When Mother’sDay becomes more of a personal turmoil that makes you grow out of difficulty

E ancora una volta il mio feed di Facebook si intasa di status relativi alla festa della mamma, leggo di come le mie coetanee trentenni apprezzino il sostegno e la comprensione delle loro madri, di come non saprebbero fare a meno di loro…

Quest’anno per la prima volta voglio anche io scrivere qualcosa in quest’occasione speciale… Non che possa scrivere come tutte le donne della mia generazione di quanto mia madre sia un appoggio cruciale e una forza della natura o che non so davvero come farei senza di lei… No, a noi non è toccato in sorte questo tipo di rapporto: piuttosto sono io quella decisa che sa sempre come prendere in mano la mia vita, mentre lei di solito ascolta ispirata ed entusiasta; di rado la chiamo spontaneamente, piuttosto le telefono prima che mi faccia il terzo grado perché non ha mie notizie, perché lei ha bisogno di sentire la mia voce e non viceversa o reciprocamente; sono io che le do consigli e la scuoto un po’ quando entra nel suo letargo emotivo… Non che gliene faccia una colpa, ma se ho un problema personale invece, trovo il sostegno pratico o umano di cui ho bisogno in altre persone, come lo trovavo in sua sorella, la zia che ho perso quasi due anni fa ma che sentivo più come una madre che mia madre stessa… 
Però anche la mia mamma ha dato qualcosa a me, cose diverse dalle altre madri immagino: una seconda nazionalità con tutto quello che comporta essere francesi (chauvinisti e che ci si lamenta sempre fino ad ottenere il meglio per se stessi); mi ha sempre detto quanto sono bella e intelligente, così tante volte che ci credo davvero tutt’oggi, anche quando insicura lo diceva anche per sentirsi fiera che fosse sangue suo, perché lei non pensa affatto lo stessa cosa di se stessa; la sensibilità di acquisire mano a mano la compassione, partendo da quella nei suoi confronti per tutte le cose che non è riuscita a darmi, imparando da sola piano piano che ha comunque fatto del suo meglio e che da qui in poi posso continuare da sola… 
Non ho neanche una foto da sola insieme a lei da pubblicare qui su Facebook, perché non ci saranno mai momenti da immortalare tipo uno scambio di vestiti, un piccolo viaggio, dello shopping insieme, un pomeriggio a prendere il tè, oltretutto odia essere fotografata… Ma posso prendere quello che c’è di meglio da questa relazione, invece di continuare a rimpiangere tutto quello che non è stato, e posso sfruttare al meglio la seconda occasione che mi è stata data il 1 Maggio di 3 anni fa con l’arrivo di mia figlia per colmare tutto ciò dell’idea di un rapporto madre-figlia che non posso soddisfare dall’alto. 
Buona festa delle mamme a tutte quante dunque, a me, a lei, a mia figlia per la madre che sarà se vorrà avere dei figli di scelta sua, a quelle che ignorano di essere eroine della quotidianità e anche per tutte quelle che sanno di essere un po’ meno capaci o portate o all’altezza di questo ruolo così impegnativo.

When terrorists obtain the opposite of their cause, the spreading of love

We are brainwashed about horror every day on TV, social media, newspapers. A bomb killing hundreds of civilians does not make any more effect on us, chemical weapons used on kids don’t mean anything to our lives, we don’t interrupt our routine if gay people are tortured and killed in mass not far from our borders. Even when we get the odd terrorist attack on our lands, we have plenty of sharing to do on Facebook about our indignation or the immense sadness that is a young child being killed at a concert, but the ugly truth is that deep down we don’t really care about that either…

It is only when we know of the details, it’s when we realize we knew one of the victims very well, someone who lead the same existence as we do to the point it could have been us instead of them in those tragic circumstances, that we finally get properly the proportion of the facts we are hearing. The real terror, the nightmares, the incommensurate sense of each and everyone life’s meaning suddenly kicks into our flash, not only within our cold logical thinking as it’s been doing until now. At least that’s what happened to me in the last 24 hours.

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Job description: essential for this role not to feel any negative emotion whatsoever (Don’t be human)

I have been wanting to write a post on my blog about the company I work for in a long time. However I am not sure what I want to say or from where to start. My employer and I have a very complicated relationship.


It started wonderfully well: I was enthusiastic and gave my best since the start; they were very happy to have hired me and already gave me a promotion with a small increase of salary only 3 months after I joined. In the first year I worked there, I was full of hopes so I remained understanding at first with all the unkept promises of a manager position for me soon available and with the full exploitation of my abilities and my dedication to work towards a goal which (I always suspected deep down) was never really there to be reached.


Little by little I started realising (probably like every big company) how much they were systematically misleading their employees, not only me, to get them to work hard, even when they knew they could not keep their word. How many deluded people were leaving for disappointment and how high was the turn over in the admin team as very little scope for career progression was available, even to the best members of staff.

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When you finally have a real choice

Last Sunday I had the most amazing 5 hours in Camden in a long time! Did I go to the zoo? Did I have a stroll on the canal or in Regent’s Park? Did I shop in the market? I went for a workshop at London Meditation.
The location was the perfect environment for this kind of ‘retreat’: a 3rd floor flat full of light, with big windows on beautiful roof views and 2 big balconies, spotless cosy main room with the perfect temperature, comfortable rug, chairs, pillows and blankets, well studied in every single practical detail (like the kitchen and a second room if in need of privacy for a moment).
The topic I had chosen to attend that day was self compassion mindfulness as too many times I catch myself being extremely judgemental towards my limits and poor choices, totally ignoring all the good things I achieve on a daily basis.

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The girl who did not like receiving presents

Once upon a time there was a little girl who lived alone with her parents. All her uncles and aunts with the cousins and the only two grandparents she had left lived far away from her. At the time flying was a luxury and it would take her and her parents long car or train trips to go and visit them, much more than a day length journey. Internet was not yet invented (or at least not accessible to the population) and private couriers were very expensive, whilst the national post could be quite slow and unreliable.

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The first day of the rest of my life

Today I am turning 33 at noon. This is the first birthday I am alive whilst my beloved aunt is not around anymore. She was the first one who came to visit me when I was born, travelling from France where her and my mum are from, to Italy, my father’s country, where my parents lived when they had me. In fact she was to me more like a mother than anyone else, even more than the one who had me in her own womb. My blog is about though women and hell if she was the toughest one I have ever met. With her physical and spiritual beauty and strength she is the one who inspired me to mature and become the self caring, more balanced and content adult that I am today and I will never ever forget it.

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House warming party invitation

We made it, a place of our own (or at least 40% of it and only once all debt is paid up to the bank lol), a safe and comfy nest where to happily raise our kids, where to relax together as a couple, be in love most of the time, argue a bit now and then 🙂
In the 10 years we lived at 70B Lambeth Road, when we soon realised we were likely to spend the rest of our adults lives in the UK, we visited places and looked at several apartments to see if we could buy a property pretty much everywhere, amongst which Farnham, Edenbridge, Beckenham, Leigh on Sea, Redhill, Streatham Vale, Rochester…

Too small, too expensive, too far from amenities, bad area, too much commute, inconvenient schools catchment area, too noisy, no good value for money, bad light exposition.. We were sure we would never find the right place without huge compromises, we thought we would probably buy one day with a feeling of being out of choices more than anything else.

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