Navigating The World of DIY Diagnosis

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I’ve been suffering from constant low-grade nausea. At first, I thought this was a post-heat illness. The recent heatwave hit hard, and I felt an illness coming the day it cooled. But now the symptoms have gone on for numerous days, and I’m starting to doubt my original prognosis.

The result is that it makes my life a misery for several days. I missed several events because I knew my body was not up for it, and managing my eating has been a nightmare. My solution has been to push eating whatever feels easy enough to digest. In that sense, my eating has been replaced to that of a toddler. Fish fingers and oven fries have been the easy, go-to meal.

It’s difficult to have new health issues come up that defy conventional explanation. Going to the doctor seems futile because there is little obvious that can be solved, and within a few weeks it passes anyway. But by that time, some other issue seems to arise.

One other factor has been that I’ve had a new period of intense dreaming. In Ayurveda, dreaming is a sign of processing. This has been happening in waves for the last six months. So whilst I know this is a sign of healing, it also takes out a lot physically. I often wake feeling tired with physical aches.

I remember that I had a dream where I was in my final year of university. Everything was focussed on me preparing for the year to come. I remember cleaning the lounge with my housemates and I recall psychologically gearing myself up for a year of study. When I woke up, I was confused to find myself in Brussels ten years later.

But I think the actual reason for my nausea is something else entirely. My body has been reorienting itself quite dramatically over the last few months. My pelvic tilt has improved quite substantively, even though I have not actively been working on it.

A few months ago I remember noting an improvement, but this was followed by me having dizzy episodes. I even had one moment where I was just on my computer and suddenly needed to throw up. I ended up lying in bed for the next 24 hours because my head was spinning so severely. I think the correction of standing taller actually caused a vestibular episode. My perception was thrown off between my brain’s perception and my eye’s reading of objects from this new height.

Today I recall that I noticed that my hips were naturally starting to engage more. It felt like I was holding myself up better in the glutes, and it meant I could slowly put less pressure on my lower back. It does mean that I felt more space for my spine to elongate.

So my latest hypothesis is that this shift has led to another vestibular episode, though less severe than the one in April. What supports this hypothesis is that going out for a walk does seem to make me feel sicker rather than better.

I’m aware that what I’m describing sounds a little insane. Whilst in an article such as this, I can take the time to explain my reasoning, in a casual conversation I have no such luxury. It is such an uncommon experience that it’s easier to suggest I’m imagining things. Yet there are real studies that exist around vestibular issues, and it is only through pointers from AI that I know that they even exist.

Either way, it doesn’t change the practical solution. Eventually my body will adjust, and the issue will solve itself.

In the meantime, I’ll just have to manage each day as it comes.

The fruits of a slow, consistent baseline

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I’ve been humbled by how much my physical capacities have nosedived. I’ve had to reel back many of my daily activities. This was from an already diminished level compared to my days pre-burnout. I’ve gone from being able to juggle a full time job, evening activities, writing, travel and exercise to having to pick a single activity per day.

What made it particularly tough was that about a year ago I had already hit the worst of it. I had found some level of consistency, and it seemed like I was slowly improving from that point on. But around last November, the ‘real’ burnout seemed to hit.

My sleep worsened. Dreams intensified. Body fatigue massively increased. It turns out that I had only hit the point where I had the energy to do the emotional processing.

The cost to my body has been one of deconditioning, weight gain and random physical pain. I went from doing three sets of romanian deadlifts lifting 50kg (exercises to strengthen the back) twelve months ago to having debilitating back pain from a ten minute walk.

For one reason or another, a positive has been that I’ve spent little time wallowing in self pity. I stopped going to the gym since it became evident that my body was no longer able to handle it. A few months later, I stopped going to dance classes as I started to find even holding a basic posture quite painful.

Over the last few months, my new goal has been to do 5000 steps in a day. The number was somewhat arbitrary, but it was what was already set up on my phone app. If I wanted to get scientific, then around 8000 is probably the most effective amount. But 8000 steps felt too much, and doing that every day just didn’t seem unreasonable.

