Category: My journey

I have often written about the same issues in my blogs. The reason is simple: I had to work through them myself, again and again. At one point I had to stop lying to myself and see things clearly — to ask why I kept repeating the same patterns.

I see this very clearly in someone I used to know well. She would call me regularly, and already when I saw her name appear, I felt hesitant. The conversation would always start with an interrogation about me — how I was, what I was doing. But I never called her, and I rarely shared anything personal. Why? Because whenever I did, she would use it as fuel, as if we were suffering buddies.

Then the loop began: money problems, her ex-husband the narcissist, fights with her son, how unfair life was at work, how people bullied her, how her body was failing her. Always the same cycle, year after year. She would even send me photos of men she hoped would “finally” be the right one — but of course there was always a problem in the end.

Whenever I offered advice, she answered: “Yes, I know.” But if she truly knew, why didn’t anything change? Instead, she would go back to old stories, sometimes even about me from ten years ago, as if to prove that I had been just like her.

I realized she wasn’t looking for solutions. She just wanted someone to absorb her stories. I don’t judge her — I’ve been there myself. I used to drain people by repeating my own stories until they pulled back from me. But I also know: as long as we lie to ourselves, nothing changes.

Here are the most common lies I see — in her, in myself back then, and in many of us:

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Lie #1: “If I tell my story often enough, it will help me feel better.”
Truth: Retelling a painful story over and over only keeps the pain alive.
Shift: Move from endless storytelling to asking, “What’s my next step?”
Action: Limit “problem talk” to 5 minutes, then switch to solutions.

Lie #2: “Other people are always the problem — my ex, my child, my team, my body.”
Truth: The common denominator in all your experiences is you — and that’s where your power is.
Shift: From “Why are they doing this to me?” to “What am I believing about myself that keeps this pattern alive?”
Action: Use Byron Katie’s first question: “Is it true?” on every assumption about others.

Lie #3: “I know all this already.”
Truth: Knowing is meaningless without doing. If your life hasn’t changed, there’s something you haven’t applied.
Shift: From “I know” to “I’m willing to learn and apply.”
Action: Every time you say “I know,” pause and ask, “Then why am I still in this situation?”

Lie #4: “Talking about other people’s problems is harmless.”
Truth: Gossip and story-swapping is an avoidance strategy — it distracts from your own work.
Shift: Bring the focus back to yourself.
Action: When tempted to talk about others, ask, “What am I avoiding in my own life right now?”

Lie #5: “It’s normal to only understand certain things when you get older.”
Truth: Growth isn’t automatic with age — it’s a choice.
Shift: From waiting for wisdom to actively creating it now.
Action: Pick one recurring problem and decide on one concrete action to shift it this week.

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It’s not about blaming ourselves. It’s about being radically honest. The moment we stop lying to ourselves, we stop being victims of circumstance. We step out of repeating loops and step into change.

Have you ever felt the world is unfair?
That people treat you badly, bills pile up, friends pull away, and even the partner you hoped would bring comfort now keeps their distance?

It’s as if everything starts going south at once. And in that heaviness, the “solution” seems to be talking about it — again and again. Calling a friend. Repeating the same story. Hoping someone will listen long enough for you to feel relief.

I’ve been there.
Years ago, I burned out friends by talking about the same problems until they quietly pulled away. I didn’t even notice I was drowning in my own stories.

Today, I have a friend who does exactly the same. She is a sweet person, and I care for her — but when I gently point out that she might be the root cause of the patterns she keeps experiencing, she brushes it off. Always the same stories, the same villains, the same suffering.

Here’s the truth:
If you want change, you have to be honest with yourself. Otherwise, you’re not looking for a solution — you’re looking for an audience. And that’s not friendship. That’s draining others while keeping yourself stuck.

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The First Step: Stop Saying “I Know”

When I share possible solutions — not just theory, but hard-earned wisdom from my own life — she often says: “I know, I know.”
But here’s the thing: if what you “know” isn’t giving you the life you want, maybe you don’t really know it.

