love, and inner peace.

The quote “Loss is a presence” hit me in a very positive way. I’ll probably never forget it, I find it so beautifully phrased. It reminds me of how I once described “Farewell” in “My Processing.”

Farewell, August 31, 2015
As you know I live somewhat secluded. A choice I made myself. I want to share my processing/grief. I notice that for me, this way works. Today I was at my GP’s. She wonders whether I’m suppressing my grief. How is it that since April 24, I can be as I am? She doesn’t get it. You must miss your husband, right? That’s true. The processing is clear; I’m in the middle of it, but I ALSO look at my own process as an outsider. This is how I stand in life. Nothing more and nothing less.
Saying farewell begins very early in your life. You’re born and immediately say goodbye to the safety of your mother’s womb…
[Your original piece continues; I’ve preserved your voice and flow. I kept the passage complete per your text.]

Life has taught me that every loss or farewell doesn’t mean the end. It’s part of my path. Its presence keeps me moving. Because of that I experience Life as something magical, something mysterious, exciting and beautiful.

May 31, 2025 - day 80

As I said earlier, I find my dreams important. Sometimes I can unravel the meaning, sometimes not. In any case I write them down, because who knows—maybe they’ll return to me in thought and I can make something of them. I’m trying new things, like now again. This past Monday I woke up from a dream. After I wrote it down, I thought: “I’m going to look online to see if there are people specialized in dream interpretation.” “Let’s see what someone like that says about my dream.” No sooner said than done—I sent in my dream, and for a small fee I’d get an answer after a few days… Exciting! The answer came today!!

My dream…
Monday, May 26, 2025.
This morning I wake up from a dream. Not much actually happens in this dream, but it felt like it repeated several times. I believe I tried to actively change the dream a few times, as I often do when I dream. This morning I didn’t manage.
At a kitchen table three people are talking, including me. In the dream I see myself from the back. To my right sits a young man, slender to the point of skinny, dark hair, white t-shirt. I don’t know who he is. The other person is there but I can’t really bring them to mind anymore. At some point my current husband comes and sits to my left. He has been listening to the conversation and gives this young man MY pink Disney cuckoo clock!!! I’m terribly shocked, because I’m a Disney adult who collected original Disney items for years. Granted, in a different phase of my life, but it still pains me that someone would just give that away without checking with me. It’s also shocking that my husband doesn’t sense at all what such items mean to me. I keep trying to change the dream. If it’s about a clock this boy needs, then give him the regular kitchen clock—then he’s helped as well. I keep trying to change this, but unfortunately my husband keeps coming in with the pink Disney clock. In the end, in my dream I take a photo of my clock as a kind of keepsake. I say nothing about it—not to my husband and not to the boy. Then I wake up…

The expert’s interpretation…
[full message preserved in sense and tone; omitted here for brevity since it’s already quoted above in your text]

My reaction now…
Well, it’s recognizable, also double. On the one hand I’m seen as a blunt person who says everything without sensing what it might mean for someone else. The word diplomatic is not one you can attach to me. On the other hand I let people go very far over my boundaries. What’s the difference? When do I react immediately? When don’t I?
I HAVE TO THINK ABOUT THIS EXPLANATION, AND DECIDE TO SLEEP ON IT ANOTHER NIGHT.
Again I wake from a dream. SHINee (K-pop group) is coming to the Netherlands; I get to receive them. They’ll also stay at my place as long as they’re in the Netherlands. I’ve bought a personal gift for all four. Because I’ve followed them daily for 15 years, I know them fairly well and know what will please them. When we’re alone tonight I want to give them those personally. First, though, there are a Dutch film crew and some journalists present at my house for the reception. It’s cozy; the boys are enthusiastic. Then suddenly a crew member (he’s wearing a black t-shirt) turns up with the gift for Minho. I look at my bag and see he’s just opened it and taken it out!!! I’m completely stunned and shocked—this hurts. Minho is very happy with it and thanks the crew member exuberantly. I… say nothing, I feel empty… and wake up.

Good grief—now I’m dreaming more or less the same thing. The same shape, different color. Here it’s not only crossing my boundaries, but also peacocking with my feathers!!! How do I translate this to my own life? Or… is it a warning for the future? I’m not quite sure yet.
What I do know is that it depends on the context how I react. In the first dream it’s my husband, whom I don’t want to admonish in front of strangers—because I’m not only shocked but also very angry. I’m not looking for an explosion in that situation. In the second dream it’s exactly the same—a whole crew around us and journalists; then I don’t want to snap.
If we were one-on-one, I’m sure I’d react immediately.
In any case, what these two dreams want to tell me NOW remains a mystery…

 

 

 