Truth be told, I thought it would be more temporary. By the end of June, I started to regularly surpass my goal. I even did a hike which meant a day with around 23000 steps. Although I did have some physical pain, I have managed to slowly overcome it overtime.

Yet this last week has demonstrated why having such a low baseline goal was best. I’ve had another wave of fatigue stemming from emotional processing during sleep. My physical capacities were far lower then they were even a few weeks ago. These waves seem to come a little arbritrarily, so it’s not something I can plan for.

Having such a low baseline means that even on the rough days, I can do the minimum. It’s meant that even when I’m extremely tired, I’ve pushed myself a little to get my steps in. Critically, it’s only a little push, as anything further would actually do damage to my body right now. It’s also meant that I can keep up with my goals, even with the ridiculously hot weather we’ve had this summer.

One of the hardest parts has been navigating this all with professionals. My gym trainer would try and push my through fatigue, even when I said that it wasn’t what I wanted. More recently, a physical therapist kept trying to convince me that pains I had from exercises were just typical delayed muscle soreness. It seems that physical regression of my kind is so outside the typical clinical expectation that the assumption is that I must be doing something wrong.

A self created goal is one that I can manage. There is no overly-eager professional trying to push me beyond my limits, nor tell me my own bodily understanding is wrong. It also allows me to structure my day more flexibly, based upon how much energy I have, or commitments that might wipe me out. It also tackles an issue I had with my previous gym routine, where I would essentially push very hard on one day then have days of significantly lower activity. The boom and bust cycle isn’t so good for my current situation.

Whilst I do hope that most people benefit more from healthcare professionals than I have, there is something valuable in building our own independent goals that we control. When we outsource our health and wellbeing to someone else, we bypass the signals of what our body genuinely needs. This is as much the case for nutrition as it is for exercise.

And if we’re making a goal, we may as well make it realistic. A small goal done everyday is better than one large aspiration that never arrives.

The lack of logic in recovery

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I’ve often wondered whether I will ever get better again, or whether constant fatigue is my new reality.

Logic says that it will. There’s nothing identifiably chronic about my health. Yet logic also dictates that this should have been over by now too. In fact, if everything was dictated by logic, I don’t really think I should be sick anyway.

For every positive marker, there is a countersign which confuses everything. For every better night sleep and blood test score, there is an accompanying new debilitating pain and wave of fatigue. It can be practically impossible to really understand what’s going on. Yet spending more time worrying about it will also make me sicker.

There is something that feels particularly cruel about my situation. I see many people with more chaotic, unhealthy lives that are totally vivacious. They can live without a care in the world, and often can be the ones that love to give advice on how to stay healthy.

I also see people who have taken great liberties with their health and then collapsed as I have done. These folk can often fall into bitterness, disguising their regret for ignoring the warning signs.

After a few years of questioning myself, I’ve come to the conclusion that I didn’t actually do much ‘wrong’. My years preceding burnout was me doing an incredible amount of inner work. My health and fitness were areas I put a particularly high focus. There were no big issues that I was ignoring, or big emotional problems I was hiding in the closet.

Yet despite this, my burnout has taken me down a trek of emotional turmoil, whilst my body feels in its most broken condition ever. Looking back, I’m not sure there’s anything I would have particularly changed. On a sober assessment, I think most things were out of my control.

I’m aware that there are ways to rationalise this. The latest recovery wave is going harder and deeper to the core. Although it may be counterintuitive, this is a sign that my body has the capability to deal with things that earlier on it simply could not. Returning health and vivacity to my skin and nails somewhat back this up. So does literature on the pattern of burnout recovery.

Yet there is also a part of me that wonders whether this is more a fool’s hope, rather than rationalised thinking. Am I wisely putting my faith into the universal law of nature, or am I simply a gambler, constantly convincing one’s self that the pay off is coming soon?

