I’ve been thinking a lot since I wrote my last post. Maybe someone felt exposed. Maybe it was too much, too direct, too uncomfortable.
And maybe that’s exactly what it needed to be.
I don’t write to judge
What I wrote – it didn’t come from anger at parents. It came from love for children. And from a sorrow that has grown over the years.
Because I’ve seen things. I’ve worked with young people for many years – in treatment centers, institutions, therapy rooms, and out on the streets. I’ve listened to stories that still hurt in my chest today.
Like the time I asked a young person to describe what a real friend is – and realized they had never had one. When I explained what friendship meant to me, they looked at me like I was telling a fairytale. That’s how far away it was from their reality.
When children’s eyes lose their light
So when I see young kids – because they are kids – hanging around late at night, with eyes that have already lost their trust… it hurts. And then I have to write.
What we don’t need is scapegoats
What we need is presence. Connection. Courage.
The responsibility of the adult world
I know parenting isn’t easy. We’re tired. We’re overwhelmed. We try our best. The laundry piles up. The fridge is empty. The clock never stops.
I’ve been there too.
But still: We have to see that some kids are getting lost. Running straight off a cliff – thinking that’s where they’ll be seen.
And the responsibility? It’s ours. The adults. Together.
We can do more – even when it feels impossible
Maybe we think it’s too late. That we’ve lost control. That the child has chosen their path. But most of the time – it’s not too late.
Small actions can create big changes. A conversation. A clear boundary. A “I see you, and I care.”
It’s not about perfect solutions. It’s about trying. About taking one more step. Staying present one more night. Asking for help. Daring to say to another parent: “Hey, I’m worried – how do we handle this together?”
Because it’s possible. We can do more than we think. And often, it starts with someone believing it’s possible. Sometimes – that someone is you.
A cry for presence and courage
What I wrote last time was a cry. A cry for attention. A cry for involvement. And a cry to be an adult – not your child’s best friend.
A cry for courage. And the courage it takes to ask for help.
Because safety often lives in what seems boring. In routine. In boundaries. In predictability.
We’re not supposed to be our children’s best friends
We’re supposed to be their direction. Their compass. Their grounded hand.
To you who felt something
If you felt anger, guilt, sorrow – or just exhaustion – when reading my last post, I want you to know:
I’m not against you. I’m for you. I stand with you.
When you dare to say: “No. This is not okay.”
I want your children to thrive. I want us to see – together. It’s time to raise the blinds. To look out. To stop pretending we don’t see.
Saying no – and still staying close
Children don’t only need love. They need direction. They need someone who says no – and explains why.
Someone who dares to see. Who stays when the child tests every boundary. Who says:
“I see what you’re doing. I won’t allow it. But I’m not leaving – because I know you need me.”
Sometimes the greatest love isn’t the one that says yes – but the one that says no, and still refuses to let go.
Reflection:
Sometimes we write to release something from within. Sometimes we write to change something outside ourselves. And sometimes – we do both.
Yesterday has already settled into history. Tomorrow waits further ahead. But right now – this is where life happens. – Carina Ikonen Nilsson
Foreword I’m not under a blanket in Madrid. But I am under an awning in Borås. There’s no wind. The sky is mostly cloudy, though patches of blue peek through. A bird calls out now and then. A few campers are waking up. But here, at our spot, I’m the only one awake. A blog post is about to be born. And it happens – right now, in this very moment.
The Zoo – and That Feeling That Never Quite Leaves
We arrived in Borås yesterday. We went to the zoo, as we’ve done before. And yes, I always have mixed feelings about it.
It’s beautiful to see animals you’d never encounter otherwise. To hear knowledgeable, passionate staff talk about them with warmth and pride.
But then comes that other feeling. The one that settles like a stone in my stomach.
These animals… they don’t belong here. An elephant is meant to roam far and wide – not in slow circles inside an enclosure. It doesn’t look natural. It isn’t natural.
I know zoos do a lot of good. They work to preserve species. They educate. They raise awareness. And still. I feel it every time. It’s not freedom. It’s an attempt. And sometimes… attempts just aren’t enough.
