Some days I look at my bank account and can't help but smile. Not because I'm rolling in cash, but because every euro in there represents something I earned entirely on my own terms. Since separating from Mark, I've learned that financial independence isn't just about money. It's about choice.
When I first started this work, it wasn't about luxury or some glamorous fantasy. It was pure survival. Two kids, a mortgage, and suddenly I'm the only income. The traditional job market wasn't exactly rolling out the red carpet for a separated mum in her mid-30s. So I made a decision that some might judge, but I don't lose sleep over.
My clients aren't just transactions. They're moments of connection, sometimes awkward, sometimes surprisingly tender. I'm professional, always. But I'm also human. Some days I'm thinking about picking up milk and school lunches while I'm working. Other days, I'm fully present, enjoying the complexity of adult interactions that have nothing to do with laundry or packed schedules.
The money means my kids have stability. They don't know the details, obviously. But they know mum is strong, independent. That matters more to me than anyone's judgment.