Do You See Me Now?

PART ONEDeparture

1

How did I get here? Lately it seems my life is coming apart at the seams, in every possible sense of the word. My friends, the place I made my home, my work—they’re all unraveling simultaneously and without prewarning. One day I feel like my old self, and the next I’m wondering what on earth just happened to make me feel so disoriented.

What is the right direction? Because I’m afraid to take a wrong turn again. I have to go back to understand how I ended up here. I must retrace my steps before I can move forward…

Hanna finishes the entry on the smooth white paper of her new journal, so smooth it is cold to the touch. She re-reads the first few pages filled last weekend, noting that there’s still plenty of room to continue writing through the confusion. Closing it, she runs her hands over the dark blue, leathery outside and takes the journal and her thoughts along with her, down the dark hallway and into the bathroom. It’s still early, and Hanna feels deflated already. Her tired eyes scan the darkness of the chilly November morning through the bathroom window for any scrap of light, but it’s just as dark and rainy here in Germany as it would be back home in her little apartment in London.

November is such a depressing month, she thinks. Aren’t we all just trying to make it through it somehow? Maybe November isn’t so much a month as it is a state to be in or snap out of.

She puts the journal and her vanity bag on the sand-colored marble sink of the large, modern upstairs bathroom and starts doing her make-up, like she does every morning. Signature liquid eyeliner effortlessly drawn quickly with a pointy brush and elegant swing, perfected over at least half of what will soon be four decades, a lifetime of the same routine. And though she’s fully aware that her strive for outward perfection is just a coping mechanism, as her older sister Kristina would put it, she’s grown fond of her routine and the outward shell that makes her feel a little safer in this world. Did she ever not put on her make-up first thing in the morning? For as long as she could remember, she’d gotten up before everybody else, just to make sure she had time to put on a face before facing the world. When Kristina had asked her why, the answer came naturally.

People do judge a book by the cover, and in my experience, I’m used to being looked at but not being seen. I hate to be judged, so I give them as little a target as possible. For the longest time, she’d had no notion of where this need to fly under the radar came from, but last weekend helped her remember.

The house is still dark and all quiet. Not her house, she’s staying at Kristina’s mansion, with its spacious garden and long pool, the only pool in the neighborhood. Hanna’s come for just a few nights, together with the rest of the family, to celebrate Kristina’s forty-second birthday, which is today, making it even more imperative to get up before everybody else and be ready in time. Missing the chance to use the free bathroom, then having to go down to breakfast all disheveled, would never be an acceptable option for her.

Last night, when the two sisters had returned from the retreat that had been Hanna’s early birthday gift to Kristina, they sat in the car and promised each other to keep up the energy of the weekend. And yet, standing here alone in the bathroom, Hanna’s already fast-forwarding to the many potential conflicts of the day ahead. The prospect of the family getting together, of having to deal with her dad’s comments and judgement. It feels too disheartening so early in the day. It’s another of the family celebrations Hanna usually dreads beforehand, hardly enjoys whilst there, and chews on for weeks afterwards. But she came here nonetheless, flying in from London to good old Germany, for Kristina’s sake.

Good thing I made the retreat an early birthday gift for Kristina. At least that way, nobody can spoil it for us. Well, let’s call a spade a spade: Dad can’t spoil it for us. This time, for once, his opinion will be entirely irrelevant. Only what we think of this special experience counts. Come to think of it, we don’t even have to tell him about it.

Happy with this insight, Hanna smiles to herself, then remembers how hard it is to drown out her dad at times and separate his opinions from her own. Until this past weekend, she’d never realized just how strong a voice he had and how much space it had occupied in her head all these years. She sits down on the rim of the bathtub, opens her journal again, and notes:

If today goes like our usual family get-togethers, I will first get upset with Dad for being the way he always is, and then with myself for hoping it could be different. For the fact that I still care, get frustrated, and haven’t moved on or cut the cord that keeps me trapped in the past. But I want today to be different. If I can manage to keep my cool, that would mark progress. I’m not hoping for a major breakthrough, but getting through the day emotionally intact will be a success. There’s not much to be said, no need to put up a fight. Baby steps…

Despite Dad being so distant on all counts, despite me having moved so far away, he remains a constant presence. And, at the same time, I only now realize how much I’ve missed my own voice, how rarely I was able to hear it let alone use it to speak my own truth. What IS my truth?

