Mind your Mind

Expo

Be present

To me, being mentally healthy means not getting lost in my thoughts. Thoughts are just thoughts: you are not what you think. Often, worries are about yesterday or tomorrow, while we only live in the now. For me, balance is being in the present as much as possible, without losing yourself in the churning of your mind.

Loss and numbness

My father passed away when I was fifteen. A year later, there was the New Year's Eve fire in Volendam, in which fourteen people lost their lives. I survived, but the events followed one another so quickly that I developed a mechanism to avoid having to feel. It was too much. It was not until years later that I realized how emotionally underdeveloped I had become as a result. I had to learn to feel again. That process—painful, confronting, but also liberating—has led to profound insights. It has been a rollercoaster, but one I wouldn't have wanted to miss.

Music as a language

My very first self-written song, *Still Searching*, came into being when I was sixteen and was about the loss of my father. It was almost inevitable that music would become my outlet. Music gave me a language to speak where words failed. It offered stability and meaning at a time when I might otherwise have been completely stuck. Morning Ritual In recent years, I have made a habit of getting up early, often as early as five-thirty. Before the children wake up, I take time to journal, meditate, or read. I call it grounding. That early calm prevents me from immediately falling into racing thoughts. It is a simple routine, but it gives me a solid foundation to start the day in balance.

Turning point

Een belangrijk kantelmoment was de geboorte van mijn dochter, acht jaar geleden. In plaats van overweldigd door liefde voelde ik… bijna niets. Dat was verontrustend. Maandenlang durfde ik dit niet te delen, tot ik het eindelijk aan mijn vrouw vertelde. Later realiseerde ik me dat ik door trauma’s had geleerd om niet te voelen - en dus ook het mooie minder intens beleefde. Dat besef zette mij op een nieuw pad: naar binnen keren, aankijken wat pijn deed, en langzaam opruimen. Het vaderschap werd daarmee een katalysator voor heling. Niet in de zin dat je ooit “klaar” bent, ik geloof dat niemand volledig geheeld is. Maar ik ontdekte dat kwetsbaarheid ook een kracht kan zijn. Inmiddels voel ik soms zelfs bijna té veel en dat ervaar ik als rijkdom.

From outside to inside

Openness is often described as bringing something from the inside out. For me, it is the other way around: I had to go from the outside in. Instead of blaming the world or circumstances, I learned to take responsibility for my own perception. The death of my father, the fire—I could continue to view those events as tragic and limiting. But I could also see them as proof that I survived, that I possess resilience. The facts remain the same, but the meaning you give to them changes everything.

Choice, every day

Every day is a choice all over again. Do I choose frustration or gratitude? The grumpiness about my children waking me up too early, or the enjoyment of their giggling at dawn? The artwork, or life itself, is the same. What you see depends on the lens through which you look.

Silence and speaking

After the fire, it was talked about a lot for a year. The entire village had been affected. Then silence fell: as if people felt that enough was enough. But that closed-off attitude did not help the healing process. It was not until much later, during my theater tour, that I spoke about it in more detail. The reactions were intense and heartwarming at the same time. People recognized themselves in it, felt supported. That confirmed for me once again: if one person dares to speak, it opens the door for another as well. Your healing is my healing.

Inspiration

I find a lot of inspiration in others who demonstrate their resilience. Recently, I listened to a podcast by Jay Shetty with Novak Djokovic. A man who, despite war, trauma, and adversity, has consciously structured his life around health, discipline, and self-care. His story confirms for me that mental and physical strength go hand in hand.

Words for those going through a tough time

To someone who is going through a really tough time, I would like to say: don't believe everything you think. Your thoughts are not facts; they are stories your mind makes up. You can learn to look at them, to observe them without identifying with them. Sometimes it helps to even smile at them. The slim book *Don't Believe Everything You Think* by [author] has given me a lot in this regard. Simple words, but with great impact.

Art

Earlier this week, I went to bed much too late, knowing that children start the day again at seven. And they did start shouting at exactly seven o'clock. But I wanted to turn over for a moment. My wife chose to say, "Beautiful, isn't it, this giggling sound?" So what do you choose? Are you grumpy because they wake you up, or do you choose to think, "How wonderful to start the day like this"? Because the situation doesn't change. The same applies to art. Every person sees the same painting or artwork. But

Everyone can create their own feeling about it. Do you see the beauty, or do you go looking for that imperfection that bothers you? The artwork is simply a metaphor for every life situation. What do you choose?

Happiness and emptiness

I have experienced the successes of number 1 hits and packed stadiums. But happiness is not to be found there. Had I not experienced them, I might have kept searching for it forever. I recognize that emptiness—the top athlete sitting alone in his hotel room after a major victory. The realization that true happiness comes from within, not from without, is perhaps the most important lesson I have learned.