The moment you say “I know” but nothing changes, you’ve shut the door to new insight.
Real change begins when you say: “I’m ready to see. I’m ready to listen.”

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The Tools: 4 Questions + New Assumptions

Two powerful ways to uncover the truth:

1. Byron Katie’s Four Questions:

• Is it true?

• Can I absolutely know it’s true?

• How do I react when I believe that thought?

• Who would I be without it?

These questions take you out of autopilot and into awareness — where change is actually possible.

2. Neville Goddard’s Law of Assumption:
We don’t manifest what we want — we manifest what we assume to be true.
What are you assuming about your worth? Your future? Your ability to change?

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Be the Doctor of Your Own Life

When you’re in pain, you go to the doctor. They don’t just cover the symptom — they look for the cause.
You can do the same with your thoughts and patterns.

Observe: Do certain situations keep repeating in your life?
Instead of telling yourself, “That’s just how it is,” get curious:
What assumption is holding this in place? What would happen if I assumed something better?

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Your Responsibility to Yourself

This is not about blaming yourself — it’s about freeing yourself.
When you take full responsibility for what you believe, you stop waiting for others to change,
and start changing the one thing you actually can: you.

From there, life begins to mirror back something entirely different.

“By all means, marry. If you get a good spouse, you’ll be happy. If you get a bad one, you’ll become a philosopher.”

—Socrates

This quote always makes me smile. It carries a deeper truth beneath its humor: no matter the outcome, relationships—especially the difficult ones—can become a mirror, a path, even a form of initiation into self-inquiry and transformation.

We often live through the lens of the past, shaped by old hurts or attempts to protect ourselves from being hurt again. As children, many of us learned love was something to earn. That if we were good, helpful, pleasing—we might finally receive affection.

I became a woman who believed I had to deserve love. That I wasn’t worthy of it simply for being. I didn’t set boundaries—I didn’t even know I could. Instead, I developed a deep hunger for external validation and affection. And like all hunger, it made me accept less and give more, in hopes that someone would finally feed what I lacked inside.

At first, the love, the relationship, the “dream” feels full. We’re on cloud nine.
This is it, we say.
But for many of us, time reveals another pattern: the spark fades, the hunger returns, and we begin to fantasize about the next person, the next dream, the next beginning.

And while dreaming is not wrong, we must remember:

Everything outside us can change. But we always bring ourselves with us.

Just like walking from one room to another, we carry our thoughts, fears, assumptions, and longings wherever we go. No partner, no place, no possession can give us what we refuse to give ourselves.

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🔄 Patterns, Projection, and the Search for “The One”

I used to believe relationships were the answer to everything.
Love would fix me.
The “right man” would save me from doubt, from loneliness, from insecurity.

Looking back, I now see: the humor, lightness, joy I thought others brought into my life—those were mine all along.

I had to ask myself hard questions:

• What did I associate romantic relationships with?

• Was I searching for a savior?

• Was I unconsciously seeking someone to confirm my belief that I was unlovable?

The more I sought confirmation from the outside, the more frustrated I became when it didn’t arrive.

And isn’t it amazing? The way our bodies follow our beliefs?
So many people walk around criticizing their looks, their weight, their age—and their body responds with shame, tension, illness.
Confidence, on the other hand, glows through any appearance.
We see it. We feel it. And we’re drawn to it.

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🪞 A Story from My Past

One of my greatest fears was always:
What if he sees my flaws?

I lived with a partner for many years. I’m grateful for many things he gave me.
But I can now see how I placed the burden of my self-worth onto him.

I wanted him to be my strength.
To give me what I didn’t yet know how to give myself: confidence, clarity, the ability to choose, to say no, to raise my standards. I accepted less than I deserved, just to hold onto someone I believed was holding me together.

But the truth was:
We weren’t truly compatible.
We argued often. We drained each other.
And still—I stayed.

