Author: Cǎtǎ Gǎrdescu

I am a connector, a lover of all things beautiful and a fighter when things get hard. I try each day to live truthfully, learn as much as I possibly can and push myself in the right directions. I am learning to trust my gut and my instincts and embrace uncertainty.

It’s not the hardship or the privilege that define us. It’s what we do with them.

We are shaped by so many forces—some harsh, some gentle, some inherited, some chosen. As I look back on my life, I can see how both hardship and privilege have pushed me forward in ways I never expected. The hard moments cracked me open; the privileged moments offered me space to breathe, reset, and try again. But the real turning points were always the choices I made in between.

This piece is the story of how I moved from living in cages—of expectation, fear, perfectionism, and “good girl” narratives—to beginning a journey of learning, healing, and becoming. It’s about mental illness and liberation, losing myself and finding a voice, rediscovering joy in learning at nearly 50, and choosing courage when comfort was no longer an option.

If anything resonates, may it be this: life pushes us from both sides. What we do with that push becomes our becoming.

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JRRîT – Episodul 3: De ce romii își pot spune țigani iar noi, românii, ar trebui să îi numim romi?

Episodul 3 pornește de la o întrebare pe care mulți români o folosesc ca argument final: „Dar ei între ei își spun țigani, nu?” În acest episod povestesc despre cât de înșelătoare este această idee și despre ce spune istoria — nu intențiile noastre — despre greutatea reală a cuvântului. Vorbesc despre opresiune, despre limbajul care dezumanizează și despre diferența uriașă dintre autodefinire și etichetarea venită din partea majoritarilor. Dacă te-ai întrebat vreodată de ce contează cine folosește un cuvânt și cum, acest episod îți poate deschide o perspectivă nouă și necesară.

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Growing through breakage: a rhizomatic approach to what I am learning

This week’s readings in my MEL programme challenged some of my deepest assumptions about what learning is—and who gets to define it. Connectivism pushed me to question whether our “connections” are truly human or increasingly mediated by devices that change how we think, remember, and make meaning. Then came the unsettling idea that learning can exist outside people, in systems, organizations, even algorithms. And the line that stopped me in my tracks: “There is a right answer now that may be wrong tomorrow.” So what is worth learning?

Rhizomatic learning stretched me further. David Cormier’s argument that “community is the curriculum” made me reflect on how essential inclusive communities are, not as add-ons but as the actual mechanism through which learning happens. His emphasis on engagement, effort, and connection-making also contrasts sharply with my son’s current IB Diploma experience—where rigid rubrics and prescribed language often overshadow authentic learning.

Returning to formal study at nearly 50 has made me aware of how nonlinear my own learning has become. I learn in spirals, bursts, and late-night sparks. And I can do this because I have support, stability, and no pressure for outcomes—privileges many young people do not have.

It’s messy, uncomfortable, and deeply transformative.

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Education as encounter and excavation

The view of education as an encounter between the student and the world deeply resonated with me. It reminded me of Hannah Arendt’s call to love the world enough to take responsibility for it. Further reflections on agency, paradox, and respect reframed my understanding of what education truly is, or could be: not simply learning, but becoming. It is about engaging with the world, embracing its contradictions, and finding meaning in the spaces between knowing and not knowing, teaching and being taught.

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