It is one of those moments where the truth doesn’t actually matter a whole lot. Giving up would be dooming myself to a negative option either way, so there is little choice in continuing, come what may.

I am not sure if this stoicism is particularly hopeful. But at least it keeps me going.

On living life without a plan

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I’ve lived my life always planning ahead.

My whole generation had the idea of planning drilled into us. We needed to always know what we were doing next. Anything to the contrary was a failure. To be standing still was to be sinking in quicksand.

I actually rather liked planning. I ended up building career experience around it. A few years ago, I ended up crafting a GANTT chart with somewhat made-up dates on how to get a legislative bill through the UK Parliament in record time. It was planning that gave everyone a sense of reassurance despite the whole project being a terrible mess.

Yet here I sit without a plan. It’s the antithesis of what I’ve been taught and know.

Planning for planning’s sake is a creature comfort in delusion. The truth is that there is little point in planning too much right now, as I have little grasp of where my life is heading. Any time I’ve tried to plan anything, I’ve ended up trying to rush my recovery, and life has hit me hard.

So now my focus is simply taking it day by day. Sometimes there are too many moving parts to be able to actually plan our lives. That’s probably true for more of us than we would like to admit. Coming to terms with the fragility of our lives is too frightening to deal with.

Planning is good when we have a clear goal in mind. There is certainly a place for it in many aspects of our lives. But attempting to plan everything in our lives becomes impossible when we live in such a complex world. With the world changing as much as it is, it’s becoming practically impossible to predict what might be happening in five years time, let alone in twenty.

At its worst, creating delusional plans can end up being harmful. It often gives people a false sense of security, or creates blind allegiance to a truth that never was. Many people fail to see the warning signs that something might be wrong because the idea that their neatly crafted plan going off-track is too scary to contemplate.

In my last job, the idea of planning sounded nice, yet nobody had the discipline to follow it. When a plan got knocked off course, it was far easier to blame external circumstances for the problems, rather than taking a genuine look as to whether things were set up correctly in the first place.

I think there is a level of radical honest in saying that we simply do not know. It’s a statement people are absolutely frightened of, particularly in overly-educated, intellectual circles. We’ve spent so long learning how to sound convincing that we are scared of being ‘found out’ as not having all the answers.

But the truth is that nobody can really have the answers right now when so much is unclear. It’s okay to not have a plan when there is so much we do not know.

Avoiding the trap of overanalysis

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I’ve been feeling frustrated with my health. Despite building what is a rather aggressive approach through supplements and powders, it’s hard to see much empirical change.

The first moment I’ll truly know whether things have shifted is when I next get a blood test. My hope is that I can have demonstrably better insulin sensitivity, reduced liver fat and an increase of HDL cholesterol.

In the meantime, all I can do is interpret the subtler signs. My energy is a bit better, and I have been doing more exercise. My eating is objectively better, and I’m generally improving in sleep.

At the same time, I have new woes that have appeared. My knees feel far more delicate with additional walking, and I’ve been consistently waking up with a headache in the mornings. It’s hard to tell whether this is genuine progress when each stage seems to have a new issue crop up.

When I get so caught up in analysing my health everyday, the temptation is to delve ever deeper. I’ve been watching videos, reading books and getting AI interpretations with some attempt to understand what each daily shift might mean.

But at some point, I have to recognise that there are some things that I can’t really know. And to be honest, even if I did, it would probably not change a whole lot anyway. I can vaguely infer that my body is getting better. And even if that’s not the case, my approach is not likely to change right now anyway. Any attempt to push harder will cause more harm than good. I’m better off just letting things be for a while.

It’s a trap that nearly all of us fall into. When we get so caught up in a goal, we can end up making them our whole existence. The irony is that when we focus too much on that one issue, the lack of progress ends up hitting harder and we end up doing much worse.