I stayed strong, but for what?

To maintain a relationship that no longer held light?
To avoid the fear of being alone?

I would pick fights just to get his attention. I believed that if it ended, I would collapse. When he finally left, I felt relief—but also pain.
He kept coming and going, and I watched myself rise and fall with every message, every visit.

That’s when I knew:

No one outside of me can be the source of my joy—or my pain.

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🌱 Reprogramming from Within

As I’ve shared before, our patterns often go deeper than we think.
Most of what we do is not conscious choice—it’s conditioning. Habit. Training.

But habits can be changed.
The subconscious mind, like a garden, receives whatever seed we plant.
It doesn’t judge. It doesn’t decide. It simply grows what it’s given.

That’s why awareness is key.
We must watch ourselves gently—especially when we fall into flashbacks or fears.
These are just echoes of old programming trying to “protect” us.

But we are the gardeners now.
We can choose new seeds.

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💡 The Philosopher Within

Coming back to Socrates’ quote—I did marry, metaphorically speaking. I entered a relationship that hurt me and taught me. And so, I became a philosopher.

“If I’m alone, I’ve failed.”
That was the old assumption I carried.

But the deeper truth?

I had not failed.
I had freed myself.

I was so identified with pain that I couldn’t yet feel the presence underneath it.
But now I do.
And now I write from that place—not because I have it all figured out, but because I’ve walked through the fire and found the light still burning within me.

“Serenity is not freedom from the storm but peace amid the storm.”

Every day I sit in meditation—sometimes for up to two hours.
People ask me why.
After all, it’s just sitting still, doing nothing.
But that is exactly the point.

In stillness, I return to myself.
I become aware of the one who is aware.
Thoughts and fears swirl like restless children—loud, dramatic, demanding attention. But the less I feed them, the more they settle. Eventually, they return to quiet play.

I remember a winter day many years ago, just as I was beginning this journey of self-inquiry. I was walking through the forest after fresh snowfall. Everything was white and soft.
The air was cold, birds sang above, and my footsteps creaked beneath me.
But what struck me most was not the beauty around me—it was the silence inside.

There was no buzz in my head. No running commentary. No inner arguments. Just stillness.
That kind of stillness had once felt impossible.

Back then, my self-talk was constant—and mostly negative.
Meditation helped me realize how deeply I was identified with my thoughts, unaware that I could observe them without believing them.

We don’t see the world as it is.
We see it as we are.

So much of what we call “reality” is simply the echo of past assumptions, planted long ago in the subconscious. Meditation brings me back to the one who is perceiving, not just the perception itself.

It’s like watching a movie.
We get so immersed in the action that we forget we’re in a cinema. The screen seems invisible—but it’s always there. The movie may be dramatic, frightening, beautiful, or sad—but the screen never changes. It holds it all.

Consciousness is that screen. Ever-present, silent, untouched.

Our thoughts, sensations, and emotions are the movie—forever moving, never stable. But we, the awareness of it all, remain unchanged.
And when stress arises, we can return to this still point. We can remember the source.

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💭 Inner Dialogue, Realigned

My life began to shift when I started observing how I spoke to myself.
My mind used to run loops of worry: “What if something goes wrong?”
Now I try to ask: “What if it goes right?”

Instead of criticizing my body for not being perfect—or resenting it when it’s unwell—I began offering it gratitude.
Not from denial, but from love.
From trust.

Because what we give attention to… grows.
Where our focus goes, our reality follows.

So it matters—how we speak to ourselves.
What we expect.
What we assume.

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🪙 A Moment with My Piggy Bank

Tonight I found myself staring at my piggy bank, feeling a little irritated.
It wasn’t as full as I had hoped.

No crisis, but still—a familiar tension began to stir in me.
An old story whispered: “Every time I have money, I lose it.”

There it was.
An assumption.
Unquestioned, unexamined, but powerful enough to shape how I felt.

