Chapter 21 1981 - The Year We Lost Our Home
In 1981, I reached a point where my entrepreneurial spirit no longer meant freedom alone. The bills had caught up with me. There was a loan of roughly two million Belgian francs, and about four hundred thousand francs in VAT was still outstanding. For a young family, those were not figures on paper; they sat at the table with us and kept me awake at night.
Looking back, it is tempting to blame a crisis entirely on adverse circumstances or on people who failed to keep their promises. I, too, experienced disappointments. But I had made choices of my own. I had divided my attention, trusted too easily, and believed for too long that I could solve a problem simply by working even harder. Optimism is a strength as long as it does not replace reality. In 1981, I had to admit that my enthusiasm had outpaced my caution.
To avoid bankruptcy, we sold our home. That was far more than a financial measure. Dorina and I had filled every room with dreams; that was where our children felt at home. The day a house that was yours becomes someone else’s property again, you feel how fragile security can be. I was ashamed. Not because working and failing is dishonourable, but because my decisions had also affected the people who relied on me.
Even so, I did not want to disappear behind my shame. I sought out conversations, made arrangements, and tried to settle every debt properly. Bankruptcy was avoided, but the pain did not disappear with it. We had to live more modestly and begin again. Some people distanced themselves. Others unexpectedly reached out a helping hand. In years like those, you learn more than lessons about money; you also discover who you are when no one is impressed by your plans anymore.
I have never wanted to turn that period into a heroic tale. I did not get up every morning without fear. There were days when I doubted, slept badly, and wondered whether my family would have been better off with a man who took fewer risks. But the next step still had to be taken. I called a customer, visited a supplier, and once again looked for work I could do honestly.
The crisis took a home and much of my self-confidence from me, but it left me with one conviction: beginning again is not a grand gesture. It is a series of small actions taken while you are still afraid. Later, when Marco went through his own dark period, I was too quick to think that the same willpower could save him as well. At the time, I did not yet understand well enough that a financial crisis and a psychiatric illness cannot be compared. That understanding came too late, and it is one of the most painful lessons of my life.