Of course, recognising the pattern is one thing, shifting the behaviour is another. Although I have experienced such a challenge before, I recognise that this test is probably bigger than any other I’ve had. This challenge to my health and wellbeing spans multiple years, and honestly, despite my imperfectiosn I think I’m handling it better than most people would. Nonetheless, it’s tapping into lifelong difficulties around weight, which has been the one area that I’ve never really succeeded in getting to grips with, despite numerous substantive efforts.

So I’m giving myself some grace. I’ll follow the approach I’ve come up with, then see how it lines up with the next blood test. If I then need to do something different, I can adapt. But there’s little point in fretting on the details on a day to day basis. Even in the most optimistic of scenarios, sizeable, sustained change will take months. Realistically, it may even be years.

I’m better off shifting away from overanalysis and instead focus on living life. It’ll probably be more beneficial for my health anyway.

Playing the game of whac-a-mole in physical recovery

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‘Do you ever feel like you’re playing whac-a-mole?’

Someone asked me this once. They explained the situation where you try one thing which only partially solves the problem. This then leads to other issues popping up.

It’s a metaphor that has stuck with me, because it describes my experience in many different domains exceptionally well. When I try one thing, a plethora of new moles seem to pop up. I find myself in a perennial battle of reactivity.

I don’t think anything better epitomises this better than my current health challenges. Recently, I’ve been looking to walk more. Unfortunately, at one point walking seemed to cause bad back pain. The back pain led me to go to the physiotherapist for mobility exercises.

Whilst the physiotherapy helped, the practice also led to more phystical fatigue. The fatigue meant that I ended up staying at home to rest. The rest meant that I had deconditioned, so by the time I started walking again, the soles of my feet would start hurting so much it restricted my movement. Eventually, I tried a few solutions, eventually realising that I needed to do certain ankle stretches and replace my old shoes. Now that I’m able to walk more, I’m now starting to get knee pain. It’s like every step has some new weird obstacle crop up.

Most people understand the concept that the body is far more complex than we often describe it as. Yet such an explanation often takes a lot of energy, and often requires overcoming a natural scepticism. For example, I had to strongly advocate that exercise was making me more sick rather than healthy

I feel like this appraoch to trying to solve every issue individually is symptomatic of the overly specialised, interventionist healthcare system based upon the western approach. When everything turns into a problem that must be solved, it can often neglect the bigger picture.

Unfortunately, our whole system is built upon solutions that are made within a ten minute appointment. With such time constraints it’s no wonder doctors must prescribe easy, catch-all solutions. When my GP once prescribed me antidepressents, I had no explanation of it’s effects or what it actually would do. It was instead left to me to research all of this myself. I knew intuitively that they were probably not right, but I took them anyway because my doctor suggested it.

My natural conclusion has been to hone my natural instinct and listen deeper to my body’s signals. ‘Listening to your body’ is a cliché that is oft repeated, and it is not a monolith. But it is repeated because we are in a system that discourages ourselves from doing so.

A slow shift into a more peaceful life

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It feels like my life is hitting a new equilibrium point. My energy fluctuations feel less chaotic, and basic tasks are no longer feeling like a struggle.

Yesterday, I went to the sea-side on the Belgian coast. I went with a similar group of people to the ones I went with a year ago. It was a nice day, and the ocean waves are always a calming sight.

But what was noticeable was how much calmer I was about life compared to a year ago. Things are certainly not perfect, but I feel like things feel more settled.

In 2025, I felt like I was caught in a whirlwind. I was in a continuous anxious state of how to heal myself, but with little to show for my work. Meanwhile, I was constantly plagued by worry around what I was meant to be doing with my life.

Today, the noise just feels lower. I’ve made peace with a lot of things. Lots of them are probably small, but I think they have now added up enough to be making a substantive impact. I have certainly not figured out the big questions, most notably what I actually am meant to be doing in life. But I also feel less pressed to worry about it.

A big change is that I now feel like I’m progressing. Rather than constantly searching for solutions, I finally think I understand my underlying health problems better. The neurodivergence explaining the chronic tension. I feel like I’ve also found an answer to my perennial weight problems, which stems from very high insulin resistance. I can now actually target it as a problem, rather than attempting general weight loss tactics that were ineffective.