So I sat with it.
I didn’t rush to fix it. I let it be seen. I let it be felt.
And slowly, I returned—not to the feeling of lack, but to the one who noticed it.

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🌅 Ending: The Power to Come Home

These moments—when discomfort arises—are not failures.
They are invitations.

To slow down.
To return to the source.
To remember: I am not the story. I am the one who sees the story.

And in that seeing, I take my power back.

Because the screen has never left.
The awareness has never changed.
Even in the middle of lack, even in the middle of fear—
I remain the one who is aware.

And that…
is peace amid the storm.

“What I see is not what I am—
I am the one who sees.”

Growth doesn’t mean always feeling strong.
It means being honest.
It means being willing to meet yourself exactly where you are—even when you’ve forgotten what you know.
Even when you fall into old fears.

This morning, I fell.

I woke up and forgot every truth I’ve spent years practicing.
I got caught in the outside. I saw money decrease, and memories from my past came flooding in—times of lack, fear, survival.
And then, the anxiety came.

It felt like I’d been hit—sharp and precise.
Suddenly I was the prey, hunted by thoughts I didn’t ask for but believed anyway.
And then came the heaviness in my chest, the tightness, the shame:
“How can I write about awareness when I can’t even remember it in my own life?”

I cried.
Not just because I felt afraid, but because I felt like a fraud.
A voice inside said: “You should have figured this out by now.”

But that’s when I realized—this is exactly what I write about.

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🌀 The Trap of the Outside

We suffer when we believe our experiences are more real than we are.
When we give so much attention to thoughts and fears that we forget who is aware of them.

Yes, the experience feels real. Yes, the fear seems powerful.
But isn’t it possible that what we feel is shaped—not by what’s actually happening—but by our past interpretations of it?

Most of the time, we don’t question it.
We assume pain means something is wrong.
We assume anxiety means something is missing.
We chase peace by trying to fix the outside.

But I remembered—again—that this doesn’t work.
It never has.

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✨ Coming Back to the One Who Sees

There’s always a moment—if we allow it—when we can stop and ask:
Who is experiencing this?

Not what is happening, but who is aware of what’s happening?

That’s when I returned.
Not by running.
Not by fixing.
But by remembering.

I am not the anxious thought.
I am not the bank account.
I am not the child of scarcity or the projection of past fears.
I am the one aware of it all.

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🌱 Choosing to Lead

So instead of letting fear lead me today, I chose to lead myself.
I acknowledged the anxiety—it was there. But I didn’t let it take the front seat.
I breathed. I got still. And I decided:
This moment will not define me.

I am not here to be ruled by old assumptions. I am here to create from truth.

Instead of seeing the money as disappearing, I saw it as an invitation.
A push to focus.
A reminder of what really matters.

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☀️ The Sky Is Always Blue

No matter how dark the clouds, the sky has never left.
It never goes anywhere.
We don’t have to create the sun—it’s always there.
We just have to remember.

And so, I write this now not as someone who has it all figured out,
but as someone who chose to come back home to herself this morning.

To the sky.
To the stillness.
To the awareness that never leaves.

If you’re in a heavy place right now, I hope this reaches you.

You are not your thoughts.
You are not your fear.
You are not what’s happening.
You are the one who is aware.

And that’s where your power lives.

The other day, I watched a documentary narrated by Natascha Kampusch, the girl who was kidnapped at the age of 10 and imprisoned for over 8 years. What she said stayed with me:

“What I have learned about people is this: no one is infallible, and anyone can find themselves in a position where they lose control of their lives. That is true for the kidnapper, and it is true for me. From the moment I was kidnapped, I still had control over my thoughts. But I couldn’t do anything about the world outside.”

That statement struck something deep in me. Even in a basement, even without freedom of movement, she understood one of life’s greatest truths: no one can take away your power to choose your thoughts.

Every person I’ve ever heard speak about surviving deep trauma has said the same: that inner strength, your awareness, your ability to direct thought, is untouchable.

