Nadine, 31, lives in Greifensee, Canton of Zurich, with Alex, 39, and their daughters, Naya, 5, and Ayana, 2.
During my nursing apprenticeship, I came into contact with illness, suffering and death at an early age. What struck me most back then, as a teenager, was this: what was it about patients who were truly in a bad way, yet seemed happy? They had suffered tragic blows and lost so much – and yet still had reasons to be happy.
I remember an elderly gentleman, a man who was troubled in many ways yet so cheerful, who loved to share his enthusiasm – for a bird's plumage, for the tree that changed colour. It was beyond me how such unspectacular things could bring him such joy. He wasn't the only one who amazed me with a zest for life I couldn't explain. I began asking people why, despite everything they were going through, they had such a positive outlook.
I don't solve every problem for my daughters. As I often say: I've got your back – give it another go, I'm here for you.
The answer was always the same: they drew their contentment from relationships, whether with family or friends. These patients have shaped my definition of happiness – it is what we share with our loved ones.
Different countries, different fortunes
I'm struck by how differently people interpret and express happiness when I visit my mother's family in Brazil. My relatives have taught me that joy and sorrow are closely intertwined; you can feel utterly heartbroken one moment and over the moon the next. This brings to mind my grandfather's funeral: how the grief at his loss overwhelmed everyone, the intensity with which they gave free rein to their sorrow, only to celebrate the deceased just as exuberantly a few hours later.
That's what I want to show my daughters by example: that difficult emotions are just as much a part of life as the happy ones, and that happiness doesn't mean not having any problems, but finding ways to deal with them. I want them to be able to learn and try out what helps them in difficult moments. That's why I don't rush to their aid straight away when they're at a loss, nor do I start comforting them straight away when they're frustrated, sad or have fallen over.
Something I often say: I've got your back – give it another go, I'm here for you. I try to share with them what helps me when I'm irritable, tired or sad. Some of it has become second nature to Naya and has turned into a ritual: when everything goes wrong, she turns the music up and shouts, «Let's dance!» Then the three of us hop about on the sofa, with the girls taking turns on my arm, and dance until we can laugh again.
What makes me happy as a mother?
I don't think we can simply «make children happy». If there's one thing I've learnt as a mother, it's that they are a reflection of us. That's why I have to start with myself: who am I, and what do I need to feel good? The postnatal depression I experienced after Naya's birth was the catalyst that prompted me to grapple with these questions – my daughters are my motivation to keep doing so.
I need to know what happiness means to me so that I can help them find theirs. For me, it shows itself in unspectacular moments: when we're all together in the living room, for example, with Naya drawing, Ayana playing with play dough, me pottering about on my laptop and Alex watching a film. Everyone's doing their own thing – yet we're still together, quietly enjoying being close as a family of four.
It's not the big trips that stick in the memory. What gives me strength is that I still remember exactly how good it feels to be together.
Alex has taught me that you don't need big gestures or lots of words to feel connected. We do enjoy doing things together – but there's nothing I love quite as much as our perfect chaos: that cosy, rarely tidy living space in the living room, when everyone prefers it to their own bedroom. When I think back to my childhood, which was a very happy one, it isn't the trips to Europa-Park that have stayed with me most and still give me strength today. I've no idea where we went – but I remember exactly how good it felt to be together.
