Time used to slip by without much notice. "I wasn't aware of time altogether actually," says Alina Inacio. "Which holds its own carefree magic." But that magic has changed shape. As a mother of two young children, a school-age daughter and an infant, a creative, and someone who grew up in the instability of 1990s Ukraine, Alina now treats time as something sacred: a thread connecting generations, identities, and the fleeting moments that build a life.

At BREDA, we celebrate mindfulness over minutes. We believe time is something to be felt, not just measured. Alina's reflections give voice to our deeper curiosity: what does it mean to be truly present in our lives? What do we carry forward from our pasts? What, and who, do we honor when we slow down?

"Now, I see it as a gift," Alina says of time. "I am very much aware of every second that I get to have with my children and build my routines around the practice of presence, making the most of what we have." Her life is rich in small rituals: sending her daughter off to school, noticing tiny milestones in her baby's development. "I think the small moments are what makes up a life. And while in the moment it may seem mundane to them, it's their childhood and I don't take that lightly."

This attention to time didn't come out of nowhere. It's rooted in her earliest memories: long summers at her grandparents' farms in Ukraine, where she roamed unsupervised from dawn to dusk. "They were beekeepers and grew a vast garden. I picked fruits from trees, dug in dirt, swam in the river. I believe that free play and time to discover the world around me was the most significant time that impacted who I am today and the things I value."

Those childhood experiences stand in stark contrast to the broader reality she grew up in. Ukraine in the 1990s, following the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, was a place of deep economic uncertainty—with hyperinflation, widespread poverty, and crumbling public systems defining daily life. Families like Alina's made do with very little, and survival often became the only priority.

"Unfortunately, growing up in Ukraine in the '90s, my family didn't have much opportunity to model success, happiness, or fulfillment," she reflects. "It was more about day-to-day survival. I see those things as such privilege and have spent my adult life learning about my own relationship with those terms." What emerged from those years wasn't just resilience, but perspective. "One thing I do think was instilled into me from an early age by my mom is that what you do or have done, does not define who you are. She really taught me to prioritize my inner world above all else."

This lesson about inner worth over external measures threads through generations of women in her family. "My mother is a very giving person," Alina shares. "She always gave of herself, her work and her time to people closest in her life so selflessly. I try and do the same." This inheritance goes beyond conscious choices: "I lean into strength not even as a choice but as a trait that a long generation of women in my family carry."

Now living in New England, Alina is quick to say that she adjusts often: her expectations, her routines, her priorities. There is no such thing as perfect balance. But there are moments of intentional self-love that anchor her. "I remind myself that even 15 minutes goes a long way," she says. Whether it's making a cappuccino, reading a poem before the rest of the house wakes up, or journaling for five minutes, she makes time for herself where she can. Her creative practice holds special significance in this carefully calibrated life. "Once in a great while I clear an hour in the afternoon and do something with my hands like paint or craft, which has always been the most life-giving of all." These rare creative sessions aren't just hobbies—they're vital reconnections to herself amid the beautiful chaos of motherhood.

That ability to hold space for her children, her creativity, and her own quiet evolution didn't arrive easily. It's the product of intentional self-discovery that began long before motherhood. "I did a lot of work getting to know myself as an adult," she explains, "and as I have walked through different seasons of life, I try to stay in-tune with myself more and more the older I get."

This journey of self-knowledge has included confronting difficult truths. "When I first started doing self-work and being very intentional with understanding myself as an adult, it took time to acknowledge and accept all of the things about myself that I wasn't proud of," she admits. "Dozens of times, I've realized I've outgrown an old version of myself. You have to grieve a certain part of your life, leaving and preparing for a new one ready to emerge." She finds herself changing with each evolution –"softer usually," she notes with quiet self-awareness.

Alina doesn't rush growth. She watches it unfold in herself and in her family. She and her husband end each year with a shared reflection ritual: talking through their goals, their values, and the ways they want to grow both individually and together. "I consume content that helps bring intention into my routines. I try to feel all of my feelings and take time to sit with myself."

There's patience in that practice. And with it, freedom. "I don't ever put myself in a box and allow for seasons to wash over. I know nothing is permanent. Right now, I find fulfillment and joy in the chaos of my busy life and try to be fully present in this special time since I know it won't last."

So what does she hope to pass on?

"The feeling of awe. To always see the world through the eyes of a child." She elaborates: "I don't know if there is anything I cherish more than the ability to see beauty and magic in the world around us. They do it so well, it comes so naturally. I love how contagious it is, that it's always pulling me into the moment. I hope they never lose it." And when asked how she hopes her way of living, her creativity, her presence, her relationship to time will be remembered, she pauses.

“I don’t know if I so much care about being remembered as much as I hope that the values and things I have spent most of my life understanding come naturally to my children. May they practice presence and gratitude, welcoming life with arms open and not living in fear. May they play and create and know that there are no bounds. May time not feel linear to them but circular: a continuous loop of wonder, awe, and magic to be made your own.”