Too Hot for Animals – and for Us
It was too hot. Really too hot. And we were far from alone – crowds of people filled the paths. The animals were hiding. And the kids with us… they just weren’t as interested this time.
Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was the crowds. Maybe we’ve just seen enough now. Maybe we’re done. That’s what my daughter and I said on our way out. We’ve done our share of the zoo.
Still, there were sweet moments. We found shade. We had soft serve. The sandwiches and pancakes we brought disappeared quickly. The kids got absolutely soaked chasing fountains in the play area – laughing until it became contagious.
In that mess of water and squeals, there was something peaceful. A pause from the heat and the crowd.
Fifty Meters of Relief – and a Night with Sausages and Cards
After the zoo, we headed to the pool nearby. Not every day you get to swim in a 50-meter pool. It was a balm. For body and soul.
We swam, jumped, played. And I felt it – here I am. Here we are. Right now.
When we got back to the camper, my husband was grilling sausages. I made mashed potatoes. Everyone ate. It wasn’t gourmet, but we were hungry – and that made it good.
Later, we played Chicago with my daughter and her partner. I had a great hand – but their strange rules meant no one actually won.
Then we headed into town. Movits were playing in the city park. I’d only seen clips my daughter had posted on Facebook and thought, “Eh, not my kind of music.” But I was wrong. There was rhythm, groove, and lyrics that spoke to me. And they were from way up north – which warmed me. Creativity is alive across the whole country.
But that’s also when it began to scratch. That other thing. The thing that didn’t sit right.
When Night Falls – and the Kids Aren’t Home
There were so many people. Music, laughter, movement. And safety – thanks to the many police officers and security guards. It felt reassuring.
But then I saw them.
The kids.
Girls and boys. None of them older than 14. Many of them barely 12 or 13. Big groups. Makeup. Tough stares. Twitchy movements. Shifty eyes.
And I knew. I knew what I was seeing.
I’ve seen it before. In my job. In real life. These are kids who are getting lost.
And it wasn’t a judgment. It was experience. I could spot the ones who had already tried things. I could see the weight they were carrying – things they should never have to carry.
And all I could think was: Where are you, parents?
What makes you not see this? Do you really think your kids are little angels? Standing there – with fire in their eyes and the wrong people around them?
It tells me they’re not angels. And it should tell you the same.
You need to wake up. Not later. Now. It’s already late.
This isn’t a path kids “end up on.” It’s a path they’re pushed onto – when no one’s holding the door closed at home.
I was furious. And heartbroken. No child should have to be grown-up at that age. No child should be navigating drugs, threats, violence – because their parents can’t be bothered to be the boring adult who says no.
That’s what parenting is. It’s being the one who says: “No. You’re staying home.”
It’s checking in. Talking to other parents. Knowing where your kids are – really knowing.
Don’t you see? It’s scared kids who carry weapons. Scared, disguised kids who need parents.
No kid should need a weapon to feel safe in town. They should be home – with you – even if it means playing boring board games.
Don’t you get it? These are scared children. They hide behind Gucci caps and fake status. But it’s not real. It’s a shield.
It’s not cute. It’s dangerous.
And it’s on us.
My Friend, Her Films – and the Question We Don’t Ask
Lastly – a soft end. I want to share my friend’s YouTube channel again. She makes short educational videos for children – about feelings, about life. She works on them late at night, after her own kids have fallen asleep. She records, edits, narrates.
100% for her kids during the day. 100% for others’ kids at night.
And I wonder… when does she take care of herself?
Or maybe – maybe that’s how she does it. Through creating. Through giving. Just like I do it here – with my writing.
Maybe that’s how we save ourselves. One sentence at a time.
Closing Words
This post held a lot. About animals that shouldn’t be in cages. About children who shouldn’t roam the streets alone. About adults who shouldn’t hand over their responsibility. And about the small things – an ice cream in the shade, a laugh in a splash zone, a friend who gives her all.
It’s easy to lose your footing in this world. But maybe, just maybe – it’s in the small, everyday moments that we find it again.
I don’t write to be liked. Im write because the world hurts sometimes – and because I know we need to look ´. I carry experience, but also hope. And the guts not to look away.