The real world impact is that I find myself strategising around my life far less. The big things like career and work are not worth worrying about until my health gets better. Meanwhile, the moderate improvements mean that I don’t need to be so careful about every aspect of my life, compared to what it was before.

At the beginning of my burnout, I would strategically decide when to go to the supermarket based upon whether I had the energy to get out of bed. As time went on, my capacity increased somewhat. Nonetheless, I still needed to be extremely careful to not overextend and crash out.

Basic things having a higher cost meant that they came with more tension. There was far more pressure for basic social events to be ‘worth it’ because they took so much energy. When I went to something that didn’t feel good, it ended up hitting harder because of how much energy it took.

As time goes on, this barrier to entry is slowly decreasing. I can go without a sense of expectation. Life is a lot easier without worrying about such things.

An important factor is that I’ve cut out areas that have given me consistent friction. Social settings where there’s either always some level of drama, or where I feel like something is of. I think I’ve dearly underestimated how big of an effect that has had on my health over the long term.

It’s probably why I also feel more confident that this moment will be a genuine recovery signal rather than a single positive blip. In the past, a good moment often was followed by one where I felt like I was getting dragged back down. Now, I feel like I’ve removed a lot of the things that would have that negative effect, whether internally or externally.

Still, it’s important to be patient. Walking passed important-looking people in the EU quarter is a big reality check. Their busy hustle and bustle is not something I can currently do, and certainly not five days a week.

Yet If the next few months are simply slow and peaceful progress, I’d be ever so grateful for it.

One more rotation around the sun

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I turned 33 today.

For some, birthdays are about celebration, and having a moment to feel special. For others, it elicits a sense of worry, confronting us to the inevitable march of time.

My somewhat surprising reaction when the clock struck midnight was a sense of lightness.

I think the honest response is that I’m somewhat grateful to be alive. Making it to the age of 33 feels like an achievement, particularly after the few years I’ve had. It may sound grim, but surviving the extreme confusion of my own existence in an increasingly hostile world does feel like an achievement.

There’s also a secondary feeling of peace. For most of my life, birthdays have actually been one of the worst days in the calendar. I would hate it. Rather than a joyous occasion, it felt a day that highlighted social isolation and family dysfunction more than celebration. If I were to think about my birthdays, I have overwhelmingly negative memories.

In adult life, I felt an intense social pressure to do something ‘special’. These would often be special activities or trips. Although these could be nice, the idea of doing things that I wouldn’t necessarily do anyway felt quite performative. I even considered taking a trip away this year, but that felt more like running away from the world rather than actually ‘treating myself’.

I went through a phase of hosting parties. In practice, this was a ritual of sending invitations and hoping people might turn up. Some did. Some didn’t. Some said they would, but then didn’t bother. I, meanwhile, took up the mental and emotional pressure of having to organise everything. I’d often end up feeling more solemn and hurt by people’s selfishness than anything selse.

So some years ago, I decided that I’d stop caring. ‘What’s in a day anyway?’ I used to say. It made for good bravado, and from a spiritual perspective it sounded enlightened. But in the end, I was somewhat lying to myself. I did still feel hurt, but I just pretended I didn’t. I remember rather regretting I didn’t do anything for my 30th birthday. It took me a while for me to actually admit this to myself.

What makes today’s sense of peace interesting is that nothing has really changed. If anything, I seem to be living a more socially isolated life than I ever have before. Yet, I think I’m also making peace with my existence. When I now see people having lavish celebrations, I realise I’m comparing apples to oranges.

Whilst I would dearly love to have the nice part, the truth is that I also don’t want the rest of the things that come with it. Many people exist in social groups that quell their individuality and independence. Oft, such parties are also a proof of social happiness rather than a byproduct. Such concepts mean little to me. It’s probably why they have always felt a bit false. If people want to celebrate me, they’re welcome to. But I’m not going to make it an enforced social interaction.