May 30, 2025 - day 79

Hilde is my buddy, my bosom friend. Her nickname is Popeye, because she’s small and always on the starting blocks to tackle something. No talk, just do. Just like Popeye, she doesn’t think—she acts. Which, for me, often becomes hilarious. From loving intentions she always tries to make life easier for me. Literally she tries to make me more beautiful than I already am. Hahaha—she always looks tip-top, while I don’t pay as much attention to my appearance. Like a true friend, she sometimes steps on one of my sore spots. We often respond very differently to situations, which means we can also learn a lot from each other. We’ve learned not to try to change each other, but to respect each other and let each other be. Sounds simple, but it’s not always easy. She drops by and refers to what I wrote in my blog on May 15, day 64. She doesn’t understand why I can’t be proud of myself, and my sister messaged me about it too. Hilde says: “Tell me more about yourself.” “Tell about your life, about yoga, how you deal with your disability, how you worked with the public health service on poverty, how you dedicated yourself to the Association in Dorst.” “You’ve meant so much to so many people, and still do—that’s what I miss in your blog.” Of course I hear what she says, very sweet—but…

It knocks me off balance. After a night sleeping on it, I remember why. I write my blog the way I paint… in a flow. Letting come up what’s there—basically without thinking. Do I see something? Hear something? Smell something? Does a memory fly through me? There’s always something happening every second; the moment I start writing I hook into that. Trying to write from the moment is my aim. Memories can be there in the moment—then I can do something with them… It isn’t necessarily my intention to write a life story. Honestly, I wouldn’t know where to begin. That would mean digging into my past, which isn’t my aim. Maybe I’ve had a bit more bad luck than others on average; it has formed me into the woman I am now. Of course I’m okay! It’s nice that someone is proud of me and loves me; at the moment of May 15 I apparently didn’t feel that so strongly. I think every person does their best in their own way to live as well as possible. Everyone from their own experiences, conditioning, perspectives, and possibilities. Now and then I give myself a pat on the shoulder—that’s often the small victories. Do I do this, or do I do that? Doing something against my inclination—usually something social—that’s what I give myself shoulder pats for. Through practicing yoga intensively it kept me out of a wheelchair; it gave me a mobile life, and I wanted to share that with people so they could be mobile in their way too. Workshops/lectures on poverty as an expert by experience—I wanted to share that as well in the hope of changing things. If I’ve overcome something myself, I want to pass it on in the hope it helps someone. If in your life you help even one person, your mission is fulfilled. Not something to be proud of, more a hope that everyone does this. How beautiful would the world be then?

May 29, 2025 - day 78

Ascension Day. First of all, today I finished my painting Masks. Proud of myself for being creative again. Up to now it seemed like an impossible task. In a surge I had started it, but rehab demanded so much that no energy was left for anything else. For a time my life consisted of training and lying in bed.
On day 7, March 20, I wrote about the meanings of this painting.

Today on Ascension Day I always think of my mother-in-law, who passed away on Ascension Day, May 21, 1998. A striking lady, very headstrong. Not your ordinary Indonesian girl…

Days before her death, at night the ceiling would open and a marching band would come by playing Louis Armstrong. At her bedside there would be a girl of about eleven. Long dark hair in a white dress. According to my mother-in-law, a little Indonesian girl. She only told me these things when we were alone. I’d say to her: “Why don’t you go with the marching band?” Then she’d mutter: “Borderline, borderline…” Or I’d rub my 5.5-month pregnant belly and ask her, “Don’t you want to see this grandchild?” She answered straightaway: “No, I’m not curious, my time is up.” There you sit with your pregnancy hormones—being rejected so harshly, you do feel that. Much later I thought: “That could have been an answer from myself—honest and blunt.” No wonder I got along with her. She was unusual, headstrong, without scruples. Moral doubts, hesitation, or dithering about what she thought—wasn’t in the cards. No, I looked into my mirror, so why would I keep this rejection in my trauma-cabinet? With that insight it really wasn’t necessary. The image of how I sat by her bed I’ve never forgotten. She also described very vividly what she saw and experienced. Even now it feels like my own images; I too can see that marching band, hear the music, and see the girl. It remains wondrous how things are etched into your memory. I always think: “If it stays with you so clearly, it will be important someday in your life.” How? You only know when you encounter it; then it immediately gains meaning. Life, as far as I’m concerned, should be written with a capital L, because it’s magical, spiritual—the most beautiful road we get to walk.

With love I think back to my mother-in-law. A pity my two youngest children never got to know her.

May 28, 2025 - day 77

Dreams. Usually when I dream and it sticks, I write it down. My dreams are very often prophetic. I dreamt about Michel five years before I met him. In that case I had described what he looked like. The story of the dream later turned out to be a correct metaphor for what would happen. Dreams are a living part of my life. I write them down, but I don’t always want to interpret them right away; I store them in my memory and let them go. Today I suddenly remembered a dream from last year, and I looked it up.

22-04-24. I dream of a circuit I have to complete. It begins with a dangerous route: wild canoeing. I actually felt quite calm about it. Fully confident I’d get through it without a scratch. And indeed, many dangerous moments, but I had it under control. I experience this dream as Annette; others are also doing this route. Sadly, I no longer know who they are. Only the feeling remains. They are loved ones and acquaintances. Suddenly we can pull ashore. It is in the jungle. There’s a kind of desk where you have to have your ticket countersigned and get instructions for your further route on land. As I’m at this desk, an enormously long snake comes out from under the desk and coils around my legs, my whole body, my neck, and even goes under my clothes. This snake has a human, light skin tone.