Yesterday has already laid down in history. Tomorrow waits up ahead. But right now – this is where life happens. – Carina Ikonen Nilsson
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My husband’s vacation is just around the corner, and I’m longing for it like I never have before. But before we get there, life offered a small lesson – about responsibility, boundaries, and a disassembled pen. The heat after our trip was heavy, but that wasn’t what made me sigh the most that evening.
Soon vacation – and I’m longing
Soon, soon, my husband will be on vacation again. I’m longing in a way I can’t recall feeling before. Not because we have big plans, but because the days will be unplanned again. I won’t have to carry the full load alone – we’ll be two sharing the doing. Even if all we do is just be, it’s more fun to just be together. A strange sentence, perhaps, but it’ll do.
Tiredness, heat and a detour through Torslanda
When we got back from Gothenburg yesterday, we were exhausted. The heat that hit us as we stepped out of the car was stifling. The little one headed straight to his room, and I sat for a while on the patio. Then I made my way down to the basement where it was cooler. I lay down on the couch and fell asleep. I had exerted myself more than I realized.
We made it home, though – even if we took a little detour through Torslanda. I missed the turnoff for the Lundby tunnel. One of those small mishaps that just happen. A consequence of missing the exit, which led to a few extra miles.
The white paint on the windowsill
Last night, my husband noticed some white paint on one of the windowsills, and it had dripped down the outside wall. I called in the one I suspected – since it was their room – and asked what he had poured out.
”Nothing,” he said.
I explained that it had to have been him – because the white paint had clearly come from his window, and no one else pours things out from there. I also told him that it didn’t really matter how it got there. What mattered was that it had to be cleaned – and he would be the one to clean it.
When the truth came out
Later, when I went into his room – and then over to my art pens in the living room – I saw where the paint had come from. One of my drawing pens was in his trash can, taken apart. And one was missing from my collection.
Another conversation followed – about how my art pens are just that: mine. That they’re expensive, and they’re for drawing – not for pulling apart.
I told him this would be costly. That particular pen he had taken apart costs close to 300 SEK. And if all you have is a weekly allowance… well, then it stings.
A conversation about boundaries and responsibility
We had another talk. I asked him if I had ever gone into his room and broken something that was his. Of course, he said no – because that has never happened.
I told him I expected an apology. And that I was disappointed. I probably shouldn’t have said that last part – but it slipped out. Still, I won’t just let this pass without consequence.
Maybe he won’t have to cover the full cost of the pen, but he’ll feel it. He’ll have less money than usual. He’ll also go to the store and buy the exact same pen – with his own money. Maybe I’ll chip in half.
He also had to scrub the windowsill to remove the paint, and he’ll repaint the outside wall where the color still lingers.
Consequences – not punishment
At work, we often talk about consequences. But many times, those ”consequences” resemble punishments – and that’s where I object. I don’t want to punish. I want to teach. A consequence should be connected to the action.
Like when a child spills a glass of milk – then they wipe it up. That’s not punishment, it’s a natural outcome.
What happened yesterday was exactly that: a consequence.
He took one of my pens, broke it apart – maybe out of curiosity – and tried to hide it by pouring the ink out the window. But he didn’t know how much those pens mean to me. And he didn’t know the ink would stick.
And the ink did stick. Everywhere.
It became his to handle
The ink didn’t disappear the way he thought it would. It disappeared because he cleaned it up. With rags. With patience. And maybe with a lump in his stomach.
At the same time, I wonder if the real consequence wasn’t the cleaning. Maybe it was the feeling – when the pen broke, when the ink spread and couldn’t be undone. That’s where the learning began. Maybe the unease, that little sting of worry, is what made it stick.
And had I added more – anger, raised voice, punishment – maybe all that would’ve remained was shame.
I chose to stay
Chose not to punish. I chose to show what had been broken – the pen, and my trust. But I also let him be part of the repair. Take responsibility. Try to clean up. And the learning was found there – in the doing. Not in a corner of shame. Not in harsh words.
What do you think?
How do you feel about consequences versus punishment? Have you ever been punished when you really needed understanding instead?
