How is it really, living full time on a boat with the three of us? For one person it might sound like a nightmare, for another like an absolute dream. I think we sit somewhere in between. Or maybe the other way around. Everything at once.

On the one hand, nightmare feels a bit strong, but being together all the time can definitely be intense. As long as we are doing fun things, it works beautifully. Adventures, exploring, enjoying where we are. But when less fun things come up, boat jobs, school, and sometimes work, that is when you really meet yourself. And each other.

I think variety is key. And the boat itself matters more than you might think. If you live on board full time, it is so important to have space to be alone every now and then. Especially in winter, when that space is not always outside. I personally love sitting on deck on my own, feeling the air and the quiet. But it is also incredibly valuable that I can retreat to the aft cabin. Not just for work, but for reflection, or simply to step away from a situation for a moment. I think every parent recognises that need. Giving yourself space also gives the other person space. And with that, a bit of calm returns.

On the other hand, it is very much a dream. We often say to each other how special it is to have our child so close to us in this phase of life. She is six and a half now, and she was five when we left. We feel we can stretch this lifestyle for another year, maybe two. After that, her needs and wishes will probably change. But right now, it is incredible to witness her development. She is learning so fast, like a sponge, absorbing everything. Not only cognitively, but emotionally too.

It is beautiful to see how she connects with everyone around her, young or old, in whatever language presents itself. And of course, it is not only about her. It is also about us. Discovering that we can truly do this together gives such a deep sense of confidence. We are not just a team, but people who can live, work, love and parent together in a very small space. That, I think, is both the gift and the challenge.

Parenting is often the hardest part. Parenting while managing a boat, running a life, creating adventures and keeping everything afloat, literally and figuratively. But doing all of that together makes us stronger. As partners, as parents, as a man and a woman. There are many moments when we feel deeply grateful for each other.

And yes, just like in any normal life, there are moments when we clash. Hard. Luckily, we almost never fight in a destructive way. We are still able to talk. And I think that is where the key lies. Taking distance when needed, zooming out. And then talking. Really talking. Trying to understand what is going on in yourself and in the other. Listening. Letting things move again, instead of getting stuck.

There is also something about life on a boat that does not allow you to stay stuck for long. The next moment often demands your attention. Something needs to be done, usually together. Action mode takes over, and that in itself can be grounding.

Living together like this feels a bit like a pressure cooker. Everything is small, and therefore everything feels big. Emotions are close to the surface. I am a very emotional person myself. I have waves, ups and downs that are not always logical or easy to follow. I try to explain where I am, to take Edwin along in that process. As parents, we are also simply trying. Like everyone else, I think. We are doing our best, within this very particular setup.

Our daughter grows up in circumstances that are not the norm. She hears more, sees more, feels more. She picks up on our conversations, our moods, the situations we are in. We try to include her in that, to explain things in a way she can understand. For us, the key words really are communication and letting things be.

Yesterday was a good example. A day that escalated a bit, mainly between me and Philou. It does not happen often, but sometimes the pressure builds up. Hearing mama, mama, mama all day long can be a lot. It is even proven that the word mama is used twice as often as papa. And papa has a remarkable ability to switch off. To not hear everything that happens around him. Mama does not have that luxury. Mama is always on. Thinking, hearing, seeing, feeling.

Yesterday, my bucket overflowed. School had to be done, listening was not really happening, and I simply ran out of space. Mama was no longer in full helping mode. And that, of course, did not go down very well. It was a tough morning. Whether it had the right effect, I am still not sure. But those moments, when things rub and clash, are often the most educational ones. They are moments of growth.

They are also the moments where you look at each other and say, tomorrow is a new day. We will do it differently. And that is exactly what we did. We started fresh. All three of us learned something from that situation.

I believe that is true for internal family dynamics, but also for the situations we encounter together on the water, moments of risk or tension. Those are the biggest learning moments. They shape us.

So if I try to sum it up. Living with the three of us on less than forty square metres, on the water, together all day, every day. No one leaving for work, no one really going off on their own. We try, of course, but still. For us, it is about eighty percent enjoyment. Being together, sharing life, feeling close. And about twenty percent friction, or actually even less. Moments where we bump into each other and need a bit of distance.

And honestly, that feels completely fine. The balance is positive. At the same time, I do not think this is something you should do forever. Change is healthy. But for now, this works for us. We collide sometimes. And then we move on. Together.

Everything feels bigger when life gets smaller and that is where the real growth happens.