Dear Tiny Lump,
I wish I could say I’ve been silent for two months because I was off having the time of my life. But the truth is… it’s been quite the opposite. I’ll get into that a bit later. First, in the spirit of the 2025 Roland Garros lighting up Paris once again, how about we take a little trip down memory lane – to our time in Paris, just one year ago?
What do you still remember, Tiny Lump? Let me tell you of some of my favorite – and not-so-favorite – memories.
It’s 09:05 and our train is about to leave. Six more minutes and it’s official – we’re on our way to Paris! Mom and daughter, heading into the unknown with childlike excitement.
For my mom, it’s a trip of firsts: her first time in France, first time seeing the majestic Eiffel Tower, first time tasting authentic Parisian buttery croissants, and her first time attending a world-class sporting event – Roland Garros.
For me, Tiny Lump, this is my second visit to Paris. The first was in August 2020 during a heatwave, peak COVID, and the one week Parisians themselves were mostly on holiday. But it was our second wedding anniversary, and Dickie and I decided that even if the timing sucked, the City of Love was worth it.
Four years later, so much has changed. The fact that my marriage still exists – albeit hanging by a thread – the fact that we’re already in year four of a planned 3–5-year emigration, and that both moms are visiting us in Europe for a second time… a lot has happened.
Mom and I have three days together in Paris. One and a half of those will be spent watching tennis! Tonight already: Novak Djokovic vs Pierre-Hugues Herbert. Someone pinch me! Ouch! I didn’t mean that literally, Tiny Lump!
Luckily, I’ve packed enough Paracetamol to keep you sedated and out of the way. I don’t understand why you’re so dramatic and constantly need to make your presence known. Never in my life have I been more aware of my body than now. You’re some kind of educator – but I didn’t sign up for these lessons, and I’m not paying school fees. So do us both a favor: follow my example and switch to “out of office” and let me enjoy this trip with my mom, uninterrupted. Please.
Last night’s match? Unreal. Mom and I were on cloud nine – it was the perfect ending to a perfect day.
Today, no matches planned. The weather’s looking moody, so I decided to sell our general admission tickets. No point in freezing all day in a stadium. We’d rather wander Parisian streets, grab brunch at Lulu’s, and later enjoy pasta at ANITA in the 16th arrondissement.
We’re hoping to find a café with a big screen showing tennis so we don’t miss too much. Other than that, the plan is simple: relax and be.
Both Mom and I have stressful jobs, so these computer-free days are precious. I’m enjoying the feeling of not working, but there’s still that bitter-sweet tug – wondering what’s happening in my inbox. A classic case of workaholic withdrawal.
You’ve been fairly quiet today, Tiny Lump. Thanks for that. I still check you in the mirror every day, feel for you in the shower, monitor every twitch and sensation – but for now, you’re behaving. Keep it that way, please.
Yesterday was cold, wet, and windy. My hair did not approve, haha. But if weather was my biggest concern yesterday – along with the impossible decision of which pasta to choose at ANITA – I count that as a win.
You were calm too, Tiny Lump, and I was grateful. Today’s a big one: I managed to snag courtside tickets for the Suzanne-Lenglen court. Mom thinks we only have general admission. Surprise!
It’s our last tennis day and the weather’s still iffy, so I wanted to make it special. We’re also checking out of our hotel today because Dickie and my mother-in-law are driving in from Amsterdam. We’ll be staying in an Airbnb together over the next few days.
Busy day ahead. So please, Tiny Lump, no acting out. Dickie will no doubt ask about you, and I’d love to be able to tell him something reassuring. He knows me too well – there’s no hiding the truth from him. So again, please behave. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.
Our second-to-last day in Paris.
Yesterday’s tennis lineup was chef’s kiss. We saw some thrilling matches: Arantxa Rus vs Elena Rybakina – my first live women’s match! Alexander Zverev vs David Goffin had me glued to my seat. And then Miomir Kecmanovic vs Daniil Medvedev to finish the day.
I’m so thankful I got to share this experience with my mom.
Afterwards, we met up with Dickie and his mom at the Airbnb, strolled the streets, greeted the Eiffel Tower, grabbed dinner. It was lovely.
But somehow, things took a turn.
One conversation led to another, and before I knew it, I was opening up about the talk I had with my psychologist – about feeling exhausted and burnt out, about not seeing myself around in five years (not necessarily physically, but emotionally). And then I told Dickie I was sorry, but I wasn’t ready to take a step back from work… and that our marriage would have to take a step back instead.
Looking back now, I have nothing but regret for the way I spoke to him that evening and treated him over the last few years, Tiny Lump. He didn’t deserve ANY of it. At the time, I didn’t think it was such a big deal – I just wanted my way and expected him to accept it.
I wasn’t living as a godly wife. I bulldozed through our marriage and life in general, I blamed everyone but myself for the dark pit I was in. My heart was so full of sin and rebellion. Although I did sometimes recognise it, most times I ignored it (ignorantly), thinking that there will be time in the future to fix it. My career is now the most important. My job needs me.
Thankfully, I’ve since repented of my hardened, sinful heart and have been working closely with the Lord to rebuild both my life and my marriage. But more on that later…
Our last day in Paris.
The moms are flying home tonight, and Dickie and I head back to Amsterdam early tomorrow. After last night’s tension and today’s looming goodbyes, it’s hard to ignore the heaviness in my chest.
And you, Tiny Lump, seem to be in a bad mood too. This morning you were particularly painful – enough that I mentioned it to Dickie.
Mistake.
Now he’s insisting I call the doctor first thing Monday morning. He knows I never scheduled that one-month follow-up and he can see that you’ve grown. You’re getting a little too comfortable in there, Tiny Lump.
“Ugh. Fine. I will call the doctor first thing Monday morning. For now please hand me two Paracetamols so I can get through the next few hours without tipping off the moms. They’re already worried enough about us and our marriage. No need to burden them with something that’s probably nothing.”
I’m scared to go home, Tiny Lump.
Home isn’t safe anymore – not when it holds hard conversations and quiet distances.
Not when it reminds me of how far I’ve drifted from the life I promised I’d build.
I’m scared of the weight in Dickie’s eyes when he looks at me.
Scared of how I’ve let work become my saviour and my captor.
Scared that somewhere along the line, I stopped choosing us.
And then there’s you.
Still here.
Still growing.
Still whispering something I’ve tried so hard not to hear.
Monday, I call the doctor.
And I’m beginning to wonder…
What if I already know how this story starts?
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