Monday IIN-spiration: It’s Never Too Late to Start—Even When Life Starts Against You

I didn’t grow up in an easy environment.

My parents' divorce shattered everything. Our family exploded. Anger became my companion, and I carried it everywhere—through my childhood, my teenage years, and into adulthood. It wasn’t just anger at my parents, but at life itself. At the unfairness, at the instability, at the way things fell apart without my control.

I needed structure, but I also rejected it. I found peace in punk music and its community—where I could scream, rage, and exist without having to explain myself. But at the same time, I couldn’t fully leave the traditional world behind. School, work, family—I was caught between two identities, and I didn’t belong to either.

Society had already mapped out my life:

👩‍🏭 Born into a 100% Italian, blue-collar family in Wallonia. Hard work was the rule, and asking for more was seen as ungrateful. "You have a job? You have a roof? What more do you want?"

👩‍👦 Raised to be a woman who shouldn’t ask for too much. A mother should sacrifice. A woman should be content. A woman shouldn’t try to be more than what the world allowed.

💇‍♀️ Expected to play the "blond attractive woman" role. Smile, be charming, be pleasing. But I refused. I hid that part of myself so that people would listen to my ideas, my intelligence, my humor—not just see a pretty face.

With all this, is it any surprise that when I failed at university, I felt like my fate was sealed?

I sat in front of an orientation adviser, who asked, “What do you want to do later?”

I said, “I want to decrease unemployment and make sure people have fun working.”

She smirked and said, “Come back when you know what you want.”

That sentence buried itself inside me. It made me feel stupid, lost, like I was nothing.

But here’s the thing—when you’re told you don’t belong anywhere, you have two choices:

1️⃣ Accept it and stay in the box they built for you.

2️⃣ Burn the box down and build your own damn path.

For a long time, I lived in between. I got a diploma in tourism management—not because I loved it, but because I needed something. I took jobs that paid the bills but left me empty. I endured toxic workplaces, crazy managers, and being bullied. I let life happen to me instead of shaping it myself.

Then came motherhood. Another label. More expectations.

👩‍👧‍👦 "A mother should be like this, not like that."

💰 "Why go back to school? Will you even make more money?"

❓ "Who will take care of your kids?"

🙄 "You’re lucky their father handles them."

It was suffocating.

At 35, I had a choice: keep accepting it, or take back control.

I went back to university—at night, on weekends, juggling everything. I was terrified of failing again. But fear was no longer my enemy—complacency was.

And now? Twenty years after that adviser dismissed me, I can proudly say:

🚀 I did it.

🚀 I built the life I wanted.

🚀 I broke out of the box they put me in.

But here’s the truth no one tells you: The box doesn’t disappear.

It tries to come back. Not because society is forcing it on me, but because my own fears sometimes allow it. It whispers:

🫤 "Are you really good enough?"

😰 "What if you fail?"

🤯 "What if you’ve just been lucky?"

This isn’t a one-shot fight. It’s a journey—a journey I want to be mine. Every time that box creeps back in, I have to choose all over again:

🔥 Do I shrink myself to fit inside it?

🔥 Or do I set it on fire and keep moving forward?

So here’s your Monday reminder:

💡 It’s never too late to change your story.

💡 It’s never too late to redefine your success.

💡 It’s never too late to choose yourself.

Ask yourself today: What’s one step you can take to stop living the life others chose for you—and start building your own?

Because trust me, the world will keep trying to put you in a box. Break out. Again and again and again.