Category Archives: Mental Health

a person making a letter with a cup of smoking coffee nearby

#72 Pages from a Moleskine 2: The cost and reward of setting boundaries

Listen to this post

Paris, January 1st, 2024

I’m starting to understand now what my mother told me yesterday, or at least I’m coming up with my own interpretation of the message in her words.

To feel a mix of egoism, hypocrisy, and guilt when you put yourself first—when you set healthy boundaries and stand up for yourself—is normal. On the other hand, you may feel a sense of pride, joy, and self-worth for finally being able to protect yourself independently.

Everything comes at a cost, and for everything there is a reward.

We need to learn to see both aspects in every sphere of life. Appreciation for life, a sense of belonging to the collective, and finding our place on this planet also come from the realization and acceptance of this duality.

Through victimization, we can only wander around in pain, loneliness, and resentment.

There is a fine line between caring about those we love and caring about ourselves, but the latter should always prevail, because the person we spend the most time with is ourselves. That’s the relationship we should cherish the most.

That doesn’t mean mistreating or disregarding others. It means nurturing self-compassion above all else to protect ourselves during the most painful moments that we will inevitably encounter throughout our lifetime.

It may seem counterintuitive, but part of the process that brings this awareness, deep understanding, and integration of these learnings is also letting go of the ego and the need for validation from others. It means knowing that we are enough, that we can lose anything and still be content as long as we don’t lose ourselves.

Ultimately, maturity is not about detachment from others, but about alignment with ourselves. When we are grounded in who we are, we stop negotiating our worth. From that place, relationships become choices—not dependencies—and solitude becomes presence, not absence.

#70 A proper winter, and an improper amount of complaining

After last Christmas, temperatures here in Berlin dropped and never really rose again. Daily snow, frozen lakes, and icy streets turned into routine. So did people going to the hospital with broken bones after slipping on ice. Public transportation became a nightmare—if not absolute s***.

People’s faces shifted from the usual grumpiness, the don’t-look-at-me attitude, to full-on I’m-going-to-kill-someone expressions. Many fled Germany because, for them, it was “too much to handle,” life-threatening even. They went somewhere sunny to stay alive.

I have to admit that, for a while, I was starting to get dragged into this collective incapacity to live through winter (and I am freaking Brazilian-Italian!). But then I thought: fuck this mentality. Let me appreciate the beauty of this time of year.

I usually enjoy life the most when I’m on my own—it’s just how I am, and I love that about myself. It’s one of my biggest strengths. That was the first breakthrough that helped me reconsider the season. I could finally enjoy my alone time even more, thanks to the slowness, the quietness, and the stillness winter brings.

The second breakthrough came when I stopped complaining to myself.

Social complaining in Germany is unavoidable—it’s almost a way of socializing—so in that sense I go along with conversations. When I’m on my own, though, I actively avoid it. It’s not a New Year’s resolution or anything like that; I just try to catch myself early when I fall into that pattern.

It took me a while to fully understand what scientists have been repeating for years, but when I complain alone, I reinforce a story in my head—and that’s not good (nicht gut!). I spiral into deeply depressing thoughts and start feeling like I’m drowning in them.

So I made a real effort to internally flip the narrative. Suddenly, what had been a dark, shitty day turned into a cozy one, with dimmed lights and the freedom to do whatever I wanted—or nothing at all. Especially my alone time turned into bliss. To be fair, it has always been blissful for me to spend time alone. I find the opposite incredibily difficult. But this winter, I’ve been slowing down even more.

There was a third breakthrough… there was one. But I forgot it.

To close, I’ll repeat one of the mantras that comes back often in my writing: self-compassion, self-compassion, self-compassion is the key. It doesn’t matter if you’re surrounded by amazing people—if you’re shitty toward yourself, you’re creating the conditions to rot in misery. And that’s not what we want.

We want self-compassion. Not denial. Not lying to oneself. Just appreciating our existence as it is. Easier said than done—it’s a life-long quest for all of us. But practice makes perfect.

#69 Not everything needs to become a project

When I work a job that truly resonates with me, my creative resources evaporate during the workday. Acknowledging this now causes me less frustration than it used to in the past.

The alternative would be having a boring job that doesn’t spark my interest, so that my brain is not fully hijacked during the day and I’m left with something to dedicate to my evening passions. However, I am not a fan of that at all; spending nine hours doing something I don’t care about is torture—at least for me. After a while, I usually start to resent everything related to an unchallenging, uninteresting job.

I never seriously considered turning a passion into a project worth diverting all my focus and resources onto. The reasons are a mix of risk aversion, which characterizes me, and contentment with the life and hobbies I already have. Why complicate things by taking on projects I don’t feel genuinely moved or interested in? There was a time when this brought a degree of uncertainty, and from time to time I still reflect on similar topics. I’ve written before about moving forward without a clear destination, about repeated attempts that don’t crystallize into a single narrative of progress.

