Not long ago, both Sikkut and Riisalo were still serving as ministers, but they are now returning to the Riigikogu. Riisalo, who held the position of minister of social protection for four years, admitted to having mixed feelings after the government reshuffle.

"Both roles have their pros and cons. One big advantage now is definitely that the workdays are no longer 12 hours straight. It meant physically being away from home during that time — I'd get home late in the evening, talk with my child, do something urgent — either cook or order food. And after that, I'd sit down at the computer to start preparing for the next day, signing documents," Riisalo explained.

When asked whether the so-called superministry has beds and whether they've ever had to sleep there, both former ministers answered no.

Sikkut, who lost her post as minister of health, added that whether people offer condolences or congratulations over the change depends on their perspective. "Young people have expressed concern about the long hours and heavy workload. But I personally wouldn't want it to be any different. I think it actually strengthens democracy — if a minister's job doesn't become so appealing that someone wants to cling to it for ten years. And on a human level, yes, it's a loss, but in terms of personal life, it's actually a relief," Sikkut said.

According to her, the thick skin required to survive in a ministerial post doesn't develop on the job. "I think, in a way, it's a prerequisite for the position. That internal certainty — knowing who I am, what I believe, what values I hold and what I'm prepared to argue for — has to be there before you ever take office. That kind of support isn't going to come from outside," Sikkut noted.

Riisalo agreed that having a well-defined set of values is essential and added that being in a ministerial position quickly makes you realize just how alone you are. "That's why it's incredibly important to have a colleague by your side to discuss things with. Riina is a much more experienced politician than I am — she's been in politics for far longer. For me, it was definitely a period of personal growth. By nature, I'm anxious and reactive, but in this role, I couldn't allow myself to act that way anymore. I had to control myself and behave differently — at least outwardly. No matter what's going on inside me, on the outside I had to be proactive, calm, balanced and someone who brings people together," Riisalo said.

In her view, even deep knowledge of your field unfortunately doesn't guarantee success. "And if, in addition to knowing the substance of your field, you also understand the concerns of your target groups — and even know the people within those groups and the advocates who speak for them — that makes a big difference," said Riisalo, who was diagnosed with diabetes while in office.

"Genetic predisposition plays a role, of course, but a high-stress job definitely has an impact as well. Even now, I constantly monitor my blood sugar with my Dexcom device. In high-pressure, stressful situations, it clearly spikes — and this job had more than its share of pressure," Riisalo said. "Signe has her blood sugar, I have high cholesterol. Everyone's got something," added Sikkut.

Both Riisalo and Sikkut said it's a common misconception that ministers have the freedom to allocate money at will. "We're never handed a bundle of money to distribute in our field as we see fit. That kind of thing just doesn't exist. I can speak for the last four years, during which — on top of the regular state budget process — we also prepared two supplementary budgets and one negative supplementary budget. This year, ministries can't even submit additional funding requests, even though both of us know exactly where the biggest shortfalls lie in our respective areas of responsibility," Riisalo explained.

Sikkut agreed that while being a minister can feel like being a punching bag, she doesn't see it as unfair. "Life isn't fair, and if someone is looking for praise and admiration, then a ministerial post isn't the right place for them. The job is about serving the people — you make the best decisions you can in the hope that things will actually improve, not so you'll be applauded," she said.

"I entered politics on May 2, 2018. Before that, I worked as a health policy analyst and was saying exactly the same things I'm saying now. Looking back, I was surprised by how the reception to those same messages changed once I became a politician. Journalists used to show interest and ask, 'Oh, that's very interesting — could you explain more?' But after stepping into politics, the tone became more like, 'Why hasn't this been fixed? These things are wrong — why are you saying that?'" Sikkut explained.

"But criticism is normal — it's part of democracy. Those in power should be held to account. You shouldn't feel comfortable or assume your decisions are the only correct ones. That kind of scrutiny is necessary," she added.

According to Sikkut, the real question is where to draw the line. "You can't make it personal or start attacking the individual, but policies and their substance should be openly debated and criticized. On a human level, it can be tough to handle, but I don't think that kind of criticism is inherently wrong," Sikkut acknowledged.

Riisalo, on the other hand, felt that her transition into the role of minister was relatively smooth. "I worked as a civil servant at the Ministry of Social Affairs for 26 years. When people talk about politicians as the 'bad guys,' they should remember that civil servants are often seen that way too. So for 26 years, I'd already been one of the 'bad guys.' Interacting with the media and dealing with public frustration — why something hasn't been done or why benefits aren't higher — was nothing new to me. I came up in that environment; it was just my position that changed," Riisalo said.

"It's also true that as a minister, you're under much more scrutiny, and on many more topics, often with sharper criticism. So even if it sounds harsh, it's necessary to grow a thick skin to some extent. At the same time, that doesn't mean I ignore information — the question is more about how much you allow negative emotions to affect and damage you," she added.

Riisalo admitted there were nights when she slept only a couple of hours. "When times are really tense, it's not even the workload that's the hardest part — it's the anxiety that keeps you from falling asleep. That's the worst feeling, honestly — knowing you have to get up in three hours, knowing you have to sleep because you feel how physically exhausted you are. And I have another quirk — when I'm under stress, I hold so much tension in my body that I can't fall asleep because all my muscles ache. It's a terrible feeling, knowing you need to sleep and just not being able to," Riisalo said with a laugh.

According to her, there are still far too few women in senior political positions. "Women are certainly active at the local level, and many do run for office, often in large numbers — but they tend to be placed further down the list. The real problem is making it to the top," Riisalo said.

Sikkut and Riisalo both emphasized the importance of having women involved in decision-making. "It leads to more high-quality discussion and better decisions. As a society, we haven't really valued this enough, but we were fortunate to be part of a government with seven men and seven women — and that's fantastic," said Sikkut.

Female politicians also face a double bind when it comes to motherhood. "When I was expecting my third child, I had just been elected to the Riigikogu for the first time, in the previous session. The feedback I got was coming from two directions. On one hand, people said, 'Riina, what kind of mother are you going to be? You won't have the energy or the time to be at home with the baby,' and so on. On the other hand, they asked, 'Why did you go into politics? You should be at home with your child. Now you're letting your voters down.' So no matter what you choose — whether you stay in parliament and raise your child or stay home — you'll still be seen as doing the wrong thing by someone. The judgment will come either way. That's why I always say you need to have a strong inner sense of certainty and make the decision that feels right for you," Sikkut stressed.

Riisalo's children are older now, and one of them is already a father himself. "But when I accepted the ministerial post, I still had a 12-year-old daughter. And honestly, if anyone had to make more sacrifices, it was her. She had to cope with a lot of things on her own that may not have been entirely age-appropriate. When I look at her today — how she carries herself and how independent she is — I feel proud, but I know it wasn't easy for her. There's always a price to pay somewhere. When I took the position, no one knew whether it would last four years or not. But I decided that if I was going to do it, I'd do it as well as I possibly could. I gave it everything — I never said 'no,' whether it was in the evening or on the weekend, if something needed to be done. And of course, my daughter paid the price for that. But in the end, I believe she's grown into a wonderful, bright and independent young woman," said Riisalo.

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