Share your thoughts in the comments – I read everything and always respond from the heart.
A little blog tool I use – Complianz
I had actually planned to write about a plugin I use – one that makes life easier as a blogger. But this post took a different turn. So I’m adding it here instead.
If you also want to simplify things on your blog or website, this might be useful to you. And if you buy it through my link, you’ll even get a discount – and I’ll get a small thank-you in return. Win-win, I’d say!
Introduction: Today I’m sitting outside under the pavilion, writing. Breakfast is beside me, and the last cup of coffee for the day serves as a drink for my sandwich. A sandwich with avocado and cucumber from our greenhouse. That cucumber really tasted like cucumber – not like those watered-down green sticks from the store.
In this moment, life feels simply delightful and beautiful. The sun is shining, and the sky is clear blue. It’s been so long since it was this blue. I don’t even feel the slightest breeze – everything is just still, lovely and full of flavor. At least the sandwich is.
My plan is to spend this day in the slope at home, in the garden. We’ll see how much energy I have. I’ll do what I feel like, and then I intend to enjoy this sunny day in my own way – by just being and doing almost nothing more than soaking up the sun.
Hanging laundry is, of course, a must on a day like this. As soon as my husband got out of bed, I went and removed the bed linens. They’re drying in the sun – which is where linens truly belong, at least in my world. They smell so wonderful after being hung outside, and it’s such a lovely feeling to be able to hang laundry in the fresh air.
The Right to Sleep Clean and Safe
That – hanging sheets outside, smelling their freshness, and going to bed in clean, sun-dried linens – should be a human right.
There are children, even here in Sweden, who don’t even have proper bedding in their beds. Children who have never experienced the feeling of being freshly showered, then crawling into a clean, freshly made bed with duvets that have aired or dried in the sun.
It should absolutely be a parental responsibility to give a child the opportunity to feel those things. To feel clean, safe and cared for. That sense of security often lives in the smallest details.
Garden Evening Vibes
Already yesterday evening, the weather showed signs of what today would bring. It was warm and light outside. My husband and I both got into the mood. We spent some time walking around the garden.
He worked on his things, and I removed overgrown lettuce, picked some freshly harvested carrots and hung another bouquet of oregano to dry. I checked on the tomatoes and cucumbers – something has happened, because the flowers that were supposed to become cucumbers have withered and died.
The cucumber flowers have started to wither before turning into fruit – any idea what could be causing it?
Education for the Little Ones – with Joy and Care
While sitting here in the sun with my coffee in hand, my thoughts turned to my neighbor. She’s one of those people who truly make a difference – quietly but meaningfully.
On her YouTube channel, she creates short educational videos for children. Small clips where she talks about the body, the environment and animals – always with a pedagogical intention, aimed at young children.
What’s especially wonderful is that she includes questions in her videos – questions children are meant to answer. It’s thoughtful, playful and inspiring. You can feel the care and genuine intention behind it. A channel made for the little ones, with a big heart.
Click on “Video” to watch the films she creates.
I’m going to continue this day right here – with the sun on my back and the scent of freshly dried laundry in the air. That’s enough. That’s more than enough. I wish you a beautiful day, where you get everything you need from your hours.
Carina Ikonen Nilsson
“Live today, right now. Yesterday rests in history, and tomorrow is waiting somewhere in the distance. Right now is what matters.”
Reflection
It’s in the small things that the big ones live. A sandwich with cucumber from the greenhouse. The scent of laundry in the breeze. A child’s voice answering a question in an educational film.
It may not look like much to the world – but to someone, it’s everything.
Question for you
What does your perfect summer day look like – the kind where nothing really happens, but everything feels right? Feel free to leave a comment below – I read every single one. And if you prefer, you’re welcome to contact me privately.
Here are a few things you might reflect on:
What everyday moments mean the most to you right now?
Can you remember the last time you climbed into sun-dried sheets – how did it feel?
What simple luxuries do you think all children should experience?
How do you create a sense of safety in the small things – for yourself or others?
What gives you that true summer feeling?
Do you have a quiet place of your own where you can simply be?
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