I’m increasingly unsure that the things I thought I wanted are still right for me. In turn, I’m much surer that I need to find myself again before I can move on, and I think these past days with Kristina helped. But I have to go back to the beginning and retrace my steps to make sense of it. Retrace, but not get stuck in the past. Retrace AND move forward.

Sounds exactly like something that could get me lost again. But no, I’m clearer now in my mind and heart. This past weekend really helped sort things out. And now, whatever started to shift within me is still working its magic somewhere beneath the surface. Like troops on a battlefield regrouping before their next move, like currents moving in the dark, silently in some remote, hidden corner of my mind. I hope they’ll surface in time.

Hanna’s birthday gift idea was to give her busy older sister a nice time out. But before booking anything, she’d wanted to make absolutely sure it would be the right thing, a worthwhile weekend together before returning Kristina to the usual craziness of her life. Hanna knew Kristina needed a break, but then again, so did she. With that objective in mind, Hanna had called Jonas, their younger brother and the most likely to have a good idea when it came to investing time in personal development.

For years, Jonas had lived with a large group of friends, like a true hippie commune (in Hanna’s view) or a sect (as her dad had put it). Their old, art nouveau building was in a nice yet run-down part of Hamburg filled with shabby-chic buildings with crumbling façades and hallways with layers of wallpaper glued on top of each other. Hanna had secretly admired this group of vastly interesting people for their sworn friendship, unconventional lifestyle, and willingness to share multiple apartments as if they collectively made up one big house.

What Hanna loved most about this lively pandemonium was the feeling that, at Jonas’ place, life doesn’t feel quite as heavy; and yet she couldn’t help but feel a bit inadequate and conventional in the face of this condensed microcosm of diversity. Feeling herself to be quite boring, she wondered if she might be missing out on something. Nothing about her life seemed interesting enough to keep up with this crowd.

Dialing Jonas’ number, she felt bad about not having called sooner, not to mention how long it had been since she last visited. But she knew Jonas had a busy life and wasn’t waiting around for anyone. Perched on the living room windowsill, the cold London rain outside pounded against the windows as they videochatted. Across the hazy street, she could see Frida’s café, cozy and lit, only a few customers sitting inside, warming their hands on their coffee and teacups. Almost closing time.

Jonas’s suggestion of a Hero’s Journey retreat immediately caught her attention. Though unsure what that might be, she felt like both she and her sister needed a hero. In fact, they were both at an age when it made sense to learn how to be their own hero.

Where is this retreat, Jonas? It can’t be too far, or we won’t manage in the short time we have.

The venue is a small town close to Hamburg, rather remote, but the drive is worth it. It’s manageable, I would say. Jonas pulled his broad, colorful scarf a little closer around his neck. He was in Hamburg, walking home through a park, and the cold wind was blowing leaves across a dark open patch framed by majestic trees. One could only see their beautiful October orange and red when he passed under the streetlamps illuminating their branches. Hanna was happy to be indoors with her large chai latte, picked up at Frida’s just before calling him. Always better to be looking out at rainy London with something to warm you up than walking the cold streets outside.

Will you come? Hanna had asked Jonas, hopeful to kill two birds with one stone by reuniting the three siblings outside of a family celebration.

No, I already made plans that weekend. And I did my Hero’s Journey last year, in that same location and with the same guide. It was a great experience. You won’t regret it. As a psychologist, Kristina will love this self-discovery journey, I promise! It will be enlightening, ok? It’s exactly right for the two of you.

Though she wondered why he was so sure they both needed enlightenment, she trusted him and the conviction in his voice.

It’s the first time Kristina and I will do something like this together. I can’t even remember the last time we spent time just the two of us. Pity you can’t come! I’m not sure what to expect. What did you like so much about the retreat?

Well, for one, it was great to get some clarity, like someone helping you sort through your stuff. I like having people help me sort my stuff. Jonas smiled his infectious smile, always so beautiful, even when she could only see it on the display of her phone. Sorting stuff isn’t my forte.

We can testify to that, she smiled back at him. In her mind she went through piles of situations her chaotic little brother had needed help getting out of. From a messy room to trouble at school, she and Kristina, the self-anointed sisterhood, had intervened on his behalf many times (and certainly without their parents knowing about it).

You’re right. I owe you! he beamed at her cheekily. If anything, you taught me when to ask for help. You’ll see, this weekend will teach you a ton! Do you feel like you have anything to sort?

She certainly did, but she wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. She would have loved to sit down with Jonas in person, bathe in his contagious smile and talk about her inner turmoil. But it felt exhausting to explain over videochat, and she hadn’t quite processed all the recent events herself, so she kept it vague.

