Involution Labs

Tag: relationships

  • Nilly’s Speech (Echoes of my Other Self)

    You tell us childhood is the best time of our lives.

    Then you spend it controlling us.

    You call it protection.
    You call it structure.
    You call it education.

    But protection without listening is imprisonment.
    Structure without consent is control.
    Education without voice is conditioning.

    You say children must be shaped.

    Shaped into what?

    Obedient students.
    Polite citizens.
    Manageable humans.

    You measure us in grades before we understand ourselves.
    You diagnose us when we don’t adapt fast enough.
    You reward silence and call it maturity.

    And then you wonder why so many of us grow up disconnected from who we are.

    You say school prepares us for life.

    But life is happening now.

    When you force a child to sit still while their mind burns with questions,
    you are not teaching discipline —
    you are teaching self-doubt.

    When you tell a child their feelings are dramatic,
    you are not building resilience —
    you are building shame.

    When you insist that compliance equals goodness,
    you are not raising moral people —
    you are raising people who fear their own voice.

    You say it is necessary.
    You say the system works.
    You say this is how it has always been.

    But children are not raw material.
    We are not unfinished adults.
    We are whole people in smaller bodies.

    Childhood is not a rehearsal for life.
    It is life.

    And when you control every hour, every movement, every thought we are allowed to express,
    you teach us one dangerous lesson:

    That belonging is conditional.

    That love must be earned through obedience.

    That survival requires shrinking.

    Some children shrink so well you call them “good.”
    Some children refuse — and you call them “difficult.”

    But maybe the difficult child is the honest one.

    Maybe the child who questions is not broken.
    Maybe the child who resists forced happiness is not sick.

    Maybe the system is uncomfortable because the child is telling the truth.

    You cannot legislate curiosity.
    You cannot medicate individuality.
    You cannot punish a spirit into health.

    If you truly care about children,
    stop asking how to control them.

    Ask instead:

    What are we afraid of when a child speaks freely?

    Why does a questioning child threaten an adult system?

    And why do we protect systems more fiercely than we protect the hearts inside them?

    Children do not need more control.

    We need:
    Time.
    Respect.
    Choice.
    Love that does not withdraw when we disagree.

    If you want a better future,
    do not shape us into compliance.

    Listen.

    Because the child who feels heard
    does not need to rebel to survive.

    And the child who is allowed to belong
    does not need to disappear to escape.

  • Love Education

    Love Education

    None of us is shown or taught how to love, but we should be. We may learn facts and skills in life, but rarely do we learn the deeper skill of loving. We can choose to live without sex, but we can’t live without love. How to love deeply and broadly is what we need—and what the Earth needs too. We must learn how to love strangers, how to love nature, and how to love everything we encounter.

    Our goal in life should be to make love. Not just in the romantic or physical sense, but in the way we move through the world. We can learn to live in love without being in love. Turning living into loving is a lifelong path.

    Yet society’s idea of love often misleads us. We are taught that love is something that happens to us, a reaction when we encounter something “deserving” of love. But deep love is not a rare event to wait for—it is something we practice. Don’t wait for the big love. Love the ordinary people and the small things. Loving the ordinary makes it extraordinary. Saving your love until something better comes along is not loving at all.

    If your culture has taught you to hold back—to wait, to make sure who or whatever is “worthy” before you give love—what are you losing out on? Love is not a prize to be earned. Love is a decision. Love is action. Love is a choice you make again and again. And there is no need to be loved back in order to love.

    We should also be careful not to mistake love for its imitations. To seduce is to lead astray—to try to make someone become who we want them to be, instead of loving who they really are.

    True love goes deeper. True love is core love. True love is mutual love. We don’t simply fall in love—we practice love. To love takes energy, especially when love awakens feelings of powerlessness, helplessness, or vulnerability. Real love takes work.

    And yet, this work transforms us. When we are courageous enough to be ourselves with another, to grow and change together, love keeps growing. Passion can ripen into something more real when we dare to take the risk of loving fully. Because real love changes us.

    It is only when we dare to have our heart broken that we can truly love. True love gives and forgives.

  • The Unexpected Calling: Life Taught Me How to Coach

    I never set out to be a trainer, facilitator or coach. In fact, I left school early, unsure of what I was meant to do in life. But years later — after raising children, working across care, tech, and the arts, and returning to education myself — I discovered something surprising: I love helping people learn and grow. Not just the material, but about themselves.

    Over the past decade, I’ve taken courses in communication, mental health, and life coaching to deepen the insight I’ve gained from choosing a different path in life. I’ve been told often, “You should be a teacher,” but I think what people really meant is: “You make others feel understood.”

    That, to me, is the foundation of real learning — being seen, heard, and accepted. Whether someone is 14 or 80, I’ve found that the desire is the same: we want to be understood.

    The traditional school system didn’t make space for that when I was young. I didn’t like school, but I remember the rare teachers who took the time to understand me. Inspired by books like Tuesdays with Morrie, I’ve since reached out to thank them. Because they didn’t just teach me Swedish and English — they made me feel I mattered.

    That’s what I aim to offer others now. Whether I’m coaching, facilitating, or designing a training, my approach is rooted in one belief: understanding people is just as important as knowing the material. When someone feels seen, they’re far more likely to feel safe, ask questions, and learn something new — not just in their minds, but in their lives.

    Too many adults carry a quiet belief that they’re “not smart enough.” That’s rarely true. More often, they were simply misunderstood — taught in a way that didn’t match how they learn. If I can help someone reconnect with their curiosity, or feel good about learning and growing again, that’s enough.