I’ve not really done anything special today. In fact, I even had quite a bad night’s sleep thanks to a mosquito visiting me in the night. But there’s something calming about having a peaceful Sunday without any obligations and performances to make.

My birthday has seemingly gotten to that point that I wanted several years ago. A day for some enjoyment and reflection, but certainly not worth stressing over.

Taking it one step at a time

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I’ve been intentionally looking to walk more. Walking more however can sound a little dumb. After all, most of us walk everyday. It’s become so programmed into our living that the idea of intentionally walking just sounds like adding more needless travel into our day.

Yet for me, I’m finding walking one of the most adapted and well-suited forms of exercise I’ve intentionally done.

If you’ve been following my writing, you may be aware that a few months ago I was having terrible back pain. For one reason or another, a short walk would cause enough agony that I could no longer really move. So simply being able to walk around uninhibited has already felt like a massive relief. Sometimes, losing the ability to do something we take for granted is the impetus for us to really value it.

Over the years, I’ve tried so many different exercise routines. None of them, unfortunately, have really stuck. That’s not for a lack of effort or discipline, but I found that I would eventually break down. Yoga was causing shoulder problems. My gym routine eventually led to an insurmountable body fatigue. Other exercise classes would wipe me out.

Yet with walking, I’ve seemingly found something that I can actually control properly. If I’m tired, I can have a rest without being scolded at by a teacher. Going on a solo trek also doesn’t lead to social embarrassment that my fitness is not as good as other people. Nor is there any big competitive element.

I’ve been intentionally going out to walk every day over the last few weeks. My minimum is to get my 5000 steps, but I’ve ended up regularly going far beyond that. Admittedly, this has been a pretty tough week to do a whole lot of physical activity. The hot weather has been extremely punishing, but at least I’ve ended up taking advantage of Brussels numerous forests and woods. The greenery is a great shelter from the sun, not to mention getting out of the city which absorbs heat so intensely.

But most fundamentally, I feel like I’m getting the more normal physical feedback from walking. I actually feel good after moving, and I’m noticing the positive effects on my body. This is a pretty great contrast compared to previous exercise classes. I would end up actually feeling terrible after them.

This brings me to the larger critique of modern fitness and wellness. Everything is about efficiency. Exercise classes are made to squeeze as much calorie burning in the shortest amount of time. There’s little time or effort placed on finding the right pace, or adapting it to an individual’s body. I feel like this actually makes exercise less accessible than it probably was in the past. If you’re not already a fitness freak, it’s very hard to actually get into it. Most regular people seem to go to such exercise classes out of a sense of obligation, rather than because they actually enjoy it.

It’s been quite frustrating personally having to navigate fitness professionals who would constantly push my body in ways that I felt like was doing it harm. I was for a long time convinced that my aches and pains were things to fight through. Unsurprisingly, my body would eventually break down.

Like many aspects of health, I’ve been looking into what Ayurvedic teachings say. Here, it makes clear that good exercise should be moderate. Going too intense burns through our ojas, or life energy. The idea of constantly pushing yourself is not actually healthy.

What is weird is that this is broadly understood, even in modern day contexts. Yet pretty much our whole exercise culture is built instead on speed and convenience. HIIT exercises for ‘optimisation’. 30 day beach body programmes. Yoga classes to look good in Lululemon leggings, whilst the spiritual and philosophical teachings are butchered.

The sad irony is that this only serves to further isolate and divide society. We’re in the midst of an obesity crisis, yet our health and fitness industry seems only to obsess ever more with fads and micro-optimisations. Getting valuable advice around our individual health and wellbeing has become paradoxically near-impossible.

But going back to walking is something that nearly all of us have the ability to do. It takes away so much of the noise. Instead of worrying about muscle groups or calorie burning optimisation, we can keep it very simple.

If the body wants to move, then move. If it wants to stop, then stop. Rinse and repeat each day.

