Nathalie Auvolat

The session unfolds quietly. On the screen, her face looks more relaxed than in previous weeks. The results are reassuring. Those around her feel relieved. “You’re doing better,” they tell her. Things seem to be settling back into place. Schedules. Responsibilities. Projects that had been put on hold. She speaks about all this without emphasis.

The world has never been so connected, and yet rarely so fragmented. Exchanges are constant, voices unceasing, and networks saturated with reactions, opinions, and alerts. At the same time, lines of fracture continue to multiply. Viewpoints harden, disagreements become matters of identity, and fear and anger circulate without always finding a space where they can

When people ask me what I do, what I offer is often very quickly reformulated: “Oh, so you help people with their problems.” Each time, something in me freezes. Not a clear opposition, but rather a form of dissonance, a quiet misunderstanding. I find myself wondering what is really at play: is it a way

Those well-intended words that can quietly wound There are words we never forget. Not because they were meant to be violent, but because they landed in the wrong place, at the wrong moment, with a force no one had anticipated. They often appear during times of crisis, and most particularly when illness enters the picture.