We come from a journey that has gradually built a way of looking at stories.

First, we learned to look inward and outward: family, expectations, talent, emotions, technology, love, memory, and the need to remain human amidst the noise. Films like  WALL·E ,  Inside Out ,  Up ,  Coco ,  and  The Mitchells vs. the Machines  helped us reflect on what goes on inside us and what happens when the world pushes us to disconnect from what truly matters.

Then we took a more intimate step, from  Encanto  to  My Neighbor Totoro . There, the question was no longer just who we are, but how an identity is built when expectations, fear, loneliness, memory, or the need to find refuge weigh heavily. We explored  The Iron Giant ,  Zootopia ,  The Red Turtle ,  Luca ,  Soul ,  Monsters, Inc. ,  Mary and Max  , and  Kubo,  before arriving at Totoro, which reminded us that growing up can also mean looking at the world again with calm.

Now the path changes tone.

We delve into stories where growth doesn’t come from having everything figured out, but from losing something important. Stories where the characters feel out of place, experience wounds, make mistakes, get scared, or discover that life doesn’t always unfold as they expected.

Because sometimes growth doesn’t begin when we find answers.

Sometimes it starts when we get lost.

And perhaps that’s why  My Life as a Courgette  is such a necessary beginning.

 Synopsis

Zucchini is a nine-year-old boy who, after the death of his mother, is taken to a foster home.

She arrives there filled with fear, guilt, and an overwhelming sense of abandonment. She doesn’t quite know how to interact with others, how to explain what she’s been through, or how to feel safe again.

There, she meets other children who also carry difficult stories. Each one bears a different wound. Each one has learned to protect themselves as best they can.

Little by little, amidst silences, games, mistrust, and small gestures of care, Courgette begins to discover something that seemed impossible:

that after a loss, a home can also appear.

Not the same as the one that was lost.
But one in which to trust again.

Will you come with me?

There are films that don’t need to explain much to leave us deeply moved.

My Life as a Courgette  is one of them.

It doesn’t dramatize wounded childhood with grand speeches. It doesn’t force emotion. It doesn’t turn pain into a spectacle.

It does something more delicate.

He approaches children who have experienced far too soon what no child should ever have to endure. And he looks at them with tenderness, with respect, without turning them into victims or heroes.

Children only.

Children who have had to learn to defend themselves against the world ahead of their time.

When childhood loses its footing

Zucchini arrives at the foster home after a deep breakup.

He has lost his mother.
He has lost his home.
He has lost the place from which he understood the world.

And when a child loses that, they don’t just lose a physical space.

Lose security.
Lose routine.
Lose confidence.

That’s why the film isn’t just about being orphaned. It’s about something broader: what happens when life breaks the ground beneath your feet and someone has to learn to walk again.

That’s the first big lesson of this story:

 There are wounds that are not overcome all at once;
 they are traversed in stages.

Pain cannot always be explained.

One of the film’s strengths is that the characters don’t speak like little adults.

They don’t always know how to express what’s wrong.
They don’t always understand what they’re feeling.
They don’t always know how to ask for help.

And that is profoundly real.

We often expect children to explain their pain clearly, when even adults don’t always know how to do it.

Childhood pain manifests in other ways:

• in silence
• in anger
• in fear
• in distrust
• in need of control
• having difficulty accepting affection

The life of Courgette  reminds us that behind many difficult behaviors there may be a story that has not yet found words.

And this is especially important for families, educators, and anyone who accompanies childhood and adolescence.

Because before correcting a reaction, it might be worth asking oneself:

What’s the story behind this?
What fear is he trying to protect himself from?
What does this child need to feel safe?

Trusting again is also a form of growth.

In this new home, Zucchini doesn’t find a magic solution.

Find something much more important:

presence.

Adults who don’t intrude.
Companions who have also suffered.
Small bonds that slowly form.

And that changes the game.

Because growing up isn’t just about getting stronger.
It’s also about being able to let your guard down.

In letting someone get close.
In accepting that not everyone is going to hurt you.
In discovering that you can be loved even after feeling abandoned.

That learning experience is enormous.

Sometimes we think maturity means not needing anyone. But this story tells us just the opposite:

 Growing up also means learning to trust again

Family doesn’t always begin where we think.

One of the most beautiful ideas in  My Life as a Courgette  is that family appears not only as an origin, but also as a possibility.

Some families are inherited.
And some bonds are built.

A foster home doesn’t erase what has been experienced.
It doesn’t magically replace what has been lost.
It doesn’t make the past easy.

But it offers something else:

a place to begin to recover.

And that matters a lot.

Because sometimes life doesn’t give us back exactly what we lost, but it can offer us new forms of care, belonging, and affection.

Zucchini certainly has a painful history.

But it is also beginning to have a shared history.

And then a light appears.

What this story teaches us

My Life as a Courgette  is not a sad film, although it is born from pain.

It is a profoundly human film.

It teaches us that not all children start from the same place. That some childhoods are marked by absences, fears, or wounds that are not always visible.

But it also reminds us of something essential:

 A wounded childhood is not doomed to remain broken

With care, time, connections, and trust, a person can begin to rebuild themselves.

Not from oblivion.
Not from denial.
But from a new place where one feels seen, heard, and loved.

For young people, families and educators

For young people, this film can help them understand that feeling lost doesn’t mean it’s over. Sometimes you just need time to figure out what to do with what’s happened to you.

For families, remember that caring is not just about protecting, but about offering emotional security without demanding that the other person heal quickly.

And for educators, it leaves a very important lesson: before labeling a child based on their behavior, you have to try to understand their story.

Because not all behaviors stem from rebellion.

Some are born from fear.
Others from loss.
Others from not yet having found a safe place.

The question that remains

When someone seems difficult, distant, or lost…

Are we able to look beyond their behavior
and ask ourselves what wound they might be trying to protect?

José María Sánchez Villa