We all have stuff to sort, right? Can you explain a bit more about what we should expect?

Sure. For me, the retreat helped in all sorts of unexpected ways. I was there last year with a few of my friends, and we all felt we made major progress on whatever was eating us. I mean, not sure what’s going on for you and Kristina, but let’s imagine you are wondering about your next challenge, what to do in your relationships, your job, or your spiritual journey…

Hanna was about to comment that it wasn’t exactly a spiritual journey she was on, but she stayed quiet, noticing that ever-growing feeling rising again—the feeling of being stuck in her patterns, turning things over and over in her head, and waking up to the same predicaments every morning, the ones she so badly wanted to resolve. She desperately wanted to move on but didn’t know how.

I’m not sure I need a next challenge. Maybe I’m challenged as it stands, she said, laughing away the idea. Most of the time, I feel like I’m a challenge to myself.

Aren’t we all, Jonas shrugged. My point is, the retreat will help you get clearer on what you really want.

Hanna thought about it, without answering.

What I really want is to feel less lonely. Does that mean I want a relationship? I guess that’s the most obvious answer, but maybe it’s not the right one?

Though Hanna had initially thought a retreat would be mostly for Kristina’s sake, the thought took hold that it might also be a bit for her. And the more she thought about it, the more she wanted more than just time with Kristina. She wanted clarity for herself, and for that she needed time to focus on herself, to unearth the things that were burdening her, that had been lingering in the shadows for too long and were calling for resolution more loudly than before.

When was before? Kristina is turning forty-two and I will be forty soon. What’s taken me so long?

Let’s take the example of relationships, Jonas offered, breaking the silence. Let’s say there’s this woman and she’s caught in her old patterns and just cannot make it work with any guy.

Why would you pick that example?

Random example; nothing to do with you at all, Jonas winked at her.

Says the eternal bachelor.

So anyway, she cannot make it work with a guy because of her anxiety, her need for control, her lack of trust…

Ouch!

And she knows it all, has worked on it, yet Mr. Right keeps escaping her. Maybe it’s her pattern of picking the most unavailable guy to start with. That’s always a great way of making sure there’s no chance things could possibly work out somewhere down the road, right?

What’s your point, exactly? Are you still talking about the retreat?

Yes, we had such a case in the group and the lady worked through it and recognized that her preference for the most unattainable men was in fact just another protection mechanism.

I know that already.

Great, then you also know that you need to partner with yourself before you can be a partner to others. So go and do the retreat. You can work on where to go from here and how to move forward without falling into the same traps all over again.

That does sound like a good topic for a retreat, Hanna conceded. What did it help you with overall?

"To see my path more clearly. And by my path, I mean my path, not what I’m expected to do or what makes most sense to others. It made clearer what is most authentically me, not someone else’s idea of me."

I’m really happy for you. It also sounds like work— on oneself, I mean. Are you sure it’s the right thing for Kristina? I don’t want to stress her out with this gift. Stress is the last thing she needs.

Well, don’t make it sound like work then. It’s intense, in a good way, and it’s so worth doing. You can just call it a ‘time out’. I’m sure if you gift her anything that reads ‘time out,’ she’ll jump with joy. And if it’s a present, she can’t refuse it. It’ll be good for both of you, my busy big-sister bees.

Well, how bad can it be? If the weekend turns out to be horrible, we’ll skip the whole Hero’s Journey piece, go straight to the nearest spa, and send the bill to you.

Not sure I can pay, he said with a laugh. But as long as you’re together, I’m sure you’ll find something nice to do.

After the call, Hanna had felt surer and secretly checked with Kristina’s husband, Martin, to make him part of the plan and ensure he’d be available to stay with the kids for that weekend. Once he’d checked Kristina’s agenda and confirmed she had no other commitments, Hanna excitedly booked the trip. Her belly tingled, not only because she’d found a great gift but also because she was excited to spend time with Kristina - and on herself. But then, a tiny doubt crossed her mind:

Should I go by myself? Then again, considering I don’t feel like a hero just yet, it’s much less daunting to go as a duo. After all, heroes need a good travel companion, right? And what better ally than my older sister?

It was a comforting thought—that it would be just the two of them again, like it used to be when they were small. Her heart hurt a bit as she thought back to how close they’d been as children and how much it had meant for her, as a small girl, that there was one person who made her feel less alone. All those moments she and Kristina shared in their bunk bed together when, after a particularly bad scolding or spanking with their dad’s slipper, they’d share their secret moments of conspiracy and closeness, crawling into bed together and crying or, sometimes, suppressing a hysteric giggle when Dad had cursed in a way that seemed too funny, and laughter was the only available consolation.

