The Wise eShout - Issue 1

Before I share the wider heart behind The Wise Boutique, it may help to know a little about the path that led me here.

Not the long version.

Just the super-summarized and sensitive one.

Not too long ago, I was running through the cobbled, canal-lined streets of Amsterdam in the rain, dressed in a tight navy business suit and fabulous high heels, trying to catch a train to an important client dinner while believing my young daughters were safe at home.

At that time, I was thriving professionally – at least from the outside.

I had built a serious career auditing and advising massive global conglomerates on financial matters. I knew how to work hard, perform under pressure, and push through long days while carrying all the responsibilities I thought I had to carry.

On that night, I had spent extra time on my hair and makeup to fit the corporate image, and then I dutifully endured the downpour to meet the team at an elegant restaurant.

Taxis seemed extinct, there were no Ubers available, and so I hiked it in high heels over slippery stones.

The whole scene might have looked funny from the outside – frizzled hair, smeared makeup, aching ankles, and mascara streaking in the rain.

But it did not feel funny.

My best suit was ruined. My body hurt. I was already a complete wreck.

And then I received a text from my little girl.

The nanny had left them home alone.

That night, while weeping on the way home, I knew something had to change.

I had spent years doing everything I thought I was supposed to do – long, intense days in offices, fighting for promotions, missing family and friends, neglecting my body, and constantly reorganizing schedules to “make time” for kids, husband, school, volunteer roles, playdates, repairs, pets, responsibilities, and everything else that somehow had to be held together.

I was exhausted.

What hurt most was not the rain, the ruined suit, or the strain of that frantic night. It was the heartbreak of missing the moments I could never get back – field hockey games, piano rehearsals, bedtime hugs, and ordinary evenings with the people I loved most.

That night, I was done.

I stopped working, and my source of income was suddenly gone.

It felt like my career dreams were gone, too.

I seriously questioned the worth of all those years of perfect grades, serious study, and super-hard work in an office.

I did not want my daughters to grow up believing they would one day have to choose between meaningful work and meaningful life.

I wanted something wiser.