When life suddenly loses its certainties, what wellbeing really means can change overnight. Henny Romijn, Associate Professor at TU/e and a longtime researcher passionate about sustainable development, felt this shift firsthand when her ex-partner fell gravely ill. In a heartfelt conversation, she talks about love and loss, grief and goodbyes-and about the quiet, often unnoticed ways small gestures, chance encounters, and simple acts of humanity can carry us through, both inside the university and out in the world.
Henny Romijn is an associate professor of Technology & International Sustainable Development at the Deparmtent of Industrial Engineering & Innovation Sciences. Originally a development economist, her research focuses on innovation for poverty reduction and sustainable development. Today, she talks about something more personal: wellbeing-and how to find it when everything feels unsteady.
A loss that turned everything upside down
"My ex-partner Amin and I had been each other's best friends for forty years. We weren't together anymore, but we remained inseparable," Henny says. "When it became clear that he was seriously ill, everything shifted-his health, my work, my upcoming retirement-everything slid and moved in ways I couldn't control. He had Alzheimer's and a calcified pancreas, which meant he couldn't eat anymore. It was a heavy, uncertain time."
Henny lives in Eindhoven; Amin lived in The Hague. "Some days were intense-he'd be found by the police on a park bench after wandering away from the hospital. He was hospitalized twice without me knowing. Because we weren't married anymore, it took a few days for them to reach me. The helplessness and worry ate at me. But I also felt a deep desire to care for him until the very end."
The university and my colleagues gave me time, space and understanding. That made me feel human.
Henny Romijn
"When Amin's health worsened, a new reality began for me. There was barely any room for work-not in the way I was used to. But the university and my colleagues made it possible for me to be with him."
"Without my colleagues, I would have crumbled. They covered my teaching, adjusted schedules. Students were understanding if my feedback came late or if I had to step out during a lecture for an urgent call. I had deep, meaningful conversations with supportive colleagues. That flexibility and understanding touched me-it made me feel like I was allowed to be a person, not just a role."
More than just loss
The realization that loss can hold something else, too, kept her going. "It's never just loss. It's yin and yang. In deep grief, there's also intensity, beauty, connection."
While caring for Amin, she discovered the value of small acts of love. "Bringing a newspaper, getting the TV working again, cooking Indian food with his favorite spices. Tiny gestures full of meaning."
Encounters with strangers
She also found meaning in the people who entered her life during Amin's care-healthcare workers, social workers, crisis responders. "Sometimes you speak to someone for just five minutes, yet that encounter can change something inside you. A look, a word, a gesture. Those moments made all the difference. That, too, is wellbeing: realizing you are supported, sometimes unexpectedly, by a complete stranger."
The realization that you're being supported-sometimes unexpectedly, even by a complete stranger-that, to me, is also wellbeing.
Henny Romijn
As Amin's end approached, Henny recalls their last moments. "The final time I was with him in the hospice, he was in bed. He couldn't respond anymore, but I felt he could still hear me. I brought a few spiritual books, texts that were dear to him. As I read to him softly, the room became quieter than quiet-not just outside, but inside, too. I knew this was the last thing I could do for him. And it was enough. The next morning, he passed away."
Not in grief - but in richness
"It was heavy, but also complete. I had the chance to say goodbye with attention, love, and gentleness. I don't grieve in the usual way," she says candidly. "Of course I miss Amin, sometimes just seeing his jacket on the coat rack or noticing the chaos of his Indian spices in my kitchen. But I also feel joy and deep gratitude. I celebrate his life every day, and I feel richer than ever. The ability to live with what is-with both loss and joy-that's wellbeing for me."
You have to get through those lonely moments, just be with what is.
Henny Romijn
Henny's open about how hard it can be. "I spend a lot of time alone. No family nearby. Holidays were raw. Oliebollen without him-he always cooked, and I was his helper. I couldn't bring myself to be social, but I also couldn't bear being entirely alone. Now it's better. I've learned to face the beast in the mouth-not to run, not to fill the void frantically."
"I'm taking better care of myself. I shop for groceries, eat well, and care for my five cats. I used to have nine; the neighbors call me the cat lady. They just walk in. Some are feral-I feed them, but they don't let themselves be petted. Still, they helped me just by being there."
From workaholic to volunteer
She's exploring what life will look like after retirement. After a career teaching passionately, conducting research, and mentoring PhD students, she's searching for what's next. "I've always been a work fanatic. I've never done anything substantial outside of work."
"Now I'm looking for what I want in this next phase. I'm not the type to join a club, but maybe I'll volunteer at a food bank, a repair café, or an animal shelter. Luckily, some projects at the university continue after my retirement, like ISBEP initiatives in the Innovation Space, the 4TU Energy Network, and I still supervise five PhD students."
You have to follow your own path and learn that it's enough."
Henny Romijn
"What I take away from all this is the insight that you always have to follow your own path. Don't compare your life to that of others. I'm a late bloomer. My career really took off around fifty. Only then did I realize I just had to be myself-and that that was enough. That's what I try to pass on to my students and PhD candidates."
What remains is her philosophy: You have to live true to yourself. And perhaps, she concludes, that is real life. Not what you own, not what you produce-but what you feel, share, and pass on.