Life can feel overwhelming. We can feel delivered into chaos, into heartbreak, into impossible situations. But the moment we believe we are just victims of what happens outside of us, we hand over our creative power.

What we are consciously aware of becomes our reality.

That’s not just a theory—it’s observable. Ever notice how when you’re thinking about someone, they suddenly call or appear? Or how you begin seeing a certain car everywhere the moment you decide to buy it? When I was pregnant with my son, I saw pregnant women everywhere. That’s not coincidence, it’s selective awareness. And awareness creates experience.

If I focus on lack, I will experience lack. If I focus on betrayal, I will find more of it. If I assume love must hurt, then pain will come wearing the costume of love.

We often think: “Once I leave this job,” or “Once I find the right person”, or “Once I move”, then I’ll be happy. But unless we’ve changed our inner assumptions, we will meet the same story in a different costume. Because the script is written in the subconscious, and it keeps running until we revise it.

I thought a new relationship would fix my pain. That he would be the one. The soulmate. The healer of my heart. But I was still the same version of myself, the one begging for love, waiting to be chosen, caught in a loop of old identity.

And so, the same chaos reappeared. Not because I was doomed, but because I was living on autopilot, reinforcing old beliefs. It was easier to point fingers, to say, “He’s the problem,” than to realize I was playing out a version of myself I hadn’t yet released.

I felt imprisoned in those relationships. Then I’d “break free” and feel powerful again, only to fall into the same pattern with someone else. It became a cycle: freedom, collapse, pain, repeat.

I had to stop identifying with the experience. I had to stop believing I was the person things happened to. I had to remember:
I am not the experienced, I am the one who experiences.

And that “I” is pure awareness. Consciousness. The source. The seed-planter.

My subconscious mind is the soil. What I water grows. What I assume becomes real.

So I asked myself:
What kind of garden do I want to grow?
Which thoughts do I want to nourish?

Because as they say,
“You live most of your life inside your head. Make sure it’s a nice place to be.”

And no, that doesn’t mean we don’t change jobs or leave relationships or move cities. Of course we take action. But we take action from wholeness, not from desperation. We change our lives by first changing the mind we’re living them from.

I learned that lesson the long way, but I’m grateful. Because now I don’t wait for peace.
I assume it.
And I watch the world mirror it back.“The Garden of Awareness: How I Learned to Stop Being the Experience and Become the Observer”

Each day, I grew a little bolder. It was like waking up to a world I had only seen through a window—suddenly, I was stepping inside. A new universe opened before me, filled with possibilities and pleasures I had never known. It felt like walking into a candy store.

For the first time, I had my own money. I was no longer completely dependent on my ex-husband. As I began spending more time with women outside the movement, my eyes began to open. They showed me that life could be more than just being a housewife, bound to daily chores and responsibilities. I didn’t resent caring for my son, I loved being a mom, but I had never been given the chance to discover who I was or what I was capable of. It was the beginning of a new chapter, one where I would finally begin to ask: what do I want from my life?

Back then, I confused freedom with rebellion. I thought the only way to be free was to cast off everything I had ever known. And maybe, at that point, it was necessary. I had to gather strength and take the leap. But in doing so, I often fell into the role of a victim—fueled by anger at what had been done to me, rather than focusing on what I could build from it.

So yes, I hacked my way out of the jungle with a machete—but I had no map. I didn’t know where I was going. And the same patterns kept repeating themselves. Without clear direction, I walked straight into another jungle of confusion, reencountering the same wounds again and again, just in new forms, with new people.

I wanted to break free, the wild woman in me had awakened. Although I had always loved my ex-husband, I hadn’t truly chosen him. He had become part of a past I was ready to leave behind.
I didn’t know how to make the change the “right” way, but I knew I needed it. I wanted a divorce. It felt like the right decision for me. My whole life, others had made decisions over my head. But this was mine. I had no idea where to turn for help or what the next step would be, it all felt like a painful fog. My then-husband didn’t agree. He said, “If you want a divorce, you leave. I’ll stay with our son. ”But that wasn’t a life I could live with, either.

