Willemijn de Weerd
Writing from everyday life
A Conversation on Faith, Family, and the Art of Storytelling
From research to narrative
Whenever Willemijn begins a new book, she dives headfirst into research. “When I write about the Verscholen Dorp (Hidden Village), I read absolutely everything I can get my hands on,” she says. “There is so much reference material. Before I know it, I’m in a bubble from which my own story slowly emerges.” But therein lies a danger: the temptation to include every single fact.
Her editor kept her sharp: “We have enough history books full of details. You need to write a story that grabs children by the collar.” The result? Willemijn took a metaphorical knife to her text. “If people want the naked facts, they can pick up the reference books. Less is more; I wanted to get back to the heart of the story.”
Raised between two worlds
Willemijn grew up in Lochem, the second of four children. “I never truly became an Achterhoeker,” she laughs. “My parents were from Dordrecht; in the Achterhoek region, we always remained ‘imports.'” Her childhood home was a unique melting pot: her father was Roman Catholic, her mother Reformed. “That created significant contrasts between the families.”
That tension between different worlds became the common thread of her life. She attended Reformed schools like De Fruytier and De Driestar, but attended a Christian Reformed Church in Zutphen. “My grandparents belonged to a very conservative church, while the one in Zutphen was about as progressive as you could find within that denomination. Same name on the facade, but a world of difference.”
Constantly switching between these worlds—school, church, her Saturday job—broadened her perspective. “I didn’t live in one shielded bubble. It forced me to think about everything.”
A secure nest
She speaks of her youth with palpable tenderness. “I was surrounded by so much love. Having that foundation, knowing I was unconditionally loved by my parents, is a great gift.” She enjoyed the freedom: the forest at her doorstep, a close-knit group of friends. “At our house, anyone could pull up a chair for a burger. The door was always open.”
Was she a difficult teenager? “Not at all. My brother and sister turned the house upside down, but for me, that time was mostly a period of self-development and reflection. I did that within the boundaries my parents set. That security gave her the opportunity to stand on her own feet at a young age.” At seventeen, she moved into a student flat in Gouda to study at the Pabo (Teacher Training College). “Looking back, I think: I was so young. But at the time, I felt completely ready.”
Seeking God
From a young age, Willemijn felt a deep longing for God, though it wasn’t often discussed at home. “My father is a private person, especially regarding his feelings. And my mother hadn’t been taught in her upbringing how to talk about personal faith. There was simply silence.”
The turning point came through her friendship with Annemarie, whom she met at De Fruytier. “I had such a need to interpret things, to give words to what I was feeling.” Together they went to the Pabo and attended Bible studies. “We talked for hours about who God was to us personally. I loved it.” The common thread in her life became clear: “I want to belong to God. Even as a child, I thought about everything: what would God think of this? And what do I actually think of it myself?”
Early motherhood and the grace of holding on
At 22, she married Wilfred, her first great love from the church in Zutphen. Two years later, she was a mother. “The first three children came in quick succession. It was a grueling time.”
During those years of chronic sleep deprivation, she learned a fundamental lesson. “The desire was still there, but I was so incredibly tired. I genuinely wondered where my enthusiasm for God had gone.” She discovered that faith is not synonymous with a fiery feeling. “At the Pabo, everything revolved around perception and experience. But as a young mother, I noticed: God does not let go, even when I can only be exhausted. He holds me, no matter what.”
An unintentional writer
She never imagined she would one day write books. “If you had asked me back then, I would have said: ‘That doesn’t suit me at all.’ My place is among children, in front of a classroom.”
Yet it began at the Pabo, where she wrote a book with Annemarie for an assignment. “Initially, I didn’t even enjoy it that much,” she admits honestly. But the school was enthusiastic, and someone sent the manuscript to a publisher. “Before I knew it, it was published, and I was suddenly an ‘author’.” When the second book, Het Hoogste Woord, which she also co-wrote with Annemarie, won an award, it began to dawn on her. “I always thought I was meant to be in a classroom, but apparently the path led elsewhere.”
Her strength turned out to be her power of observation. “I love people, watching what happens between them. Reviewers wrote that I get very close to a child’s world of experience. Then I thought: yes, this is who I am.”
Writing from experience
Willemijn writes about what she sees and experiences. “I grew up alongside my children. When they were small, I wrote about toddlers. Later, about teenagers. That guide for parents of teens only appeared after I had navigated three of them through it at home.” She refuses to write about things she hasn’t lived through herself. This also applies to her books for adults. “Those arise from the questions I encounter myself, or from the stories I hear during women’s retreat weekends. When I notice something is widely felt, I want to dive deeper into it.”