Questioning usually arises when I stop listening to myself and start listening to external noise instead. Not having a personal project—whether entrepreneurial, family-related, or centered on traveling the world—is often treated as a failure of direction, when in reality it can simply mean refusing to force coherence where none exists yet. My free time is spent on various hobbies rather than a single, defining goal. The things I do bring me joy and contentment.

What I do find overwhelming is the expectation that any meaningful interest should eventually turn into something bigger—more structured, more visible, more competitive. Especially today, when knowledge is widely accessible and comparison is constant, the bar for individual achievement seems perpetually raised, even in spaces that were once meant to be personal and restorative.

The best thing, perhaps, is not to lose one’s mind over this or that personal project, fueled by delusions of grandeur, external pressure, or whatever else creates a sense of urgency around self-realization. Instead, it’s to do something that simply brings us a bit of extra pleasure during our free time. As it used to be in the past: you would go fishing to spend time with friends over a beer, or alone to meditate, or simply to disconnect in nature—not to go fishing with the purpose of posting it on some random social media page. You would do it because you liked it and wanted it.

Over time, I’ve learned that the problem isn’t a lack of ambition, but a lack of gentleness. Toward time. Toward energy. Toward ourselves. Accepting that not every phase of life needs a defining project has been less about giving up, and more about staying sane and true to oneself.

It’s true, though, that this mindset is, at this stage, sadly collectively installed in our brains. The expectations one nowadays has about life are insanely unachievable within a single lifetime, and yet we collectively fall for them.

Maybe the quiet rebellion today is not to optimize every passion or turn every interest into a performance, but to allow parts of life to remain unproductive, unambitious, and ours alone.

#26 Il peso di gennaio: timori, speranze e resilienza

Sono alla fine dell’ultimo lunedì di gennaio e mi sento stanco, non per la giornata lavorativa appena conclusa, ma per la quantità di eventi che si sono susseguiti in queste poche settimane del nuovo anno. Eventi che vanno da quelli che riempiono il cuore di speranza, come la liberazione di Cecilia Sala dalla prigione in Iran, a quelli che lasciano sospesi tra sollievo e diffidenza, come il cessate il fuoco a Gaza, fino a quelli che fanno venire i brividi, come il braccio teso di Elon Musk a ringraziare la folla per la fiducia riposta in loro, MAGA boys.

A più riprese mi sono detto: “Certe notizie sono veramente delle supercazzole,” oppure, ispirate ad una scena del film Idiocracy, in cui la società è talmente decadente che persino il senso comune più basico sembra perdere ogni significato.

A febbraio ci attendono le elezioni qui in Germania; a maggio, quelle in Romania. Rabbrividisco pensando alla piega ancora più Orwelliana che potrebbe delinearsi di fronte a noi.

In questi momenti, vengo assorbito da una spirale di pensieri e riflessioni nel tentativo di decifrare l’indecifrabile destino dell’umanità. Cerco di ritrovare quei concetti che ormai sembrano dissolversi in particelle sempre più minuscole e inafferrabili: pace, democrazia, tolleranza. Eppure, è in questi momenti che mi dico: ci siamo già passati e ce l’abbiamo fatta. L’umanità ha vissuto orrori indescrivibili. Impareremo dai nostri errori ed evolveremo.

Mi soffermo sulla semplice constatazione della nostra capacità, come esseri umani, di commettere errori che vanno al di là di ogni concezione. Eppure, riusciamo a imparare da essi, anche quando il nostro destino sembra irreversibilmente compromesso da azioni che non hanno nulla di umano.

E allora, prendo un lungo sospiro. Non è un sospiro di sollievo, perché il sollievo oggi è difficile trovarlo. È semplicemente un sospiro che, tuttavia, mi permette di riconnettermi con il mio corpo e tornare a percepire ciò che mi sta intorno, un po’ più presente.

Mi sforzo poi di pensare alla cosa più bella che mi sia capitata oggi, questa settimana e questo mese, e tre immagini mi vengono in mente: il volto della donna che amo, le piante di cui mi prendo cura e il mio corpo che ancora funziona.

#25 Coerenza interiore e cambiamenti personali tra verità e onestà

Onestà: La qualità interiore di chi si comporta con lealtà, rettitudine e sincerità, in base a principi morali ritenuti universalmente validi.

Verità: Carattere di ciò che è vero, conformità o coerenza a principi dati o a una realtà obiettiva.

Vocabolario Treccani

Queste definizioni, prese dal vocabolario e lette al volo nel contesto in cui viviamo oggi, mi fanno pensare a una vecchia cornice impolverata appesa al muro di una casa abbandonata chissà dove. Devo dire che molte altre parole che incarnano ideali morali hanno su di me lo stesso effetto malinconico, se considerate in relazione alla realtà che ci circonda. Eppure, continuo a cercarle dentro di me, a perdermi in un mondo che oscilla tra il complesso e il superficiale, spesso confondendomi.

