There was a photo, a simple memory from six years ago, a tattoo on my middle finger that read “fearless.” I didn’t just get it for the ink. I got it to survive. To remind myself that no matter how dark the road got, I had it in me to keep going. That word carried me through fire. But today, I saw that same fire burning in the eyes of the international students I work with, except this time, it was fear consuming them.

Fear of the unknown. Fear that the dream they crossed oceans for might be slipping away because of things beyond their control, headlines, judgments, silence. Fear had become louder than hope. But I’ve learned that fear only wins when we stop moving. When we stop believing.

This blog is for anyone who’s ever felt like giving up on their dream, not because they weren’t good enough, but because fear told them they weren’t safe to try.

It was a Tuesday like any other, until it wasn’t.
The kind of day that begins with laughter and light, with coffee cups and children’s giggles… and ends with a shattering truth none of us were prepared for.
One educator. Over 70 charges. And suddenly, a whole sector held its breath.

As the shock settled, something more insidious rose to the surface, not just fear, but blame. Not just heartbreak, but bias. And quietly, without policy or evidence, male educators across the country were told they were no longer trusted to care.

We claim to stand for equity. We speak the language of inclusion. We quote “belonging, being, and becoming” like gospel.
But when men are silenced, sidelined, and stripped of their humanity for daring to nurture, what exactly are we teaching our children about justice? About safety? About what care should look like?

This blog is not just a reflection. It’s a reckoning.
Because exclusion is not protection.
Fear is not policy.
And gender is not a crime.

Ah yes, state exams, the universal rite of passage no one asked for. In Ireland, we call it the Leaving Cert, as if you're launching into orbit rather than just finishing school. In Australia, it’s the HSC, which sounds deceptively gentle for something that turns teenagers into caffeine-fuelled stress balls. And in India? Well, there it's the infamous Board Exams, a family-wide event complete with late-night revision marathons, emotional outbursts, and enough pressure to shatter a diamond.

I was reminded of just how brutal this season can be during my tea break, when I found one of my usually sunny colleagues looking like a wilted houseplant. “How’s your daughter?” I asked gently. The floodgates opened. “She won’t eat. She’s up all night. She drinks more coffee than a tired barista. And she’s not listening to a word I say!” I sipped my own third mug of the day and considered quietly sliding it out of view.

Behind her frustration was something we rarely talk about, the silent suffering of parents during exam season. That constant loop of “Am I doing enough?”, “Did I prepare her properly?”, “What if she fails because of me?” It’s not just students who carry the weight of these exams. It’s families. It’s hearts. And sometimes, just showing up and saying, “You’re not alone,” is the most powerful intervention of all.

It’s not the cold that hurts the most.
It’s being unseen.
Unspoken to.
Stepped past like you're already gone.

They don’t want your pity.
They want to be remembered.
They want to be human again.

A word. A coffee. A moment.
That’s what says: I see you.

Ten minutes. That’s all she missed her flight by. Ten minutes that shattered her plans, cracked open her dreams, and left her sitting at the gate, broken, until the news came in: the plane had crashed. The very flight she had begged to board was now gone.

We don’t often see it in the moment, when life closes a door, cancels a flight, reroutes us through chaos and confusion. It feels cruel. Personal. But what if the setback is really a setup? What if that delay, that detour, is divine protection in disguise?

On a frozen 1°C morning, I found myself navigating both foggy roads and foggier memories, a near-miss in India, a cancelled flight, a wild Uber ride, and an unexpected adventure that saved me from something I’ll never fully understand.

This blog is about more than missed flights or lucky escapes. It’s about the sacred pauses that feel like punishment but end up being our greatest protection. It’s about learning to trust the “no’s, the silences, the slammed doors, and knowing deep in your bones:

You’re not being denied. You’re being guided.