I began an affair with someone outside our world—a desperate attempt to escape, to start over. But it only created more chaos, because inside me was chaos. My son was caught in the middle. I couldn’t give him the security he needed, because I didn’t know who I was myself. He felt all the turmoil of his parents, two lost souls trying to swim through rough waters. I loved him with all my heart, but without a connection to myself, I looked for stability in a world I didn’t know how to live in. I thought the answer was a new relationship. What I didn’t yet understand was that true peace comes only from within, and the most important relationship is the one we have with ourselves.                              As Albert Einstein once said:
“We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking we used when we created them.”_

I believed the solution was out there, a new person, a new romance, a new life. But the affair turned out to be destructive, and I ran into the next so-called adventure. I was still working at the confiserie, slowly gaining a foothold. But I was running on empty. I slept too little, and I chased every thrill, every party, every distraction.

I was rolling myself into a snowball, and the avalanche had already started. It picked up speed, and with it, people. And pain. And guilt.

My shame was immense. But my will to run from the life I had left behind was even stronger.

It would take me time to learn that I wasn’t responsible for keeping everyone around me comfortable. That it was okay to have boundaries. That I didn’t need to sacrifice myself to avoid conflict. I had done that too many times.

And the question is not just what happened to me, but why. Why did I keep repeating these patterns? Why did I sabotage myself? Why couldn’t I see a way out?

Because I was stuck in my story. And my story had become my identity. But here’s what I’ve learned: There is always a way out. Always. We just have to awaken. To recognize the dream we’re trapped in—and step out of it.

As I stepped into the chocolate shop at the airport, everything smelled sweet , a warm mix of sugar, roasted nuts, and something buttery in the air. A slightly round woman in her mid-forties, with curly red hair and a cheerful face, was waiting for me with a wide smile. She welcomed me and led me straight to the staff changing room.

There, she handed me a uniform, a fitted dress and a scarf I was supposed to tie around my neck. I was used to wearing temple clothing back then. It felt perfectly normal to me to wear a specific dress to express a sense of belonging, of serving something greater. But now, I was in a different world.

Standing behind the counter, surrounded by sweets, sandwiches, and glossy cookies, I felt completely lost. The fear of making a mistake was overwhelming, and I did everything I could to prove how willing and eager I was to learn. I honestly thought it was a miracle they didn’t send me home on the first day.

At first, it wasn’t easy to work the register. I didn’t know how to handle money, especially the different currencies back then. I couldn’t do mental math , not because I was stupid, but because I had never really learned it. The women looked at me as though I had come from another planet.

I was told to weigh pralines and cookies and wrap sweets into delicate little boxes ‘ and I didn’t even know what “tare” meant. It was all so new and overwhelming. I felt afraid, insecure, and deeply out of place.

But I knew I had to keep going.

When I received my first salary, it felt surreal. I had never earned that much money in my life, and I honestly didn’t know what to do with it. It made me uncomfortable, as though I wasn’t allowed to have it. I felt guilty and unworthy. It was all so unfamiliar.

The other women were surprised by me. I asked for help constantly. I was vulnerable, anxious, and ashamed. But I sensed that they were curious about me ‘ and to my surprise, they were kind. They helped me. Bit by bit, I became one of them.

I walked on eggshells. I had learned that to be accepted, I had to submit. I had to prove I was good enough. I feared rejection. I carried that with me ‘ this need to be perfect, to be pleasing, to be useful , in order to feel worthy of love. It made me rigid. I couldn’t afford to make mistakes.

What a small world that becomes ‘ when your sense of value depends entirely on whether others approve of you.

And yet, despite all of that, I felt something new: dignity. I had made a choice for myself. I had taken a step into the unknown. I was no longer just a housewife hidden in someone else’s life. I had started to become someone of my own.

