// Behind the scenes. A photo and the story behind it!

Even as a little girl, I dreamed of having a family of my own. I did not want to become a veterinarian or a ballerina. I wanted to become an ADULT, in capital letters. I longed for the warmth and safety of a home. Perhaps because my parents’ relationship was not exactly harmonious. My mother married young and, at twenty, after a full day of labour, successfully gave birth to me. I still feel that struggle echoed in my life.

If someone asked me when I truly changed overnight, I would name two days that brought enormous shifts into my life. For a woman, I think there is hardly anything more important than the birth of her children — and I experienced that four times. Holding them in my arms was extraordinary, and I am sure they changed me deeply too. But the greatest transformations in my life did not begin with their births. One of them came when, after many years, I saw a childhood friend again

“Kati grew into a beautiful young woman. Her girlish appearance made many hearts beat faster. Even so, she often felt alone. At those times, there was nothing she wanted more than a kind word and a warm embrace — and while there were always plenty of volunteers for the warm embrace, sincere kindness was much harder to find. She increasingly felt that in this strange world, the needs of the soul mattered less and less, while satisfying physical desire seemed to triumph over e

Panna is not my real name, but the person she represents belongs to me. She is a part of me — a part with whom I became whole. But let’s start at the very beginning, because perhaps that is the best way to understand who I am. My mother loved me with all her heart throughout her life. As she used to say, she loved me long before I was even conceived. She longed for me and wanted me to be hers.

The emphasis is on the first word. Hopefully the other two describe only a passing condition — even if it has already lasted for years. I want to believe again that the first breeze of spring will finally blow those two words out of my life. There are still countless questions inside me. I have turned each one over six hundred times and still think about them differently depending on where I happen to be on the emotional roller coaster that comes with this situation.

I have reached a stage in my life where I can recognise the people who are unable to accept others, unable to give love, who create stress, bring destructive energy and tear down rather than build. For me, living consciously means loving and accepting myself, while recognising the people who are willing to learn the same. I share what I know with them, we rise together, and that is what success means to me.

We have already read a story on this blog about a woman whose world collapsed beneath her feet and who is now using every ounce of strength to climb out of the hole without giving up. Something similar happened to me, and I would like to share my story. I was twenty-one when I met my former fiancé. It was a great love, and he still sometimes appears in my dreams even though we have been apart for six years.

You just walked out of my home… and I locked the security gate behind you. You're still smiling as you say goodbye. I know you were glad to see me. We talked well, and I could feel how much you had been looking forward to telling me things. You found it hard to leave. I gave back the laptop you had lent me — together with the memories stored on it from your past with your ex-wife and the memories of us.

Why don't we teach little girls how valuable they are? It took me more than thirty years to begin daring to be myself. I was always afraid of my father. That fear was carved into my small heart a very long time ago, when I was still a little girl. He never loved my mother. He kept returning only because he wanted to use her.

Week after week passes, and one feeling becomes increasingly clear inside me: I need to let go of certain people. People with whom there is no longer anything real to talk about. People with whom warm conversations have turned into awkward silence. People toward whom I keep opening, while they remain closed. And people I cannot even open toward because the word TABOO already seems stamped across their foreheads.

My partner said: “I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. I wish you could see how beautiful you are.” I never really understood what he meant — until one day I received a photo shoot as a gift. We arranged a phone consultation by email. As soon as Norbi and I began talking, something inside me reacted. I could feel an enormous wall around my soul — and suddenly I had been given a chance to see that wall and begin tearing it down.