Dear Diary is a monthly love letter to the mess and magic of relationships — with others, and with myself. I don’t have answers, just lots of questions, but I believe in connecting through words. That’s why I keep writing.
Grab a coffee, relax for 5 minutes, and enjoy the read. 🌸 Since the Marimekko Day performance, I’m obsessed with “Made of” by Goldielocks.
I’m writing from sunny Amsterdam today. I’m in my hotel room, letting laziness embrace my body instead of rushing around. This city is so beautiful, but resting should always come first when you’re on a holiday. I decided to bring my laptop along when I heard the news that my husband got sick at the last minute. I flew solo to meet a friend and her fiancé.
I was happy on one side, but felt so sad my love couldn’t come, not even having an extra space in the plane comforted me. It got me feeling a bit dramatic and put me in a spiral on hating airports. I do hate them. They are like a limbo, a strange in-between space where stress thrives. At least it's usually worth crossing to reach something gorgeous on the other side.
This time, it truly was. It’s my third time in Amsterdam, but the first time I visited a women’s courtyard community called Begijnhof. It’s a peaceful, well-kept garden surrounded by old houses, dating back to 1307 or so. Women have lived there in a quiet community for centuries — religious, yes, but without taking vows or disappearing from the world. Tourists are allowed in, as long as they stay silent.
Being there made me dream of a world without men. Just calm and safe. The houses felt like a fairytale. I imagined a life where we share strawberry cake, care for one another, and make things together. I’d write stories and host tea afternoons. You’d guide us through meditation or teach us how to dance. We’d nap after lunch. No pressure, no hurry. Life could be soft. Does that sound too hippie? You could still work in IT or finance — just... don’t overload. Come back to creativity. Let’s meet in the garden for a picnic.
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Sorry, I fell asleep.
Got it from my mom, she is a nap queen. She naps every day after lunch, and sometimes again if the mood strikes. She’s retired now, but even when I was a teenager, she did it — and I found it boring. I couldn’t stay still long enough to rest. You know, FOMO and too many teens’ thoughts buzzing. Later, it was the inner bossy voice — the work-hard-or-you’re-worthless one — that kept me from napping.
In Italy and Spain, napping is part of the culture — a built-in pause in the rhythm of the day. In Brazil, I once worked for a “modern” company that even had a dedicated nap room. It felt progressive... until they crammed new employees in there and the space disappeared. As children, naps were non-negotiable. Sadly, somewhere along the way, we trade that softness for productivity, and rest becomes an afterthought.
Fortunately, I have a perfect reason to never feel guilty about naps anymore: Tricia Hersey, founder of the Nap Ministry. She reframes rest as resistance — a way to reclaim your time, energy, and worth in a culture that demands far too much. Yes, I know it gets a bit political, but reframing things like this helps me hush the judgmental voice in my head. She’s clever and sharp-tongued. If you saw the face she makes when I nap on the couch, you'd get it. But I’ve learned to talk back.
Tricia is the perfect excuse to fully embrace napping. And for future reference, I’ve got a few secret, rebellious hacks up my sleeve:
The “Meditation Break” Nap — Pop in your headphones, dim the lights, and play a 20-minute body scan. Maybe you drift off, maybe not. It still counts. No one questions “mindfulness.” Bonus points if you keep a yoga mat rolled out.
The “Post-Shower Cocoon” Nap — Wrap yourself in a towel or robe, curl up on the bed, and "accidentally" rest your eyes while scrolling. The warm-to-soft transition is magic.
The “I’m Commuting” Nap — I don’t commute anymore, but sometimes I lie on the sofa and pretend I do. If I were on a tram, I’d close my eyes and catch a few Zs — just set an alarm.
🌷
I came to Amsterdam for tulips, canal walks, and catching up with friends. As a souvenir, I’m bringing the slowness, the reminder of resting, the soft dreams of a life lived gently— one dreamy pause at a time.
Now, I’m off to snooze.
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