Privately, things in my life were changing as well. Not all of it was easy. Out of fear of hurting others, I made some decisions I later regretted. I wanted to do everything right, but in the end, I hurt myself the most ‘ and, sadly, my son. But I say this with compassion for the woman I was. I had come from chaos. I was doing my best with what I had learned.

That job, that moment, was the beginning of me unraveling the old identity I had carried for so long. It was the beginning of seeing that the person I believed myself to be was shaped by the circumstances of my upbringing , not by my true self.

As Neville Goddard said, “As within, so without.” We experience our world through the lens of our consciousness , and that lens is shaped by what we believe about ourselves. If we carry fear and self-doubt inside, the world will mirror it back to us.

I hadn’t learned how to take up space in society. I didn’t believe I was important. I believed I had to prove my worth to be loved. And so I kept shrinking myself.

But that first step — the chocolate shop, the courage to say yes — was the beginning of something else. It was the first step into a wider life.

And so, the journey began — not just into independence, but into reclaiming who I truly was.

The moments we take risks in life can feel very scary. But I’ve had pivotal moments where I just knew I had to jump, no matter what came thereafter. The feeling of staying where I was felt harder than stepping into the unknown. So I kept moving, and eventually, the picture became clearer ‘ and good things began to happen.

There was a time I felt deeply stuck in my marriage. Today, I’m good friends with my ex-husband and grateful for everything we shared, especially our wonderful son. But there are times when life calls you forward, and the space you’re in becomes too small. We had been married for seventeen years. That’s a long time ‘ and I had never really discovered who I was as a woman or as an individual. I had been a housewife and a mother, which was beautiful, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to life than what I was living.

My ex-husband had always carried the financial responsibility, sometimes more successfully, sometimes less. But eventually, he asked me to contribute. The truth was, I had no experience working in society, no idea how to earn money, and no clue where to begin. I couldn’t even ride a bicycle in traffic or drive a car. My ex didn’t think I could learn ‘ and maybe, back then, I didn’t either.

But when I turned thirty, something inside me said: Now or never.

I was scared, but I began looking through the classifieds in the newspaper. I found a small ad . a well-known confectionery in Switzerland was looking for someone to sell chocolates. A place visited by VIPs and very wealthy customers. I called. The man on the phone said, “Let’s make a good date — it’s the 9th month of 1999, so let’s meet at 9 o’clock in the morning.”

I agreed. As the day came closer, I grew more nervous. I wore a long skirt and my hair in a braid. I told myself to be quiet and polite , to be the “good girl” I had learned to be. I sat down across from him, and he smiled kindly. “So,” he asked, “who are you? Do you have any experience working in a shop?” Then he glanced at my CV. “It seems you don’t have any references from previous jobs?”

My heart dropped. I thought, This is it. He sees right through me.

But I was honest. I told him I had cooked in the temple since I was young and had spent my time raising a child. He looked at me thoughtfully and said, “I like your courage. I’m going to give you a chance.” Then he added, “I’ll place you at the airport shop — you’ll be independent there, and the other women will show you the ropes.”

I had no idea what I was getting into. But it was the beginning of my independence. I had taken a step.

I walked out of that interview both relieved and terrified. Something in me had shifted. I had said yes to life , not just to the job, but to the unknown, to the possibility of something different. I still didn’t know how it would all unfold, or whether I could really do it. But I had taken the first step.

That Moment . simple and small on the outside ‘ was the beginning of my independence.

In the next blog post, I’ll tell you what happened on my very first day at work, and how each small decision helped me grow stronger, find my voice, and prepare for the biggest leap of all: leaving the life I had known, to discover the woman I truly was.

Inner peace lies within, it’s something I often speak about, something I’ve preached for a long time. I’ve been on this path for years, working to examine my thoughts and uncover the reasons why certain outcomes keep repeating.

My understanding of myself has deepened through experience and through the teachings of Neville Goddard, teachings that, in the end, are about ourselves and who we believe ourselves to be.