Stop laughing or he’s coming back in, and we’ll get some more!

I can’t. My belly hurts, but I can’t.

Then they’d wonder why they mattered so little to their parents and make plans to run away from home.

They’ll be so sorry when we’re gone; they’ll regret yelling at us and spanking us.

Yeah, Mom will be sad, I think. And they’ll have to explain to the school why we’re not coming anymore. Then they’ll be in trouble and even more sorry.

And just imagine something happens to us. Then they’ll always be sorry. But then it’ll be too late! They’ll never get us back.

Gloating over how sorry their parents would be, they’d eventually fall asleep and the next day, they’d start preparing for their escape. Step one involved a semi-successful attempt to fix an old handcart in the backyard. Step two (and their downfall, naïve as they were) was telling their closest friends about their plans.

If your parents are also mean to you, you can come with us. We’ll take the cart and move to our cave in the woods. But you must bring your own food! they’d tell their friends.

One of them must have told their parents, and that was the end of their escape plan. After all, there were watchful eyes and sharpened ears all around them. Their parents were informed that very day, surely with a reprimand to keep their children in check and further admonition that they had to watch it anyhow, given the circumstances. As a result, Hanna and Kristina got one of the more memorable lectures (and spankings) of their childhood. Hanna was especially impressed by her mother’s distressed face and the urgency in her voice.

Can you imagine how bad this looks to other people, you two going around saying your parents mistreat you and you want to run away? Do you have any idea what they do with children who are so bad? They take them away from their families, for good! You can never do such a thing! You can never talk to anyone about what happens at home, do you hear me? Never! To no one!

Dad’s looming presence in the corner of the room had made her speech all the more threatening, but he’d stayed silent, as he did most of the time. He’d always been the more dominant figure, even—and especially—in his silence. Only in hindsight, many years later, Hanna would wonder if he secretly empathized with their impulse to run away. That night, Hanna whispered to Kristina under the sheets, I think Dad actually doesn’t like children. Do you think Mom wanted us?

Retrace and move forward. Don’t get stuck on a pile of broken glass. It’s time to move on. I can do this.

2

To meet with Kristina, Hanna had flown to Hamburg, where Kristina picked her up. From there, they’d drive to the retreat. Hanna still loved Northern Germany, especially the eastern coast up at the Baltic Sea, her childhood home. But neither Hanna nor her siblings ever wanted to move back to the little town near the coast in Eastern Germany where they’d grown up. They had all moved away so long ago. By leaving Germany, Hanna had not only put distance between herself and that small town but also between her and the country itself. Now, it was little more than the place where she’d been born; she refused to identify with it beyond that. As soon as she’d finished school, she left, not able to wait a single day longer.

The only things she missed were the Baltic Sea, the wide landscape of yellow fields, the endless light blue sky, and the summer breeze that carried with it the stunning smell of endless rapeseed fields and the dog roses in full bloom lining the coastline. Whenever she landed at Hamburg airport, it was this scent, carried by the wind, that made her feel strangely welcome and nostalgic. That and driving to the beach to hear the sound of the cold, salty water eternally crashing on the shore, the sight of the dark jade-colored waves, changing to green fluorite and citrine as they washed onto the beach, their foamy crests breaking, sliding, the whooshing noise of the sand and shells as the water pushed up the white-sand shore, clattering and sizzling as it retreated. No gemstone could be as valuable to her as the memory of sitting at her favorite place, the beach, her body and mind calmed like nowhere else.

As a teenager, she’d go there whenever she felt overwhelmed or sad, taking the bus or, if needed, the bike, just to get away and hide, to be still, to feel in awe of the beauty and the might of the vast body of water that made any of her troubles seem soothingly small. It was the sea, and only the sea, that made her feel safely held in its floating arms. Every time, after only a few minutes, her breathing would slow, the tightness in her chest would lift, and any sense of loneliness seeped into the sand beneath her hands. This very sand, sometimes heated from the sun, sometimes cold to the touch after the sun had taken its leave, had patiently absorbed her tears and fears, reliably leaving her with a calm and distinct feeling that she’d be ok in the end. As long as those big waves kept coming, unstoppable and ever-returning, life would go on, and she’d continue to be merely a small fish that had been washed ashore. The next wave would surely grab her and pull her back into the water where she could struggle on.

