You don’t walk into the Dutch Divorce Desk because you feel like doing paperwork. You walk in the way people walk into a building when they’re no longer sure the ground beneath them still belongs to them. You close the door. You take one step forward. And before you’ve properly sat down, I can already see it: you’re trying to stay composed while your inner world shoots up and down like a broken elevator, slamming into every floor without warning. You didn’t come for forms; you came because your life — your home, your money, your children, your future — shifted without permission, as if someone slid a hand under your foundation and quietly smiled when you stumbled. And if you counted on anything, it was reason. On “we’ll do this like adults.” On “but we built this together.” Yet here you are, in the reality where reason is not a starting point but an outcome you have to fight for. That is exactly why I won’t approach you cautiously: not because I enjoy being harsh, but because softness is expensive at this stage, and you cannot afford to pay that price.
Look around you: the world keeps talking, keeps laughing, keeps planning weekends away, keeps sending birthday invites, while you sit in a fault line where every step has an echo. You try to get a grip, but what you’re handed are loose wires: apps full of half-agreements and double meanings, emails that grow more polite and colder at the same time, silences that aren’t empty but loaded with threat. Modern life isn’t a backdrop; it’s fuel. People don’t escalate the way they used to — with shouting at the kitchen table that disappears overnight. They escalate with short sentences, with timing, with screenshots, with subtle distortions that later get presented as “fact.” And you — because you’re exhausted, because you’re hurt, because you want it to stop — are tempted to respond as if this were still the old life, as if one good conversation could repair it. That old life no longer exists. It’s gone. And you need to face that before it takes you down.
And now comes the sentence you’d rather skip, but you need to let it land: sometimes you have been harmed by the other person’s non-compliant conduct — twisted agreements, withheld information, drained accounts, children used as leverage, boundaries stretched like elastic — and you have every reason to be furious. But I will also give you the paradox you don’t want to hear: the same chaos in which you feel like the victim can place you, in the very same file, in the role of perpetrator. Because you “just” took a child with you for a moment. Because you “only” stopped paying out of protest. Because in emotion you sent one message that later gets stripped down and turned into a weapon. Files do not like nuance; files like texts, timelines, numbers, interpretations. So I’m telling you what I must tell you in my work: if you don’t discipline reality, reality will discipline you. And that is where I step in — not with a blanket of reassurance, but with control, precision, and choices you can still defend tomorrow.
The Changed World You Now Have to Operate In
You no longer live in a time when a relationship breakdown happens quietly, with one lawyer, one letter, one conversation in an office with coffee and hushed voices. You live in a world where people communicate through apps, escalate through email, harden in silence, and meanwhile get fed by opinions from friends, family, and online advisers who do not know your situation but are more than willing to pour oil on the fire. Everything is faster. Everything is more direct. Everything is traceable. What used to be an argument at the kitchen table that faded by the next day is now a digital trail that resurfaces months later as if it were written yesterday. And you are tired. Not just emotionally tired, but decision-tired: you have to make choices today that will be read tomorrow as “strategy.”
That is why I do not work with the illusion that you can resolve this conflict by hoping for reason. I work with the reality that reason is sometimes only possible once structure exists. You do not have to say everything you feel. You do not have to respond to everything. You do not have to parry every accusation. Because every reply is also a document. Every reply is also a piece of ammunition that can switch hands. And I see it too often: people damage themselves through one of the modern reflexes — responding instantly, correcting instantly, explaining instantly, defending instantly. You think you are creating clarity, but you are often creating more text, and more text means more hooks the other person can later hang their narrative on.
And then there is the paradox I will keep putting in front of you, precisely because in emotion you will want to push it away. Sometimes you have been harmed by the other person’s non-compliant conduct — you can feel it in your bones — and at the same time, the other person can accuse you of exactly that with the same certainty. The difference is not who shouts the loudest, but who can show most convincingly what actually happened. Evidence is everywhere now, but evidence is also treacherous: a screenshot does not show what was said five minutes before, a bank statement does not show why you acted, a message does not show the panic you were in. That is why we do not make your story prettier; we make it tighter. Not more dramatic, but more precise. Not bigger, but provable.
When You Feel Like the Victim and Still Get Cast as the Perpetrator
You may recognize this: you feel like you are constantly behind the facts. That the other person is building a narrative in which you are the unreasonable one, the unstable one, the unreliable one. And you think: but I am the one who was harmed. I am the one who kept agreements. I am the one who tried to talk. I am the one who swallowed my pride. And yet, in the file, sentences appear that you do not recognize as you. It is like looking into a distorted mirror and suddenly seeing a caricature. That happens not because you are foolish, but because conflicts crave one simple cast of characters. And human beings are rarely simple.