For many years, I lived in an institution that at times left me feeling helpless. I frequently spoke about my past, repeating the same stories I at times had endured throughout my upbringing. I identified so strongly with them that I believed that was who I was.

In the beginning, after I stepped out of that reality, the one where I was a Hare Krishna girl married at a young age, I felt a lot of anger and frustration. I didn’t know which reality to belong to, or what to identify with.

I had entered society, the so-called “real world” with an open, innocent spirit, hopeful for a better life. I was finally free. But was I truly free?

Yes, on the outside. But inside, I still carried my conditioned way of seeing things.

It didn’t take long before my old doubts and low self-worth returned to haunt me. I found myself in situations full of chaos and drama situations I couldn’t break free from because of my deep fear of rejection or of not being good enough.

I lived in a constant state of adjustment, mostly making sure others were comfortable, tending to their needs, and often not claiming space for my own.

Looking back, I can now see that growing up in the movement did have beautiful aspects. I was fulfilled in ways many people never get to experience.

But I had to step away for a long time, because I had also been hurt, not by spirituality itself, but by the dogma and fanaticism surrounding it.

Though the movement emphasized that children should never be forced into spiritual practice, in reality, at times it was rigid, joyless, and imposed upon us.

I still remember walking into the temple for the first time at the age of seven. The air was filled with sweetness, a mix of fruit, flowers, and thick incense smoke. My mother spoke of the sleeping deities resting behind the curtains. I had no idea what that meant.

She gave me japa beads to chant the Hare Krishna mantra. I felt an immediate attraction to Krishna and all the divine figures I was introduced to.

Then, one day, she took me to the temple room to finally see the deities. I remember the sound of the bell, the soft chime, and how the curtain slowly opened.

There stood Caitanya Mahaprabhu and his brother Nityananda in ecstatic dancing poses, adorned with flower garlands and radiant with joy. Their faces were filled with bliss, and even as a child, I turned to my mother and knew, this was something meaningful.

It was 4 a.m., the sacred hour for meditation, and though waking that early was hard, I was grateful for the spiritual experiences I had.

Still, I had to face the damage caused by the rigidity, the cold, rule-based system that neglected emotional needs.

Years later, after leaving the movement at age thirty, I was disgusted. I wanted nothing to do with it. I rejected everything I had once known. I desperately wanted to be “normal,” to fit in with the rest of society.

Until that point, I had only known the inside world of the movement. I had to step out.

Today, I can see both the beauty and the pain of what I experienced. I understand now that practicing spiritual life doesn’t mean you understand spiritual life.

Many people live by the rules, dependent on the rituals they follow, yet remain disconnected from joy and meaning. That’s not fulfillment — that’s spiritual dependency. That’s fear.

True spirituality means walking with your own legs, not clinging to the chain out of fear of falling.

I carried many spiritual tools with me from childhood, but for a long time, I didn’t know how to use them.

Then I discovered Neville Goddard. His words helped me connect the dots: that everything is consciousness, and reality is shaped by how we perceive it.

There is no fixed world. We are the dreamers, of our own experiences.

What we experience, the people, the stories, the emotions, all arise from our awareness. Just like our dreams at night, all the characters and situations we encounter are reflections of us.

Neville says, “Things have no reality other than in consciousness. Therefore, get the consciousness first, and the thing is compelled to appear.”

We can only perceive that which we are aware of.

So, who are we, really?
What is the reality we’re perceiving — right now?
And can we say that it’s truth when ten people beside us may be seeing something entirely different?

I was heavily influenced by how I was raised and how I saw myself.

Sometimes, I still forget who I truly am. My habit-mind clings to the old narratives and labels.

For a long time, I lived as a victim of my past.

But today, more often than not, I feel gratitude. Gratitude for the journey that brought me back to myself.

We’ve all lived through experiences that left their mark. But perhaps we can start seeing those moments not as things that broke us, but as the very things that shaped us.

Because in the end, I decide what I do with my story.
And so do you.