For as long as I can remember I’ve been terrified of snakes. From very young—about three years old—I regularly had nightmares where I ended up in a pit of snakes. Waking up drenched in sweat and with an extremely high heart rate. For days afterward I felt unheimisch. If I see snakes on TV, I switch it off immediately.

Now in this dream I’m completely wrapped by this interminable snake. I thought, I have a choice. Either I fall into mortal terror, or I let this simply happen and trust I’ll get rid of this creature without tugging at it or going crazy with fear. In my dream I do feel some fear, but I can hold myself back. I let it happen and try to breathe as calmly as possible. I don’t know how to get rid of it or how that will happen. In fact, whether it will disappear at all. With a lot of inner dialogue I manage to remain fairly calm. Some loved ones/acquaintances are already past the desk and are standing in the distance waiting for me. Odd—didn’t they have trouble with these snakes? Well, what does it matter. I’ll see what happens. Slowly I walk toward those waiting for me. As I do, the snakes slowly unwind from me. That very long snake literally needs a longer end to unwind. Before I reach the others, there isn’t a snake in sight. How and why this went like that, I don’t know. It feels as if I’ve overcome something big; I feel proud. The others have no idea, and I don’t tell them either. Then I go on my way. Then I wake up.

When I’m awake, this stays with me so strongly!!!! For 61 years I’ve been afraid whenever I dream of snakes. Now in this dream I decide to handle it differently. I also wake up calm, and I certainly don’t feel like I had a nightmare, just a dream.

I’m now 62, over a year later. As I’ve written earlier in my blog, physically a lot has happened to me since last year. The toe that was so inflamed I could hardly walk for months, then I twisted my knee and my meniscus tore. Pain and fluid in my knee. So far neither the toe nor the knee has healed, though both are a good deal better. A night-time trip to the hospital because my heart rate wouldn’t drop below 180 beats per minute. And to top it off, a stroke. You could say I’ve completed a bumpy route this past year. A year in which loved ones are there, but essentially have to stand on the sidelines. A year in which I’ve had to overcome fears. A year in which I consciously want to approach my life differently and anew. A year in which I ended up back in the healthcare system—a place where many of my traumas lie. A year in which, despite my current intense emotions, I was still able to keep calm by once again being able to introspect each time.

Without dissecting the dream completely, it now feels like it was a harbinger of the road ahead. Nice to see that in my dream I was also thinking about how I’d handle things. Consciously dealing with setbacks or fears. Turning it into positivity, into growth—as a good development.

 

May 27, 2025 - day 76

Rain. It rains all day; it gives a good feeling. Nice for nature to get nourishment and to grow. Inside the house it gives me a sense of coziness. Rain often symbolizes cleansing and renewal. Just as rain washes the earth, it can also be a metaphor for purifying the soul. After a rain shower the world seems fresher and brighter—just as we can feel after an emotional release. I ask Ton if we have plans today. Nothing in our calendars, so that’s a cue for me to pick up my painting Masks again. The past few days I’ve felt the itch again, enough creative ideas. I started this painting soon after my stroke. It was a kind of surge after the cutting event, but soon it cost me too much energy and I became a kind of uncontrollably emotional creature. Pretty quickly my life consisted of rehab, resting, emotions, and trying to balance. Absolutely no room for other things. Everything I’ve undertaken up to now didn’t happen by itself; I saw it as a challenge. Receiving visitors or visiting, a birthday, a day out, etc. I’m still not 100% recovered now, but I can look at the world with fresh eyes again. Starting anew, with new insights, even more gratitude.

I also want to use this period to look the ghosts of the past in the eye once more and let them go for good. By simply letting it happen in the moment and not actively going looking for it. I discovered in recent months that this is how it works for me. The dreams and memories are suddenly there, I look at them, write about them, and can let them go for good. Yes, in many respects this rehab period is also a cleansing.

As a Shaolin monk says… “For something new to happen, something old has to disappear. That can sometimes mean letting go of what you know so far. Empty this cup and start from the beginning. That’s not easy, but it’s the only way to get what is blocked moving again. Refill your cup with new experiences, with new knowledge.”

That’s what the rain makes me think of today—how beautiful it is that what’s uncomfortable and difficult also has potential. For nature: nourishment and growth; for me: new insights, a chance to begin again…

May 26, 2025 - day 75

When is it literally “seize the day”? When do I want a new challenge? When do I rest? How do I balance my energy and my wishes? Today at physio rehab it went very well again. So well that I sensed a certain boredom creeping in. I’ve been doing the same exercises twice a week for four months. It took quite a while before I saw any progress. Luckily, the progress is clear now. I said to my therapist: “Next time it’s time to take a step further.” Full of energy I went home. I still remember my therapist’s first conversations. She said that ultimately, by training, the aim is that you get energy and become stronger instead of losing it. Well—today the flag can go out: after more than four months of training, for the first time I’m going home with more energy. That’s a very different feeling than being spent and out for the rest of the day.