So I am going to ask something of you that you will not enjoy: I will not only protect you from the other person, I will also protect you from yourself. From the impulse to “just” take a child with you because you feel shut out. From the impulse to “simply” stop paying because you are done with it. From the impulse to send a message in emotion that you can never take back. Because I have seen what happens next: the other person takes that one moment, cuts it loose from context, and presents it as a pattern. You say: it was an exception. The other person says: this is who he always is, this is who she always is. And the people around you, tired of nuance, often choose the story that is easiest to understand.
And this is exactly where the core of my work sits: I do not participate in theatre. Not in theatrical outrage, not in moral operettas, not in “you are the angel, the other is the devil.” I help you build a position that holds in a world where your pain is not automatically believed and your reason is not automatically rewarded. Yes, sometimes you have been harmed by the other person’s non-compliant conduct. But sometimes you will be accused of it, and then what matters is not what you meant, but what can be shown. Whoever understands that can save themselves. Whoever refuses it becomes hostage to interpretation.
My Holistic Approach Is Not a Soft Blanket, but a Hard Method
The word “holistic” is often abused. People use it like a warm scarf: we look at the whole, we take our time, we listen. Fine. But when you come to me, holistic is not a soft blanket. It is a hard method. I look at everything that drives your case, even if you would prefer it to be “only” legal. Emotion, for example: it is not your enemy, but it is a terrible driver. Psychology: not as a buzzword, but as the reality of behavior, escalation, control, fear. Money flows: not just amounts, but timing, patterns, drainage, displacement. The home: not only a place to live, but a position of power. Pensions: not only later, but a slow-burning fuse inside the division. And the social environment: it can heal, but it can also sabotage.
I bring structure where you experience chaos. Not with vague reassurance, but with choices you can explain, maintain, and defend. You do not get a woolly story from me that calms you for a moment and then leaves you alone with the consequences. You get a strategy that accounts for the fact that the other person can change tone overnight, that a new partner can suddenly appear, that a Monday morning email can poison your entire week, that a request can land on your desk that you never saw coming. I look ahead, not because I like to play control, but because otherwise you will be controlled by the next surprise.
And let me also say something about money, because people love to be sanctimonious about it. They say: it’s not about money. But in cases like this, money is rarely just money. Money is power, fear, and control in the form of bookkeeping. And I will not let you drown in numbers without seeing what lies underneath them. Sometimes you have been harmed by the other person’s non-compliant conduct — empty accounts, hidden income, delayed information — and sometimes you will be accused of it the moment you try to secure your position. That is why we do not act on feeling; we act on what can be tested. You are allowed to be angry. You are allowed to be sad. But you will not be reckless. Not in my file.
Children Are Not a Party, but Too Often They Are Made One
If there are children, this is no ordinary conflict. Then it becomes a conflict with an echo that can last for years. And I know you want what is best. Everyone says that. “I only want what’s best for the children.” But once tension rises, I see how quickly that motto turns into a fight for being right, for recognition, for control over the story. And then children start to move forward as carriers of adult frustration. Sometimes subtle: a remark at pick-up. Sometimes overt: a child turned into a messenger of accusations. Sometimes administrative: schedules used as a pressure tool. And sometimes, painfully: contact used as reward or punishment.
I am not interested in adults performing outrage. I am interested in an arrangement that is workable, that holds, and that does not explode again every month. That means I do not only look at what you feel is “fair,” but at what works on a Tuesday night when you are both exhausted. At what holds when a new partner enters the picture. At what does not collapse with a move, a job change, a child growing older and gaining their own voice. I want agreements you do not have to fight over again and again, because every renegotiation becomes a new battlefield in which children end up caught in the middle.
And yes, here too I tell you the paradox: in your own experience you can be the only stable parent and still be portrayed in a procedure as the one who blocks. In your own experience you can be protecting the other parent and still be accused of manipulation. In your own experience you can be setting boundaries and still be framed as harsh and inflexible. That is why we shape your conduct so it survives later scrutiny. Not because you must live as if you are constantly being watched, but because this conflict enters a system where words are weighed and behavior is interpreted. Sometimes you have been harmed by the other person’s non-compliant conduct, and sometimes you will be accused of it. In both cases, one thing is fatal: impulse.
Transparency Is Precision, and Hope Is a Verb
You often hear: be transparent, be open, be honest. It sounds noble. But transparency without precision is an invitation to abuse. If you share everything without structure, you give the other person material to pin you down on loose sentences. If you explain everything from emotion, you make yourself vulnerable to interpretation. So my starting point is simple: transparency is not vulnerability. Transparency is precision. We communicate clearly, but not naively. We document, but not to control; we document to prevent reality from being rewritten. We choose words as if they will be reread later, because they will be. And we make agreements as if they will be tested, because they will be.