L’onestà, come valore, l’ho sempre distinta dalla verità come concetto, almeno inconsciamente – o almeno credo. Tuttavia, quando mi trovo coinvolto in dinamiche complesse, sia sentimentali che professionali, a volte utilizzo questi due termini in modo intercambiabile, confondendo i loro significati. Ma questa confusione, tutto sommato, la considero positiva perché mi spinge a riflettere più attentamente su entrambi. Non mi interessa tanto esplorare il loro significato o l’etimologia – non avrei le competenze necessarie, non essendo né linguista, né antropologo, né ricercatore. Piuttosto, mi interrogo su ciò che rappresentano per me.

Istintivamente direi che verità e onestà hanno per me un valore quasi assoluto, guidandomi in ogni decisione, azione o interazione quotidiana. Ma affermarlo sarebbe una bugia. Essere onesto, dire la verità e comportarmi in modo autentico è un’impresa che spesso mi sovrasta. Per me, infatti, l’onestà non si limita a dire la verità a qualcuno, ma implica agire in linea con i miei valori, come suggerisce la definizione riportata all’inizio di questo articolo. Se riesco ad agire in linea con i miei principi morali, allora la questione superficiale del “dire la verità” nemmeno si pone, perché ogni azione sarebbe allineata con il mio autentico io, con l’immagine che ho di me stesso.

Ed è qui che mi trovo in un’impasse: l’immagine che ho di me potrebbe non corrispondere alla verità. Eppure, quella stessa immagine, nel tempo, potrebbe guidarmi verso la verità. Ma anche se, in un dato momento, essa fosse effettivamente in linea con il mio autentico io e con i principi morali che ho scelto come base della mia identità, questo stato non sarebbe altro che temporaneo. Io mi percepisco in continua evoluzione, in costante cambiamento, accompagnando un mondo che viaggia a una velocità incredibile – o forse sono io quello lento… chi lo sa. Che il mondo sia veloce o io lento, alla fine non importa.

Io non credo – nel senso di credere devotamente o indiscutibilmente a qualcosa. Questo mio continuo evolvermi ha consolidato un approccio critico e curioso, che mette in discussione tutto.

La morte, ad esempio, non mi spaventa. Invecchiare non mi infastidisce. Perdere i capelli non mi rende paranoico. La solitudine, cambiare amicizie, ricominciare in una nuova città, traslocare in un altro paese, lasciare tutto per un nuovo inizio: sono cose che ho fatto ripetutamente nella mia vita, a volte per circostanze esterne, altre per decisioni personali.

Nonostante questi cambiamenti continui, i miei principi morali guida sono rimasti più o meno gli stessi. A volte mi hanno guidato con maggiore forza, altre con meno. Ed è strano: mentre scrivo, mi viene in mente un altro concetto, quello di fede. Solo nominarlo sembra contraddire tutto ciò che ho detto prima sul fatto che io non credo.

Ma benché le mie riflessioni su questo e mi molti altri temi mi portino spesso contraddizioni o riflessioni inconcludenti, trovo conforto nella complessità e nell’evoluzione costante del mio rapporto con la verità e l’onestà.

#24 Making space for the silence within

There are moments when my mind shuts down—when no matter how much effort I put into deciding what to do next, my brain simply refuses to respond or act. It doesn’t matter if it’s about preparing the next meal or planning the next big step in my life. My body won’t move. It feels like a meteorological phenomenon inside my soul—a heavy, warm wind pressing down. Sometimes it lasts a few hours; sometimes, it lingers for a couple of days.

I used to resist these moments, seeking shelter in unhealthy ways by blaming myself and feeling resentful. I would desperately try to fill the emptiness with random, unplanned actions that lacked intention or purpose. After all, isn’t that what we’re taught by the outside world? “Brush it off.” “Just do something.”
Often, this overwhelming wind would push me into a deep hole, where solitude and loneliness threatened to consume me.

This weekend, the strong, warm wind came again. However, for some months now, I’ve stopped resisting it. I let it shake me. I let it push me into the hole. And in that quiet, I found myself. I sat in silence, under an imaginary tree, and hugged myself. I whispered, “Don’t worry. No rush. It’s all good. This will pass.” And it did.

I decided to keep caring for myself in my own way—not in the way the world expects me to. My thoughts were scattered, and there was some anxiety, but I allowed it to exist.

I went for a walk. Luckily, the sun was shining—a rare sight in Berlin’s winter skies. Then I went to the sauna, reconnecting with my body and soul. When I returned home, the wind within me had softened into a gentle, pleasant breeze.