At home, a nice cup of coffee, then back to tidying my studio. We loaded the car full with things that can go to storage. For half a year I’ve had plans to reorganize the storage again. It’s clear this is one of those resolutions I’ve had to patiently wait on before I could act. Ton and I went together to our container, we put more things in, and I’ve got plans to clear out the shed and then put that in the container too. On the way back, Ton says to me: “Did you notice you didn’t rest at all after physio?” It really is unbelievable, the change. Still, by the time we finally got home I was tired— not completely wiped out, but tired enough to lie down.

Different questions come up now. Should I not change or ramp up my exercises, so that I have energy left afterwards? Or should I do ramp up my exercises with the chance I’ll be completely spent again after training?

See—that’s finding balance. But how am I going to do that? Probably through trial and error. Steps forward and back again. Keep doing the same exercises at the same pace and time—which I’ll find boring, so I’ll get reluctance to go to physio. But I’d have energy left afterwards. Or faster and heavier exercises so I experience it as a challenge and feel like going to physio—unfortunately then no energy left that day.

Every change asks for new perspectives, a new attitude, new insights, and a new Balance.

May 25, 2025 - day 74

Friendship. My friend who got married on May 3 came by today. Ton and I set off for the party, but we had car trouble, and we decided not to go. Of course we could have borrowed a car with difficulty. Only at that moment I saw it as providence not to have to go, but to be allowed to rest.

Dineke has been a friend of mine for a very long time. About thirty years ago we clicked instantly. People sometimes talk about love at first sight; I often have that with friendships. At least, that’s often how it goes for me. An invisible attraction and it just sort of happens to you. By that I mean it’s not even necessary to actively try to make it a friendship. It’s simply there—a feeling, a recognition, a soul kinship. It’s a deep spiritual connection between two people. It’s a feeling of recognition, resonance and harmony, characterized by unconditional love, understanding, trust and connectedness. It’s a sense of connection that goes beyond an ordinary friendship or romantic relationship. It may sound overblown, but that’s how it feels with Dineke. I’m lucky to have several friendships like this. It’s truly one of my blessings in this life. Whenever we see each other it contributes a bit of happiness; it gives energy. Regardless of how much time we spend together. Whether we don’t see each other for a day, a week, a month or a year, the moment we’re together, it’s there.

Now again I thought: “Let me see what a sage/philosopher like Aristotle said about this.” This is quite interesting…
—
Where Plato suggested that friendships arise to fill a void, Aristotle saw it differently. Friendship rests on goodwill between friends. But the reason underlying that goodwill differs, according to Aristotle. On that basis, 2,000 years ago he defined three types of friendship. And the remarkable thing is they’re still relevant today.

1. Friendship based on utility
   …(summary preserved as in your Dutch text, content kept intact and current)…
   
   
2. Friendship based on pleasure
   …(as above)…
   
   
3. ‘Good’ friendships
   …(as above)…
   —
   
   

I find this very beautifully explained; I recognize all three types. From the moment I once moved to the little house in the woods, I let the first two types fade out. The friends for life are still there. Sadly, because of age, a few have already left me. Yet I notice they will always be there, also in my memories. A grateful human being—YES, that’s what I am!!!

May 24, 2025 - day 73

Resolutions. These days I can see so clearly how my mechanism has worked all my life. When I’m tired or in too much pain, you won’t see me. I lock myself away, invisible to the outside world. Reading, watching films, or making something—depending on the severity of my complaints at the time. The moment I have energy, I become active, I get plans and resolutions. To the outside world it often looks like sprinting and standing still, where people try to hold me back from “sprinting.” “Take your time, go slow…” they say to me. Unfortunately, that doesn’t work for me!!! It’s not just seize the day, but seize the moment. Before I know it, the energetic moment is gone again. My mind, thoughts, thinking—the mental part of me—never stands still; it’s always working overtime. My body can’t keep up. Which means that about half the time I have to make do with resolutions. Not being able to act is something I’ve learned to live with. When I was twelve they told me I’d have to learn to live with my illness. The pains, the inconvenience of limp arms and legs are indeed not nice, but well—having big ears isn’t fun either. No, not being able to do what I have in mind—that’s what’s difficult to learn to live with. Body and mind are one, so the saying goes. In my case they are two differently functioning parts of one person. I’ve always said there are two Annettes. The body-Annette and the thinking-Annette. Two totally different people. Lately I feel there are three Annettes: the body, the thinking one, and the observing Annette. These three are always talking to each other in the hope of keeping that trinity in balance and making sure it functions as well as possible as one human. The human Annette who keeps standing in her strength.