Being caught between different worlds

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I travelled back to the UK this week for the launch of my father’s biography. That, in of itself is a rather momentous moment. But the whiplash of shifting a recent trip to Spain, back to Belgium, to the UK then a Bangladeshi community event was particularly intense.

I don’t feel such sequence of events is particularly rare in my life. If anything, I feel the sense of being caught between worlds becoming ever stronger as time goes by. I oft feel like I am caught between them all. I exist in many, but I’m never fully in one.

Sometimes it’s the small things that highlight feeling out of place. I was in the UK when Belgium played their first match in the World Cup. By the time England kicked off against Croatia, I was on the Eurostar, having just crossed back into the Belgian border.

I sat at home in my parent’s house watching Belgium play. To an outsider, it would seem weird why I would particularly care about Belgium. On the Eurostar, I seemed to be the only one watching the England game. I read ethnically ambiguous enough that people would probably equally wonder why I cared that much about England either.

The bit that was probably the most culturally complex was the book launch. It’s something that I’d be hesitant to even try to explain to my white, European folk. To be fair, the event wasn’t quite what I had expected either. My father chose this to be a moment of community celebration rather than a traditional book launch. There was known community figures, including politicians and renowned activists. It was speech heavy, with people focussing on testimonies of their relation with my father.

The purpose, moreover wasn’t really to make money by selling books. My dad spent more money hosting the event then he would ever make financially. It was more about bringing people together and building community spirit rather than a commercial enterprise.

Language felt like the elephant in the room. I, working with my father, wrote the book in English. My strong writing skills and native English made it the most logical choice. I always had the concern that anything too complex would not be intelligible by the older Bengali migrants. I tried my best to keep things simple and understandable.

The event itself was held with speeches often in high-level, shuddho (‘pure’) Bangla. There was our local language, Sylheti mixed in too, since the event was majority Sylheti speakers. For people my age, it’s difficult to understand the high-speech of shuddho. We didn’t learn it growing up, and it was not spoken at home. There were parts we simply couldn’t understand.

I gave a speech in English. Honestly, I felt like I needed to fight for a spot to speak. In a space filled with known community figures, these were the speeches people gravitated towards. I found it frustrating. I was the one who did the large majority of the work on the book. I think our community can often get so caught up on performance that it forgets the importance of real dialogue and to give younger people a platform.

I found this a tricky speech to give. Partly because I felt like I wasn’t meant to be giving it. Partly because I wanted to move away from what is often said at such occasions. I wanted to emphasise the more human side of writing the book together, and more fundamentally, that the point of it was not to put my father up on a pedestal.

The book was instead to demonstrate his achievements through perseverance, despite mistakes and challenges. Eulogising people doesn’t actually help a whole lot. It just serves to intimidate, rather than inspire.

Fortunately I managed to get the tone broadly right. Enough humility with a clear message meant people received it well. I got positive comments from people, either directly or from my father. A good number of people understood my point, and were very warm towards me. For some, I don’t think it quite landed.

There was a lot of media coverage. Which makes sense, considering my father is chairman of a TV station. It meant the event itself got an incredible amount of press coverage in both print and visual media. Some reports chose to see the story more broadly – a child writing a biography with their father. Others omitted my name, preferring to focus solely on my father.

My parents reaction was also interesting. The pride in my speech was expressive once they heard how other people received it. Community viewpoint is something they have lived their lives by, and I had somewhat forgotten how important it was from them. Being a neurodivergent person who has lived my life caring very little for expected norms, it’s probably why I would not find a home in such a space.

Alas, I now find myself back in Belgium. My identity confusion will not get a whole lot of respite. I gathered my required documents and I will soon be able to apply for Belgian nationality. Belgium is also playing later today in the World Cup. At the same time, I’m probably feeling as disconnected to life in Brussels as I ever have done.

I can only hope that the feeling of outsiderness eases as my life eventually finds a new point of equilibrium. Yet I also must comes to terms with the fact that this is just how my life will be. I will, after all, be a person with three nationalities, living outside my country of birth with a peculiar cognitive profile.