Balancing personal and professional life can sometimes feel like an act of magic. We do our best to keep everything standing, but it doesn’t always work out.
A week ago, I lost my mother. My life companion. The woman who, from the day I was born, cried out of fear she wouldn’t live long enough to raise me. What she didn’t know was that even as a child, I already saw her as a rock — solid, present, immense. She was the wall that protected me from the world and, little by little, taught me how to become a wall myself.
We spent almost thirty years side by side, facing challenges most people couldn’t endure. And truthfully, neither of us would have endured them alone. Our bond was always strong, even when our gestures weren’t full of hugs or sweet words. I showed my love through presence, through protection. She adapted to my way — she’d steal kisses, run her fingers through my hair tenderly as she walked through the house.
Over time, I became more independent, but our life partnership remained. And one day, almost without noticing, our roles reversed: I became her caregiver. Suddenly, I was the wall, and she was the one seeking shelter.
I’ve never been one to speak much, but watching my mother weaken, little by little, was devastating. To see her suffer, lose mobility, lose her dignity, complain of pain… and still worry about me — worried that I was sacrificing my health for her. She knew. I knew. We both knew the end was near. And still, I stayed. Until the very last moment.
She died in my arms. Literally. She gathered her last bit of strength, embraced me, looked into my eyes, and said: “I’m going.”
I still had time to kiss her face before she left.
I watched my mother die. I saw others try to bring her back.
But Ercília Pérez, the light-flower of my life, dissolved into the air.
And why am I writing all of this? Because this moment made me reflect — with my heart wide open — on what it really means to be a project manager, a team leader, a risk manager. On what it means to keep things running when you are falling apart.
In the end, management is not just about technique. It’s not just methodology, tools, or metrics. It’s also — and deeply — about the human side.
It’s about listening, supporting, perceiving the silence. About being multidisciplinary — no matter what happens.
Because life crosses into work, and sometimes it’s work that keeps us going when the ground disappears.
Throughout my career as a systems analyst and project manager, I’ve been fortunate — truly fortunate — to work with leaders who understood this human side. People who led not only with technical skill, but with empathy, attentiveness, and integrity. They taught me, with generosity, that it is possible to lead with both sensitivity and strength.
Of course, I’ve also seen clear examples of how not to lead — but frankly, those don’t even deserve a mention.
The truth is: I feel proud — not only of the mother I had, but also of the leaders who gave me good examples. And, above all, of the person I’ve become, carrying a little piece of each of them.
Now that this cycle — so hard, so profoundly human — has come to an end, I move forward with a broken heart, but also in a process of rebuilding. I’m back, gradually returning to the activities I had to set aside for a while. And I hope to return to the job market soon, ready to give my best — with more strength, more clarity, and an even deeper commitment to what truly matters.