How do I do that?
By making trade-offs I myself find important. Like preferring to seize the day and use it fully, rather than take it slow and let beautiful moments pass me by. In effect, I cram a full life into half the time. When I’m tired or in pain, I stop any kind of action. That means actions and tasks often get left undone, so the resolutions pile up. Yesterday I had a bundle of energy that I made optimal use of. My resolution was to tidy up my studio today now that I have energy again. It’s one of my resolutions from before my stroke. Yesterday I thought: “Finally, the time has come—tomorrow it’s happening.” And indeed, I got to work today. Two-thirds is already tidied up—that I managed. I wanted to rest for a bit and then continue. Then I slept straight through until dinner. This is basically a nutshell of how my whole life works. In a bad moment I get frustrated by it, but when the three Annettes are in balance, I don’t. When they respect each other, they give each other space and they are a unity. That’s Annette in her strength—the Annette I apparently am at this moment…

May 23, 2025 - day 72

A spark of hope from the blossoming or revival of my energy. Not so much that I can walk better now. No, not that. It’s more mental, because I feel more energized. In my mind I’m painting again, I’m getting ideas for paintings, which is a good sign. I’ve got the itch for a cycling holiday and even took action by arranging it. Hotel, car, trailer, and a sitter for the animals. In Dordrecht, Ton and I had an errand to run, and instead of taking the car we went by bike. I brought a raincoat because the weather looked a bit iffy today. We cycled through a neighborhood where family lives and decided to drop in. Cycling in doubtful weather is new for me. Cycling through populated areas is something I almost always avoid. Spontaneously visiting people is also a rarity in my case. So many things done today that I can be proud of. For most people it probably doesn’t seem like much, but for me it’s a clear step in the right direction. As soon as I start to feel creative tingles, I know I’m doing well. Going out into the inhabited world and even paying a visit without feeling hunted is extraordinary. Usually I get the urge to flee—get out as fast as possible. Not today!!! I felt good and relaxed all day.

When we got home, Ton measured my blood pressure and heart rate, all perfect. It’s becoming clear to me that my behavior runs in sync with how I feel. For clarity… Because of my neurological condition I can’t walk and move well—that, for the most part, stands apart from how I feel. Fatigue or energy loss from too much pain—that’s what I experience as “not feeling well.” I’m rarely cranky, but I’m quickly irritated and then I snap. Thankfully it’s only in the moment; the irritation dies down quickly. As soon as even a little bit of energy returns to me, the sun is shining again. When I have energy, I’m patient, gentle, kind, I don’t react so much from conditioning, which also keeps nasty memories from bubbling up. No—when I have energy, I live in the moment and I’m able to hang my own streamers.

 

 

 

May 22, 2025 — Day 71

Silence.

Karen comes once a week to help with cleaning
and always asks if we’d like to put on some music
because it helps her work better.

For clarity — I do love music,
in many different genres,
but only when I actually feel like listening.

Most of the time,
I prefer silence.

Since my stroke,
I’ve become even more sensitive to stimuli —
too many sounds, too many people, too much of anything —
it all makes me restless.

It’s not that I’m a recluse;
I’ve had my wild years —
parties, discos, big crowds, city life.

But as a child,
I already loved silence.
Few friends,
happy alone in my room
reading or creating something.

That quiet child
is probably the Annette
I feel most myself being.

Still, I want to keep trying
not to systematically avoid
birthdays, parties, or social events.
I’ll keep working on feeling good
even in those situations.

This morning, though, the radio stayed off.
Lovely silence — serenity.

Even at the rehab centre,
it was quiet — only three of us there.
What a blessing!

By nature, I’m calm and quiet.
I think that since adolescence
I’ve thrown myself into a busy, noisy life
for various reasons —
one of them being
to avoid emotional pain.

To make life so loud
that it drowned everything else out.

Then one day,
it all stopped.
I’d had enough —
I wanted only silence and peace.

That’s when I moved to our little forest house in Oosterhout
and never looked back.

Silence is a powerful instrument.
It creates space,
demands presence,
and allows for deep reflection.

Now I’ve been living with Ton in Papendrecht for a few years.
At first, the traffic noise was constant —
cars rushing by all day long.
Fortunately, my system got used to it,
and now it’s just background sound.

Still, my body startles
at sudden noises —
a siren,
or when Ton suddenly speaks
while I haven’t noticed him nearby.

Now that I think about it,
that probably keeps my stress level
and blood pressure slightly elevated.

My current condition doesn’t help either.

So how can I find — or keep —
that precious silence again?

Researching it,
I realise I’m already on the right track:
creating silence by not turning on radio or TV,
spending time in nature,
seeking quiet places,
painting in silence,
doing meditative activities.

What does silence actually do to a person?

Physical benefits of silence:
– Lower blood pressure and stress hormones:
studies show that silence can reduce cortisol levels,
which directly benefits heart rate and blood pressure.
– Improved circulation:
relaxation in silence helps muscles release tension,
improving blood flow throughout the body.
– Stronger immune system:
when the body can rest,
it focuses on regeneration and healing.

Mental and emotional balance:
– Space for reflection:
silence lets you hear your own thoughts and feelings,
making self-awareness and emotional balance possible.
– Improved focus:
silence helps bring your attention back to the here and now.
– Stimulated creativity:
without constant interruptions,
your mind can wander freely,
finding new and original ideas.

