The year that changed everything.

Before you read this essay, let me briefly explain why I’m taking a different direction today. I launched ‘Sip of Corsica’ to embark you on the beautiful island I have called home since 2017. But today, I’m sharing something a little different that has been brewing for a while. This piece marks the beginning of a more personal journey.

A year ago, while reading The Artist’s Way, I wrote down words in a notebook. It came out of nowhere, and I scribbled seven pages in a flow state without being able to put the pen down. I then let those pages sit, untouched, until recently. A prompt about untold stories and an essay about failures pushed me to revisit those pages a few weeks ago. As I did, I realized my urge wasn’t just about revisiting the past — it was the beginning of something deeper. As I started editing the words from my notebook, I acknowledged how much some wounds profoundly shaped who I am today, but I also began to see some experiences and failures as redirections guiding me to new opportunities to find my true path. I realized that these ‘untold stories’ could resonate with others and help them see that even the darkest moments can lead to beautiful things.

This is the first of a series of personal essays I’ll be working on as part of a memoir-like exploration of untold stories for the 12 Chapters Club of

Claire Venus (she/her) ✨

. While not all of them will relate to Corsica, I want to share them with you as they form an integral part of the tapestry that has shaped my journey.

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Have you ever felt like swimming underwater, unable to reach the surface and catch your breath? Helpless and utterly alone, your body turning cold as an immense darkness grows beneath your feet? Fear takes hold as you fight to resist, desperately pushing yourself upward toward the light. You cling to blurry images and the distant voices of your loved ones, hovering just out of reach — close enough to grasp, yet impossibly far. You want to call out for help but keep your mouth shut, knowing deep down that holding your breath is the only thing keeping you from drowning.

That’s how I’ve felt for years. I don’t recall the exact day the feeling began, but I believe it took root in 2010 — a year that profoundly changed my life.

In a matter of months, I lost a dream job in a company that felt like a second family and, more importantly, my dad, who died of cancer just weeks after his 60th birthday.

At the time, I was living in southern France, working as a marketer in a company where I’d thrived for five years. My managers were mentors, helping me grow both professionally and personally. My coworkers became friends, in a city where I knew no one when I arrived. That company wasn’t just a workplace — it was a second family.

Then, everything changed.

In 2010, I lost both that second family and a central figure in my real one. In the process, I lost a version of myself.

Before that year, I was confident and hopeful for what the future had in store. I’d been a straight-A student, secured a spot at a top French business school, interned at prestigious companies, and landed a promising job after graduation. I was thriving, earning promotions, and being recognized as a “high potential.”

That confidence first wavered when I learned about the discontinuation of the brand I was managing. It was a business decision and had nothing to do with my capabilities, but hearing about it almost by chance made me feel blindsided. Fueled by frustration, I impulsively informed my manager that I had decided to move to the UK. My boyfriend, eager to return to London where he’d worked before, had been discussing this potential move with me, but that event rushed my decision. Telling my manager, I was secretly counting on the help of my company to find a role in their UK office, but I hadn’t thought this through.

The impulsive decision I made out of frustration that day in the office set into motion events I wasn’t prepared to experience.

Initially, I was beyond excited. Living abroad had always been one of my secret dreams, and I was thrilled by the prospect of turning this dream into reality. I started interviewing for external roles in London and felt optimistic. Yet, in the end, I didn’t land my dream job. My company did offer me an opportunity in the UK, but I rejected it out of pride. It was not the role I wanted, so I kept searching, relying on the safety net of my current job.

Until that safety net disappeared.

During a meeting with HR, I learned they could no longer keep me since I hadn’t accepted their offer. I was stunned. For the first time in my life, I was without a job and a plan.

At first, I didn’t know how to feel. Anger swirled — at the company, my boyfriend, and mostly myself. I had invested so much in my career that losing that felt like losing my identity. I was lost and couldn’t help but feel I was to blame.

Yet, I didn’t allow myself the time to process it as there were more important things to handle in my life.

My father’s health was deteriorating. He had been diagnosed with lung cancer months before and was enduring treatment after treatment. Living in a different city shielded me from the harsh reality of his illness. I was worried for him but also convinced he would eventually get better. Though I knew the situation was serious, my mind couldn’t process any negative outcome. I remained optimistic each time I visited or talked to him on the phone. Yet, my optimism was soon to be crushed. I lost him in June, just a few months after becoming unemployed.

Years later, I can still recall that day in vivid, slow-motion detail. From the initial voice message I listened to upon waking up — one that sent me to the floor, gasping for air. The frantic search for a seat on the next train to Lyon, desperate to be there for him as soon as possible. The blurry train ride, my gaze lost beyond the window, searching for a way to process the torrent of emotions and memories crashing through me. The gut punch of opening the door to see him lying on his hospital bed — my deepest fear unfolding before me. The desperate calls to my brother, praying that he would manage to arrive before it was too late. The last gaze my father and I exchanged as he drew his last breath — that gaze that haunted me for days until I learned to cherish it. And then, that guttural sound that tore from my throat as I crashed to the floor, finally letting the pain take hold of me.

Though I’d experienced grief before — my family’s history is unfortunately marked by loss — losing my father shattered me, far more than I admitted at the time.

By the summer of 2010, my world had turned upside down. But instead of allowing myself to feel the pain, I threw myself into motion as if staying busy could shield me from grief. The dream of moving abroad faded into the background, replaced by the immediate need to regain some semblance of control. I channeled all my energy into landing a new job in France. Job hunting became my lifeline, a way to outrun the sadness. I moved through the days, searching, emailing, and networking.

By year’s end, I landed a new role in another city — a promotion with more managerial responsibilities. On paper, it was almost everything I had hoped for: progress, stability, and a chance to rebuild in a city where we already had some connections — a close friend and my partner’s sister lived there. Feeling it would restore some peacefulness in my life, I was hopeful.

Little did I know that taking this job would mark the start of one of the most challenging chapters of my life.

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This essay marks the beginning of a more personal chapter in my writing. There’s more to this story — stories of personal growth, challenge, and self-discovery that I’ll continue to share in upcoming essays. While some of these essays will likely be shared with all readers, others may be available exclusively for paid subscribers to offer deeper, more intimate reflections. These essays will probably be published once a month. I hope you’ll continue to join me on this journey, wherever it leads.