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

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.

My Olympus link: https://my.olympus-consumer.com/gallery/m/eu/155576?GalleryPostSort=PostDate&idx=47&aid=275922 My story began in New York in autumn 2017 at Adorama's major photography expo. It was the third year I had been lucky enough to attend this prestigious event and listen to presentations by some of the best photographers in the world. That year's expo revolved heavily around mirrorless cameras — a subject that still divides professional photographers today.

My ordeal began on 11 December 2016 with a major tragedy. My husband died, and my entire life changed. It felt exactly like having the ground pulled out from under my feet. The pain was impossible to describe. I was left alone with my 12-year-old son, Márk, who meant the world to me then and still does today.

It was a cold winter. There were barely any people on the streets. Honestly, I had no desire to leave my warm apartment and go to the meeting we had arranged. I had a bad feeling about it. I began inventing excuses for cancelling. Within seconds, my mind produced a whole catalogue of plausible reasons. Then I forced myself to go. I could not cancel. She had trusted me and chosen me.

My ordeal began on 11 December 2016 with the greatest tragedy of my life. My husband died, and everything changed. It felt as though the ground had been pulled out from beneath me. The pain was impossible to put into words. I was left alone with my 12-year-old son, Márk, who meant the world to me then and still does today.