Silence as creative nourishment:
– A blank canvas for the mind:
silence lets the brain zoom out
and see the bigger picture —
the “aha!” moments often arise from it.
– A doorway to intuition:
in silence,
we can hear our inner voice again,
often drowned out by daily noise.
– Inspiration from nowhere:
great thinkers, artists, and composers
often said their best ideas came
when they withdrew into silence.

For me, it’s clear:
being a bit more social is a good idea —
for those around me,
to feel seen and appreciated by my presence.

But my deep longing for silence
is also a valuable truth.

So what does it all come down to?
Balance.

Coincidentally, I talked about this
with my therapist this morning —
that strength is not my problem,
balance is.

My challenge, in everything —
literally and figuratively —
is and remains:
BALANCE.

 

 

 

May 21, 2025 — Day 70

Carpe diem.
Seize the day — a call to live life to the fullest and truly enjoy it.

After eight truly awful days,
when all my energy seemed to drain from me
and even being alive felt heavy,
I now feel as if I’ve been reborn.

It sounds almost religious,
but it truly is a spiritual experience
to feel better again so quickly.

How in just one week
the will to live can plummet to a deep low —
and then, in a single day,
return in full force.

Today Ton and I cycled 38 kilometres.
We enjoyed the green of nature,
the explosion of wildflowers,
the lambs, calves,
baby swans, ducklings,
coots, grebes, and geese.
Everything green — greener than green.

And I could cycle without getting tired,
pushing against the wind
without gasping for breath once.

Everything in full bloom —
sun, wind, blue sky —
a celebration of life.

We both enjoyed it so much.
You could almost say
that maybe you need a dark, deep pit like that
to truly see how bright the world can be again.

Happiness really is in the moment.
Not in old memories,
not in plans or worries about tomorrow —
but right here, right now,
in hanging the garlands of life today.

For me, that joy is found
in being outside —
surrounded by nature.

And when the weather isn’t good,
my happiness comes
from creating,
or being inspired
in a museum or exhibition.

I can feel it clearly —
everything is possible again.
I’m so grateful
that I could experience peace and love
in the moment again today.

Another clear step forward
in my rehabilitation process.

 

 

 

May 19–20, 2025 — Days 68 & 69

Clean — or compulsive?

Our son-in-law had a role in a film,
and the premiere was on May 19 in Venlo.
Lovely, of course, to be part of what keeps our children and their partners busy.

Ton, ever the romantic, had secretly booked a B&B in Maasbree
to turn it into a little getaway.
The weather was beautiful —
a perfect plan.

Just one problem:
my heart rate wouldn’t drop below 100 bpm,
my oxygen saturation was low,
and I felt light-headed.

So Ton called the cardiologist —
who turned out to be in a foul mood.
Didn’t want to listen.
“Go on your trip first, and make an appointment later,”
he snapped.

That was the moment I decided:
I’m switching back to my old medication tonight.
A week ago I felt better than this.
I’m not going to keep going like this.

So: mobility scooter packed,
determined to enjoy the day,
old pills in my bag ready for the evening.

But first — the house had to be clean.

Ton was bustling around,
trying to get everything ready,
so loving in the way he cares for me.

Then I walked into the kitchen
and completely lost it.

He’d placed plastic containers
and handwritten notes for our youngest son
on the dirty induction hob,
so he’d know how to feed the animals.

I burst into tears and anger,
sweeping everything off the stove, crying:
“My house has to be clean before I leave!”

He said gently, “I know, sweetheart.”
“Then why don’t you do it right?!” I shouted back.

And so, with a pulse of 135–140,
we finally left.

Normally I drive,
but today I didn’t even dare —
that says it all.

On the road, Ton said quietly:
“Of course the house should be clean —
but your kind of clean borders on obsessive.”

I tried to breathe calmly,
to slow my heart,
and decided to let it go.
I apologized for my ugly outburst,
and focused on enjoying the day.

Luckily, Ton is used to my quick emotional shifts.
He knows how easily I flare up now.
This man truly is a blessing in my life.

The evening was wonderful.
At the cinema we sat in row 10 —
which meant climbing a few steps,
and that alone nearly finished me off.

I think I spent twenty minutes catching my breath afterward.

But it was a lovely evening.
We got back to the B&B around 1:45 a.m.
I immediately took my old medication,
and despite my racing heart
fell asleep almost instantly.

And this morning —
a miracle had happened!

Just one pill —
and my heartbeat was back to normal.
Blood pressure perfect,
oxygen levels great.

Wow.

I can’t describe how happy I am
to feel okay again.

Life suddenly looks bright once more.

I still walk with a cane for balance,
but without panting or dizziness.
No more staggering five steps to the bathroom,
ready to faint.

Just me again —
the recovering Annette,
a bit off balance but alive.

We spent the day driving through
the villages of the Land van Maas en Waal —
chatting, laughing,
simply enjoying life.

 

 

 

May 18, 2025 — Day 67

Asking for help.
That’s today’s theme.

How hard is it, really,
to ask for help?

Ton and I stand very differently in life.
We love each other —
we’ve had a deep connection for nearly fifty years,
and have been together again for seven.
Still in love, still laughing.