And then there is hope. You want hope, but you don’t want to be wrapped in cheap hope. You don’t want someone to soothe you with clichés while you lie awake at night and pretend to function by day. So I do not offer hope that puts you to sleep. I offer hope that activates you. Hope that says: you do not have to be perfect, but you do have to act as if your future matters. Hope that says: you may wobble, but you will not fall because of an unconsidered step. Hope that says: you are more than this rupture, but this rupture will shape you if you let it run unchecked.
So this is what I promise you, in the first person and without theatre: I am here to limit your damage and discipline your choices. I am here to stop you from drowning in details and to stop you from making an emotional move that becomes expensive later. I am here to bring the conflict back to a size you can carry, so it does not remain a shadow over years. Sometimes you have been harmed by the other person’s non-compliant conduct; sometimes you will be accused of it. In both situations, the same rule applies: whoever lets the facts speak and holds their course keeps control. And control is exactly what you need now.
Money Is Rarely Just Money, It’s Behavior Written in Numbers
You may think the financial settlement is a calculation. An addition of accounts, a subtraction of debts, a division of possessions, a valuation of a home. But when you come to me, I don’t only ask what exists — I ask what has been happening to the money since the fault line became visible. Because that is where the real story sits. In the weeks and months around a relationship breakdown, I watch money change from a tool into a weapon. Not always with dramatic safes and secret suitcases, but with small, spiteful movements: an account that “coincidentally” runs dry, a savings pot that is “accidentally” converted, a salary that “suddenly” lands in a different account, a business expense that “unexpectedly” turns out to be personal, a bonus that “apparently” was never paid out. You sense something is wrong, but you lack overview. And that is exactly where you become vulnerable: anyone without overview is forced to react instead of steer.
Let me say it the way it is: the other person can harm you through non-compliant conduct — twisting agreements, withholding information, rerouting money flows — and you have every right to be furious about it. But pay attention to the painful paradox I will not spare you: the moment you try to secure your own position, that same person can accuse you of the very same non-compliance. You think: I’m protecting myself, I’m preventing damage, I’m setting a boundary. The other person says: look, he’s taking, she’s depriving, he’s manipulating. And then the fight is no longer about reality, but about how your reaction is interpreted. That is why I work with you as if every amount is a story that will later be told. Not to make you paranoid, but to make you wise.
What I do next is not an accounting hobby, but a strategy. I map money flows as if they were footprints in wet sand: where did it always go, and where does it go now? What was normal, and what is deviation? Which payments are necessary, and which are psychological — meant to apply pressure, create guilt, make you doubt your own reasonableness? Together, I enforce a discipline you may not like at first: no impulsively stopping payments “in protest,” no panic transfers “just to be safe,” no one angry move that you later regret. You do not have to be perfect, but you do have to be defensible. Because at this stage, “I meant it differently” is a weak argument if the numbers seem to tell a different story.
The Home Is Not Just Brick, It’s a Battlefield Full of Memory
A house is rarely just a house. It is a place full of memories, but also a place full of power. Who lives there, who has the key, who pays the mortgage, who covers the energy bill, who receives the mail — these are not details, they are positions. And when you are in the middle of a rupture, you see how quickly a home turns into a symbolic fortress. You want calm; the other person wants control. You want clarity; the other person wants room to maneuver. You want agreements; the other person wants to drag time. Meanwhile the mortgage keeps ticking, the costs keep rising, and every conversation about “who stays” becomes charged with accusation and fear.
I will not pretend this can always be “talked out” nicely. Sometimes it can, yes, if a residue of trust still exists. But often something else is happening: the home is being used as leverage. One person stays put and refuses to move. The other threatens sale. Or an invisible game begins: someone stops contributing, someone lets arrears accumulate so the other panics, someone says, “Fine, I’ll pay — but then I want…” and suddenly the home is no longer a living place, but a negotiating table. Sometimes you have been harmed by the other person’s non-compliant conduct, and sometimes you are accused of it — for example because you “changed the locks,” “shut the other person out,” or “stopped paying the housing costs.” And I’m telling you: a housing conflict is one of the fastest ways a relationship breakdown spirals out of control.
That is why I treat the home as a file within the file. I want to know: what is your legal position, what agreements exist, what payments are provable, what risks arise when everything stalls? I put scenarios side by side without romance: staying, buying out, selling, temporary use, agreements on costs. And I explain to you — bluntly, if necessary — that emotional arguments rarely win here. “But I built everything here” is understandable, but it doesn’t pay a mortgage. “But it’s not fair” is human, but the bank doesn’t listen to fairness. You do not need to be right; you need a solution that does not break you. And that is precisely my job: to pull you out of emotional captivity and put you back into control, without one wrong step suddenly making you the person who is labeled as “sabotaging.”