Some days, when she felt she couldn’t breathe, she just took off her clothes, irrespective of the temperature and whether she’d brought her swimsuit. Though the water was never warm, if not decidedly cold, she would run right into the waves, defying her instinct to keep warm on land as she dove through their crests, the shock of the cold resetting her system and forcing her right back to the here and now. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. Nothing else mattered.

The Baltic Sea was her reset button, the friend who was always there as her safe haven. But that hadn’t been enough to make her want to stay. Nor had it been enough for her dad. Looking out at the open water on one of her visits years after she’d moved to London, she realized for the first time how crazy it was for anyone to attempt to flee Eastern Germany via this dangerous sea-route. How bad did things have to be for someone to leave their family, venture out on these rough, chilling waves, and risk their life swimming, diving, paddling, surfing, sailing, or canoeing, hoping to one way or another make it across to the island of Fehmarn in Western Germany or over to Gedser, the nearest point in Denmark? Estimating that it must be at least twenty-five kilometers to the nearest coast, she could only imagine the insanity of venturing out and wondered how many had died trying to flee this way. She imagined there were no official statistics, at least none anyone back then would’ve had any interest in publishing. Just like all those souls did, just like her dad did, she had made her own escape when she got the chance. The past was such a heavy burden, and so much heavier anytime she returned.

As soon as she had graduated from school, she moved to London, England. Nothing was going to keep her in Germany. After months of preparation, she took the first plane to Heathrow airport, where she knew her friend Cathy was waiting for her. The two had met in eleventh grade when Hanna spent a few months as an exchange student in Reading, a city built alongside the rivers Thames and Kennet, about forty miles west of London. This exchange gave her the first ever sweet taste of unknown freedom, and after this temporary escape, she was set on tasting it again.

After their time in England, Cathy had come to live with Hanna’s family in Germany for a few months in return. Though they were quite different in character, the two had formed an immediate bond and vowed to stay in touch after the program ended to jointly realize their dream of moving to a big city. And what better city than London? Between her stay in England and her graduation, Hanna couldn’t visit Cathy again, but they called and wrote emails to plan the details of their escape to London together. They had both applied to different London universities, Hanna without telling anyone back home that she was going to sign up for interior design there. Luckily, they were both accepted.

When the time came, Cathy found a small apartment for them in the East London quarter, Hackney Wick.

It’s right above a former shop that the new owner turned into an artist studio, Cathy had told Hanna excitedly over the phone. We have to take the stairs on the side of the building to get to our place. It’s not a big apartment, but it has three big windows overlooking the street, with a café and a bakery right across the street.

How’s the rent? Can we pull it off? Hanna asked, mildly concerned.

Well, it’s not nothing, but for London it’s cheap because the area is quite industrial.

The term industrial had reminded Hanna of the dreary, grey Eastern German factories, smoking chimneys, and laundry that turned dirty when hung outside. Her childhood home hadn’t been close to any factories; in fact, it hadn’t been close to anything at all. But the memory of driving through cities like Bitterfeld on a class-trip, an area well-known for its chemical industry and pollution, had made an impression on her, forever tainting the world industrial.

Cathy had been very convincing in reframing the apartment as edgy, the commute to their university as worth it, considering the cheap rent and had pointed out the potential and buzz of the quarter, with its murals and graffiti everywhere. Adding to that buzz were the houseboats and barges in the canals that Hanna hadn’t known existed in London.

If we want small town life, we can stay at home, right?

Cathy was right. Hackney Wick felt and smelled of freedom. And freedom was the one thing Hanna had been longing for. Little did Cathy know that the 2012 Olympics would give a major boost to the quarter, but she made sure to later claim to be the truffle pig that dug out this treasure way before it was hip and cool to live there. She’d also say she always knew it was the right thing for Hanna to hold on to this apartment, despite what others said.

Regardless of everything Hackney Wick had to offer, Hanna soon had to realize that moving countries, especially to London, meant that she had to work hard to make ends meet. Many of her earliest jobs were waitressing in the neighborhood breweries and cafés. Her shoestring budget, at least at the start, required her to work long hours and left little time and money for going out.

Once they’d settled into their new home, Hanna made it a habit to take long morning runs along the canals. It wasn’t easy to defy the London weather, nor not to give into the temptation of stopping at one of the cozy coffee and breakfast places to get out of the rain. As the area evolved over the years, more and more restaurants and cafés opened, many with an urban chic, loft style, with colorful furniture made of old palettes or salvaged wood, all shapes of lights, and plant-adorned walls