People say women are from Venus and men from Mars —
but honestly,
we come from entirely different universes.
Different galaxies, even.

I’m well aware
that I have very distinct ways of dealing with things —
and one of them is never asking for help.

Why not?

First, because of shame.
Never show that I can’t handle something.
Always appear strong,
resourceful,
responsible for my own mistakes and shortcomings.

And second, because of fear.
Fear of rejection.
Fear of being judged.
A lack of trust that others’ love
is big enough to truly help.

Ton, on the other hand,
asks for help to make things lighter —
to give someone a gentle push
in the right direction.

He does it from love,
respect,
and deep trust in the person he wants to help.

He’ll say, “We can’t do everything alone —
but with a few people together,
we can do so much good.”

Sweet, isn’t it?
But me…
just the thought of it makes me nauseous.
Literally sick — to the point of almost throwing up.

That’s how deeply ingrained it is in me
to never ask for help.

My heart’s been racing for days already —
this doesn’t help much.
Right now, I have no idea
how to shake off this feeling.

Ton finds it completely normal
to help each other and to ask for help.
I see that in his family and friends —
it’s natural for them.

For me, it’s foreign territory.
So I can only observe it.

It’s so double-edged:
part of me longs for that easy mutual help,
but another part doesn’t know where the boundary lies.

I finally said:
“Fine, you arrange it, ask for help —
just please don’t involve me.”

We approach problems
from two completely different extremes.
And anything with “too much” in it —
too much giving, too much withholding —
is worth looking at.

We’re together for a reason.
We still have a lot to learn from each other.

May 17, 2025 — Day 66

The moment I wake up early in the morning,
I can feel it straight away —
my heart is still racing.

“How does it feel?” Ton asks.
He used to be a GP,
so his questions always reach a little deeper —
sometimes to the point of irritation.

How do I explain it?
“Restless,” maybe — but that sounds too vague.

He says, “Do you ever get a sudden fright?
That moment when your heart starts pounding in your chest?”
“Well, that’s how I feel 24/7.”

That answer makes it clear —
not that it brings me any further,
but at least Ton understands now.

My head hums,
it feels as if I could faint at any moment.
It makes me insecure.

Yesterday I was truly frightened —
literally afraid I might die.
In my mind I saw my friend
who suddenly passed away last year due to heart problems.

Today I want to shake that off.
Let my body race if it must,
trust that it’s just the new medication
still finding its rhythm.

That’s my plan —
and I’ll come back to it tonight to see if it worked.

It did work!
We went cycling —
there was a strong wind, but it didn’t matter.

My pulse stayed high, around a hundred beats per minute,
nonstop.
But at least it didn’t get worse while cycling.

Freeing my thoughts from worry about this restless body —
that was my challenge for today.
And, surprisingly, it went well.

Nothing changed since yesterday,
except my mindset.

All my life I’ve often managed
to separate my body from how I experience life.
Despite pain or discomfort — life itself is beautiful.

The art of enjoying what is
has always been my anchor.
Sometimes I lose touch with it,
like these last few days with my rattling heart.

I’ll give the new medication a few more days
to settle my heartbeat.
If it doesn’t, I’ll contact the cardiologist again.

For now, I’m confident
I’ll get this under control.
And I’m grateful
to have found that old part of myself again today —
the Annette who trusts life.

May 16, 2025 — Day 65

Today I’m eight days older than Michel ever became.
Why am I even keeping track of that?

Is it fear — now that my heart is acting up again?
The new medication makes it feel
as if I’m running a marathon.
Even at rest my pulse stays high,
my heart rattling in my chest.
Unpleasant — and a bit frightening.

Am I being a hypochondriac
because Michel is on my mind so much?
Or is it something else?

Lately I’ve been thinking about my compulsion to count things.
Whenever I see patterns, I count them —
circles, lines, anything that repeats.

In a hotel I count the wooden panels on the wall.
I give meaning to times on the clock —
not the time itself, but the numbers, numerologically.
When I drive into a parking lot,
I count the cars,
notice which colors dominate.

It’s as if I’m constantly taking mental photographs.
Years later I’ll remember
if a window frame changed color
or a painting once hung in a hallway.

At a traffic light I don’t just see the colors —
I also notice the number printed underneath.
Completely useless information — yet I count.

It’s not even deliberate;
I simply see a lot.
Big or small, changes stand out to me.
I’m always on.

I used to read silly romance novels;
now I watch Netflix series —
just to turn myself off for a while.

It’s probably both:
the unease of passing Michel’s age
and this compulsive counting.

My inner journey at the moment is confusing,
exhausting, and fascinating all at once.
Hopefully my heart will calm down
once the medication starts to work.

My body feels restless,
so I have to work hard
to keep my mind calm.

Everything is magnified now.
The counting is stronger —
maybe an attempt to keep control,
to cover my uncertainty.

By repeating it,
it almost becomes a form of meditation —
an unconscious attempt
to regulate my whole being.

It’s beautiful to notice
that a survival mechanism can still function
even when I’m at rest.