A Business Is Not Just Property, It’s a System of Loyalties
If a business is involved, you must understand that you are not only ending a relationship — you are touching an ecosystem. Money, staff, clients, contracts, goodwill, tax positions, investments, risks. A business does not stop because you are emotionally exhausted. And that is exactly why, in break-up cases, a business often becomes the perfect place for fog. One person understands the numbers; the other does not. One person controls the administration; the other relies on words. One person can “explain” why something supposedly cannot be done; the other senses something is off but cannot pin it down. And then it starts: delays, selective disclosure, uncertainty stacked until you are tired enough to give in.
I am uncompromising on this point: you will not let yourself be worn down. You will not be intimidated by jargon. You will not be pushed to the edge of your own file while the other person occupies the center with spreadsheets and terminology. Because here too the paradox applies: you may be harmed by non-compliant conduct — for example by withholding financial documents or shifting revenue — and the moment you ask for clarity or take steps to obtain information, the other person may accuse you of “distrust,” “hostility,” or “damaging the business.” As if you are the aggressor simply because you want to know what happened to your shared future. I see that game, and I do not leave you alone in it.
What I do is de-romanticize and de-dramatize the business at the same time. I look at structure: what ownership, what legal form, what income, what obligations, what tax consequences, what valuation questions, what dependencies. I make it testable: which documents must be there, which explanations must be consistent, which timelines are logical. And I will also tell you something you may not want to hear: businesses and break-ups are a toxic combination because they create space for stories. “It was going badly.” “The market declined.” “That payment was postponed.” “That client is gone.” All possible. But possible is not enough. We work with provable. Because you do not have time for mysticism; you have time for facts.
Parenting Is Not Only an Agreement, It’s Daily Reality
I’m going to tell you something you likely already feel, but have not dared to say out loud: the fight about the children is rarely only a fight about time. It is a fight about meaning. About recognition. About who gets to be “the good parent.” And in that fight, children sometimes become the stage where adults try to prove they are right. Not always consciously — sometimes out of pure desperation. You want your child to feel safe, so you try to keep control. The other person wants the child to “just” adapt, so they act as if your concerns are exaggerated. Or the reverse. And meanwhile something grows inside the child that you don’t see, because you are in survival mode: tension, loyalty conflict, the sense that love becomes a choice instead of a given.
I am hard on this, because someone has to be hard when adults want to look away softly. I am not interested in your victory if that victory damages your child. I am interested in an arrangement that can be carried out, that holds up, that doesn’t explode again every month. That means I look at practical reality: school, sports, friends, rest, bedtimes, communication, handovers. Not “50/50” as a slogan, but “50/50” as a livable schedule. Because you can have a perfect agreement on paper that is a disaster in practice. And a disaster in practice becomes a case file in court. And a case file in court becomes a long conflict for which the child pays the price.
And here again is the paradox: you may be harmed by the other person’s non-compliant conduct — for example by frustrating contact, not honoring agreements, sending suggestive messages — and yet that same person can accuse you of exactly the same. “He won’t cooperate.” “She obstructs.” “He turns the child against me.” It can be grotesque, but it happens. That is why I discipline your communication. I want you to learn to write as if your words will later be read out loud — because very often they are. I want you to learn to set boundaries without throwing fuel on the fire. I want you to learn to be consistent without becoming harsh. Because there is a difference between being firm and being destructive, and that difference determines whether you have peace in a year or whether you are still at war.
Control Is Not a Luxury, It’s Your Lifeline
You are here because you have lost control. Sometimes for months already. Maybe it feels like you are constantly being chased by messages, by bills, by tension, by the fear of doing something wrong. And you are right: at this stage, one wrong step can trigger a chain reaction. One impulsive payment, one thoughtless remark, one moment when you think “fine, whatever,” and then it turns out that “fine, whatever” became a structural precedent. That is not exaggeration. That is how modern break-ups work: they are not slow and ceremonial; they are fast and digital, with a file that almost writes itself while you are trying to breathe.
My task — and I say this in the first person because I carry it that way — is to bring you back to a place where you can choose again instead of react. I set boundaries where you have swallowed too long. I bring structure where you experience chaos. I make your steps testable so they cannot later be used against you. And I do not let you escape into pretty stories when the facts suggest something else. Because hope without discipline is self-deception. Sometimes you have been harmed by the other person’s non-compliant conduct. Sometimes you are accused of it. In both cases, your lifeline is the same: a line that holds you to provability, to consistency, to choices you can still defend tomorrow.
And yes, I offer you hope. But not the kind of hope that lulls you to sleep. I offer you hope that activates you. Hope that forces you to stand up when you would rather stay down. Hope that teaches you that you do not have to “win” to survive, but you do have to stop harming yourself. Hope that helps you bring the conflict back to proportions you can carry. Because you do not have to be perfect to come out of this. You only have to be willing to let the facts speak, to resist the temptation of impulse, and to accept that adulthood in a rupture sometimes means this: not saying what you think, but doing what you can later justify. That is not weakness. That is control. And control is the first step toward a future that becomes yours again.
