stillbecoming.studio

In this first piece, I want to tell you a little about myself.
Not at length.
About the turning points I only recognized later in life — the sliding doors.
Those who have seen the film will know exactly what I mean.
For those who haven’t, a small assignment: watch it.
It’s a powerful way to understand life.

There are countless versions of a woman’s journey toward self-discovery.
My story is not all that different.
In fact, compared to many, it might even seem less “dramatic.”
I didn’t survive a major illness.
I wasn’t subjected to violence.
I wasn’t cheated on.
No devastating catastrophe came crashing down on me.

And that is precisely where my story begins to diverge.

So what happened that made me gather the first fifty years of my life,
fold them neatly,
and place them to the side?

I am writing this for women — and men —
who believe they are happy,
who deceive themselves because they are afraid to step out of their comfort zone,
who make excessive compromises in the name of happiness,
or who hide behind their children as an excuse.

You may not care all that much.
That’s fine.
I still want to tell it.

I don’t have ornate sentences.
I don’t have grand metaphors.
I am not a literary writer.
I simply write the way it comes from within.
And if you’d like, I would genuinely love to hear your stories too.

So let’s begin.

I have been working for as long as I can remember.
My late father and my wonderful mother instilled this in me and my siblings:

Be strong, my daughter.
Stand on your own feet.
Depend on no one.
Freedom is the greatest wealth.

These words were not whispered to me —
they were breathed into me.
And they settled deeply into who I am.

I started working in my second year of high school.
My professional life began as an animator in Antalya during summer holidays,
then continued through hotel guest relations,
assistant sales manager,
sales manager,
and eventually general manager.

Don’t worry — I won’t tell my entire career story.
I’ll just say this:
when I earned my first managerial title at twenty-two,
I hadn’t made a bad start in business.

Then came marriage,
moving to Istanbul,
and adapting to a new city and a new life.
I’ll move quickly through this part.
There were no great dramas.
Drama is simply not in my genes.
I am strong.
I overcame it all — and I always will.

The marriage itself began well.
There was no issue there either.
I can almost hear you asking,
“So where is the problem?”
I’m getting there — just a little patience.

Three years into our marriage,
I made a critical decision — one I still question today,
but one that ultimately shaped who I am now:
I decided to work with my husband.

Yes. You read that correctly.

Everything I had been taught until then —
be strong, be independent, stand on your own —
I set aside.
Along with the career I had built in hospitality.

I embarked on a journey I thought would be effortless.
I imagined I would work like a princess.
Come and go as I pleased.
After all, my boss was my husband — what could anyone say?

Of course, that’s not how it turned out.

My sense of responsibility took over.
I arrived at work before everyone else.
I worked harder than anyone else.
This is not a complaint — just an observation.

My husband, for his part,
was a man with no tolerance for injustice.
He disliked favoritism and kept his distance from nepotism.
These were qualities I had admired in him.

But why I assumed he would behave differently when it came to me,
I still don’t know.

In the early years,
he went to great lengths to ensure no one thought I was being favored.
And in order to adapt to this unspoken division of roles,
I gave up a great deal of myself — my personality included.

I had made this decision.
And I would bear its consequences.

Around the same time,
I decided it was the right moment to become a mother.

In 2004, I became one.
I returned to work when my son was only two months old.
Looking back today, would I do it differently?
Honestly — no.

Because who I was then is who I am now.
This has less to do with motherhood
and more to do with how I relate to life.

I may not be the world’s best mother —
and I’m not even sure what that means.
But my son, who is now twenty-one,
describes me as “the world’s coolest mom.”
That is more than enough for me.

Motherhood is a subject in itself.
Perhaps we’ll explore it more deeply in another piece.

Time passed.
I kept working.
My voice began to grow a little louder.
And my husband’s tolerance — let’s say — evolved.

He no longer shut me down entirely;
at least he allowed me a few sentences.
(I’m exaggerating, of course.)

Long story short,
we worked together for twenty-three years.
We founded new companies.
We built big things.
We became one of Turkey’s top five event companies.

International projects.
Good income.
Travel.
We educated our son in good schools.
We lived in beautiful neighborhoods in Istanbul.
We were very happy.

We argued little.
We shared twenty-four years filled with respect and conversation.

Looking back today,
I feel nothing but gratitude —
toward myself and toward him.

So if everything was so good,
why did I decide to get divorced?

The answer is simple:
I wanted to become myself again.

I wanted to make my own decisions,
draw my own path,
and shape my own destiny.

I no longer wanted someone else’s decisions to define my future —
and I wanted the same freedom for him.

I realized that this is the most problematic aspect of the institution of marriage:
a decision made by one inevitably shapes the future of the other.

Whether the outcome is good or bad,
it is still someone else’s decision.

In my view, people should be far more careful
when making decisions that affect others.

Think of it this way:
you’re in a car.
Wherever the person in the driver’s seat turns the wheel,
those in the passenger and back seats move in that direction too.

A marriage may appear democratic and collaborative,
but let’s not deceive ourselves —
there can only be one hand on the steering wheel at a time.

The driver may change occasionally,
but that doesn’t alter the reality I’m describing.

And I no longer wanted that.

I wanted to take the wheel myself
and choose my own direction.
I wanted freedom.

I didn’t want to carry anyone else’s responsibility,
nor did I want to place my own on someone else.

I’m aware that this last part became rather long —
but I wanted to be sure I had truly explained myself.

That’s the situation.

From here on, my intention is to read your stories as well —
and, with your permission,
to share them in my own writing.

Because in my belief,
good things grow when they are shared,
and bad things diminish when they are spoken.

Until the next piece…

With love,
Nazan

If These Piece had a Color : It would be ”White” as a new Page.

If These Piece had a Song : It would be ”Summer from Vivaldi Four Seasons”. https://open.spotify.com/intl-tr/track/0MvjUr7fKzchb49tt3OrMS?si=cd8f37ecfe294c46

If These Piece had a Scent: It would be ”Orange Blossom”.