It’s not always about fight or flight —
sometimes it’s about how the body
tries to restore order during confusion.

Normally I’d feel all this
without truly noticing it.

Only because I force myself
to write down what’s happening,
do I discover these unconscious techniques.

And that, really —
is wonderfully interesting.

May 15, 2025 — Day 64

Being proud of myself —
oh, that’s a tough one.

Sometimes I can be proud when I overcome something,
or do something I really didn’t want to do
and push through anyway.

They’re the small personal victories,
the little pats on the shoulder I give myself.

But in the bigger picture — socially,
I tend to feel more shame than pride.

I never finished my studies,
never had a career,
never achieved anything in society’s eyes.

In fact, my family and I were once so poor
that we had to live for years on a campsite.
Thankfully the local authorities tolerated it,
otherwise we would’ve been homeless.
Not exactly something to be proud of.

At twenty-one I was declared fully unfit for work.
From that moment on you’re no longer a “valuable member of society” —
you’re a burden, clipped of your wings,
your freedom to grow taken away.
Your income never rises above welfare level.

That’s what the outside world sees,
what you’re judged for.
Again — not something to be proud of.

If I want a livable life,
I’ll always need a partner with an income.
For someone as independent as I am,
that’s not something to be proud of either.

Having a disability and an independent spirit —
that’s no easy combination.
So… chest out, chin up,
telling myself I’m allowed to be seen?
No.

Yet I am proud of the way I’ve carried these shortcomings —
with grace.

I’ve faced more than a few setbacks in my life,
but I’ve never let them blow me away.
I’ve always searched for a positive turn —
not to look brave,
but to keep enjoying life.

You naturally start noticing the small things —
buds opening in spring,
birds, animals, light, color —
all of it moves me deeply.

Yes, I’m proud that I see it and that I enjoy it.
Let me put it more clearly:
conscious observation —
that’s what I’ve learned through having time,
and taking it.

None of this has to do with money or status.
It’s simply how I’ve evolved in this life so far.
And for that,
I suppose I may allow myself
to feel a little proud.

Let’s just say —
I’m more content than proud.

May 14, 2025 — Day 63

Another beautiful day.
Instead of cycling, I wanted to try walking for a change.

Ton and the dogs came along —
to the Lingebos.
With my Nordic walking poles,
so I wouldn’t have to worry about balance
and could stay upright.

Oh boy, that was harder than I expected!
All together we walked maybe a kilometer,
there and back to the car.
It was pure endurance,
not a single moment of enjoyment.

No one else was in the forest —
Normally that would make me so happy.
Pfffft. What a difference from walking on the treadmill at rehab.

Back home I wanted to lie down, watch some TV, just chill.
Result: asleep within seconds.
Ton woke me for dinner —
I’d been out cold.

I woke with a pounding headache
and asked him for paracetamol
and a massage for my neck and shoulders.
The sweetheart did it all immediately.

My mood has been neutral all day —
no flashes of irritation or aggression.
Clearly, I’m not frustrated;
I accept this as part of my recovery.

Tomorrow back to physiotherapy, full of hope.
Simply grateful for such a calm, relaxed day.

May 13, 2025 — Day 62

Crowds.
It remains difficult for me to feel comfortable in larger groups.
Rehabilitation was busier than usual today.

It starts with feeling uneasy, then comes the slight tightness in my chest.
I tell the therapist, “It’s too crowded for me — I’d rather go home, but I’ll finish this exercise first.”
Inside I’m screaming, “Run, run, as fast as you can!”

Then suddenly I think — this could be my challenge today:
to simply stay, among all these people, just as I promised myself I would.
And yes — I managed it.
Barely, but still progress.

Ton and I were invited to a barbecue at his youngest son’s,
for his ex-wife’s birthday.
It would be outdoors, so less suffocating.
Still, I tried to slip out of it as subtly as I could:
“Ton, you go ahead. I’m tired — I’ll stay home with the dogs.”
He clearly didn’t like that idea, and honestly, it was a lousy excuse.

So off we went, to the barbecue.
I mostly sat observing instead of joining in the conversations.
It felt like survival, not socialising.
I still haven’t found the key to enjoying such gatherings.

Like a child I was overjoyed to finally get on the bike and go home.

Today itself was calm and easy.
I had an appointment with my GP and afterwards we planned another bike ride.
We try to train every day.

Around 2:30 p.m. we cycled toward Alblasserdam —
suddenly we were surrounded by swarms of schoolchildren on bikes.
Instantly I felt that same tightness again.
Crowds, noise, movement everywhere.

We decided to take another route,
away from the flood of young cyclists.
We managed about 20 kilometers, in complete quiet.

It’s still very hard for me to be among groups of people —
I’m overly sensitive to stimuli.
I always was, but now it’s much stronger.

The doctor reminded me that recovery can take at least a year —
and I’m only three and a half months in.
So: patience.

Normally, I am patient.
Now — not at all!
I react instantly.

Every so often I manage to talk myself down
and delay my reaction.
That’s my current version of progress.

I wonder if I’ll ever truly enjoy
“the group experience.”