There’s something about writing things down that helps me see them more clearly.
This is especially true when the days blur together—when time passes by and my focus jumps between client calls, business projects, newborn cries, and the dinosaur battles erupting across our living room floor.
In the first part of this series, I shared a shift in how I see parenting.
This time, I want to go deeper—not into abstract theory, but into what’s actually happening in my home, and within me, as I attempt to raise sovereign children: a son approaching five, and a daughter who just arrived.
Here’s what I’ve been learning—or rather, remembering—in these first chaotic, beautiful months of our new chapter.
I Want My Kids To Build Something Real — Just Like I Did
One of the most unexpected joys of becoming self-employed wasn’t the freedom or the income. It was the realization that my curiosity had value.
That following my interests — obsessively, even inefficiently — could actually lead somewhere. That I didn’t have to ask for permission to learn, experiment, create.
That’s precisely what I want for Mauro and Luce. Not a perfect life. Not safety above all else. But the power to shape their own world, even when it’s difficult.
Especially when it’s difficult.
No Rules Doesn’t Mean No Structure
This is perhaps the most misunderstood concept in this approach.
Removing arbitrary rules doesn’t mean embracing chaos. Concepts like clear ownership or limited choices aren’t mechanisms of control—they’re framing tools, especially vital for younger children.
“Do you want to put on your shirt or your pants first?”
“This toy is yours. You get to decide if you share it.”
This kind of framing, over time, builds genuine cooperation rather than mere compliance.
Luce Is Here Now — And She Already Changes Everything
She’s two months old. A quiet presence, but unmistakable.
I still don’t know exactly what kind of father I am to her—not yet. But I do know this: I refuse to treat her as a project to be managed. She’s a complete person from the very beginning.
I talk to her as I would to anyone else. I explain what I’m doing. I observe how she responds. Even though she can’t yet speak, I know she’s watching me—just as Mauro does.
And Mauro… he watches her too. With wonder, confusion, sometimes jealousy. All these reactions make perfect sense. I’m learning not to force an artificial harmony between them, but instead to create space where genuine connection can naturally develop.
Work–Life Integration, Not Balance
This is what our reality sometimes looks like:
Me at my laptop, responding to messages or crafting a landing page. Luce asleep on my legs, still warm from her last feeding. No grandparents around to help. Paola catching up on sleep after yet another night of feeding every 90 minutes.
It’s not glamorous. But it’s authentic.
I’m trying to grow multiple ventures—a digital business, an investment portfolio—while showing up every day as a father of two.
And I’m fortunate: Paola works as a specialist doctor in Italy’s public healthcare system, which means she receives a kind of maternity leave most women in the UK or US can only dream of. This gives us breathing room I don’t take for granted.
Still, there’s no such thing as perfect “balance” in the conventional sense. I prefer to frame it as work-life integration.
Because when you’re building a life that matters—with people who matter—there’s no clean division between the work you do and the life you live.
Children Don’t Need Managing. They Need Space To Be Themselves
Mauro is almost five. He’s not in the “why” phase yet.
He’s in the “let me do it” phase. The “can we play now?” phase. The “tell me a story about when you were little” phase.
What he truly seems to desire—more than answers—is autonomy paired with connection. Time together. Presence. A sense of meaning.
Most mornings, while Paola is still resting after another long night with Luce, it’s just him and me. We sit at the table. Eat breakfast. Talk. I help him get dressed and ready. It’s a brief window—perhaps thirty to forty-five minutes—but it’s becoming one of our most sacred rituals.
He’s not asking for control. He’s asking to be taken seriously. And I’m learning to respond not with instructions, but with trust, stories, and genuine attention.
The same principle applies to conflict. When a child screams or cries, they’re expressing themselves—not misbehaving. I intervene only to prevent harm. Otherwise, I let them feel their emotions fully, even with their siblings. That’s where real negotiation begins.
Our Rituals Are Our Real Wealth
These past few months have been filled with moments I want to protect.
Sitting on the floor with Mauro, solving puzzles. Listening to the rain while stretching in our garden. Slow breakfasts. Throwing balls into a hoop. Moments of peaceful silence.
I don’t want these moments to be the exception, squeezed between deadlines. They’re not leisure. They’re not breaks from work. They are the actual point of everything we’re building.
I don’t want my children to grow up thinking the only path to success is to grind relentlessly and disappear into work. I want them to see what genuine balance looks like—not because I tell them, but because they witness me living it.
Our Family Is a Long-Term Build
I’ve begun thinking of our family as a kind of startup. We’re investing. Not just money—but time, energy, vision.
Sometimes we discuss property, renovations, future travels. But what we’re really trying to design is a space that makes sovereignty possible. A life built not around rules, but around clarity. Not around obedience, but around mutual respect and collaboration.
It’s not always smooth. Sometimes it’s chaotic. Sometimes I make mistakes. But the compass is there. And I trust it more with each passing day.
“Your Home Is Already a School”
That line is from Aaron, in the episode with Naval — stuck with me.
Not because I’ve made any decisions about unschooling yet, but because it rings true.
Every word, every gesture we offer our children is education.
Not the formal kind. The deeper kind. The kind they absorb through presence, tone, rhythm, and example.
We don’t need to wait for a curriculum.
We don’t need permission to start.
If we treat them as sovereign humans — even from birth — we plant something deep.
And even if we get it wrong some days (we inevitably will), they’ll remember how it felt to grow up with trust rather than control.
Want To Keep This Series Going?
This piece is a follow-up to Life as a Dad: Raising Sovereign Children [Part 1].
Let me know if you’d like to read more reflections like these — I’m writing them one season at a time.
EYES TO SEE 