Parenting as a quest
Although her own youth went smoothly, she knows that parenting can sometimes be a struggle. With four children, she sees all extremes: from the child who follows the rules to the child who is uncertain about God but still “has to go” to church. Another daughter went through a similar period, but “God didn’t let her go.”
For a long time, she hesitated to write a parenting book. “I thought you should only do that if you had all the wisdom. And I never felt that way.” That very vulnerability became her entry point. “It is an ongoing search. One time you miss the mark with a boundary that’s too harsh, another time you realize you should have invested more in the connection. On parenting nights, I don’t stand there as the authority, but as a searching parent among other parents.”
The illusion of perfection
Willemijn sees how many parents buckle under the pressure of social media. “You only see the success stories and the styled photos. I don’t share my deepest family struggles there either; it’s simply not the place for it.”
But the church, she believes, should be that safe haven. “There, we should be able to say to each other: ‘I’m finding it hard’ or ‘My teenager doesn’t want to go anymore.’ It’s about praying for one another. That is the essence of being a community.”
Identity and letting go
A major personal question for Willemijn was: “Do I let my identity be determined by how my children are doing, or by who God is to me?” She delved into the biblical stories of Jochebed (Moses’ mother) and Rebekah. “Jochebed literally let go of her child in a basket on the Nile. Her name means ‘God’s glory.’ Ultimately, it’s not about my success as a mother, but about the glory of God. That gives you the space to place your children in His hands.”
She also seeks that balance in her success as a writer. “I enjoy my work immensely, but in the silence with God, I ask myself: ‘Suppose this stops tomorrow, am I still who I am? Is that enough?’ I don’t want my value to depend on the stage I stand on. A stage is risky; you can fall off it. I’m just a stumbling believer living by grace.”
The honest story
Willemijn is conscious of her responsibility. “You have to think carefully about which stories you share. I want to be honest, but I also want to protect others. I dislike people who build their success on a stage at the expense of others. The people you talk about often have no chance to tell their side of the story.”
When people tell her that “everything seems to succeed” for her, she intervenes immediately. “Then I think: have I not been clear enough that I’m also just trying things? Anyone who truly wants to know me shouldn’t look at my social media, but come closer.”
The power of connection
Life is sometimes painfully fragile, as she saw firsthand when her best friend’s husband passed away. “In those moments, in that deep grief leading up to the funeral, God is present. It’s almost impossible to put into words.” It also pains her to see how much damage people suffer when they aren’t “seen” in their youth. “People carry that with them for a lifetime. I find that deeply sad.”
In the Bible, she finds recognition for that brokenness. “On social media, we polish reality until it shines, but the Bible shows us life as it truly is: unfiltered, vulnerable, and real. There is pain, there is sorrow, but there is also a God who takes you by the hand. I especially love the Psalms; there is plenty of room for lamenting. That is allowed to be there.”
No boxes, but one church
Willemijn does not like to be pigeonholed. She speaks in a wide variety of churches. “I can sing psalms in a conservative congregation with as much love as I feel at home in an evangelical setting. I enjoy the diversity.”
When people ask where she belongs, her answer is always: “I belong to the Church of Christ. I feel connected to everyone who confesses the same Lord. The bickering among ourselves—it repels me. Why should we put each other down? We are brothers and sisters. We belong together.”
God in the mundane
Willemijn loves “ordinary” people. People like Wilfred, whom she has been married to for 26 years. Her friend Annemarie, with whom she has walked for thirty years and to whom she has to explain nothing. And her other friends. She also feels a kinship with fellow writers Ingrid Plantinga and psychologist Michelle van Dusseldorp. “They give words to how you find God in daily things. They translate the Bible to the here and now, so it actually benefits you today.”
A guided life
Looking back, she sees a path that emerged step by step. “I am still happy with the Pabo, and still very happy with Wilfred. I would make the choice to be home a lot when the children were small all over again.”
Her life as a writer feels like something that happened to her, almost like a calling. “I take that task seriously. When I write a Bible study, I want to do justice to God’s Word.” She sees a parallel with her father, the furniture maker. “When he makes a table, he does it with heart and soul, with craftsmanship. I try to put that into my work as well. But ultimately, my identity doesn’t lie in that ’table,’ but in God. In His grace. And that is enough.”
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