I’m in a period of change and transition, as I enter my 29th year. A friend pointed out recently that, in the three years he’s known me, I’ve been the person with the most dramatic life changes that he’s known. Reflecting on those three years, I can see where he’s coming from.

Even comparing my current situation to one year ago – massive change. Different focus in life, different location of (non-)residence, different people surrounding me every day, different people I interact with regularly (okay, some have stayed the same), different internal struggles. I can, with some confidence, proclaim: I am different. Of course, many things in and of me have stayed the same, and I’m grateful for those.

There is some heartache, looking back to the me alive one year ago. I’ve learnt some lessons, most of them the hard way. Some with joy, others with grief. In fact, writing these words I find myself mourning many things. Things that want their time and space to be felt – to truly be integrated into my being. As I ease into it, and feel past the initial sorrow, a yearning to celebrate emerges.

We don’t have much time left, I think. Collapse is likely on its way, and the time that we have had and still have is a reason to celebrate, in my book. As subjectively crappy as the majority of my time on this planet has been, I made it to this point. I’m still alive, 29 years later. That’s a lot more time than a lot of people have had. And while transitioning is not known for being super comfortable, I have an inkling that although there will be plenty to grieve for the coming year (something about catastrophic climate change, to name but one), there will also be many reasons and occasions to celebrate and rejoice.

I mean, did I, a year ago, suspect I’d be body boarding in the freezing Atlantic with someone I had just met and someone I hadn’t met yet, in Cornwall, of all places? Hell no. There are countless people in my life that I am thankful for. I have more insight into myself, others and the world in general than I’ve ever had. The amazing experiences keep coming and life just keeps flowing…

And so, I wish to start this new chapter in my life, which is slowly forming and conveniently colliding with my birthday, holding both the pain and mourning of the times that have passed and the times that will come, as well as the joy, the richness of experience, of life in all its wonder and beauty. I invite you to join me in this. I will be spending today reflecting on what has passed, to be stronger going forwards.

In reverence…

Rationally, I knew we were heading for disaster. Then I watched Jem Bendell’s Deep Adaptation talk, and the actual urgency and severity of the situation sank in. It sank in in a way that I’ve felt it in my body, in a way that’s opened some pathway to all the grief I didn’t even realise I had. Grief that sometimes simmers, and sometimes erupts.

It hit me hard, in at first - with a blanket of despair thrown over my everyday life. What’s the point of living if we’re heading for disaster? What’s the point of sticking around that long? Maybe, I thought, another few years of living ‘the life’ (whatever that would mean), and then bowing out before things get really bad - that could be a way of dealing with this.

A part of me was unable to accept that course of action, though. As has been the case before, I needed to have some kind of meaning to my existence. Simply enjoying the last few years of normalcy was not going to cut it. I struggled with this until less than two weeks ago, when I finally encountered people who shared my experience. Who supported me in getting past this initial block, this hang-up. I realised that I can still affect the situation. I can still contribute to change. And maybe, just maybe, things will be less terrible because of it - for me, or for whoever ends up surviving this mass extinction. Since then, a couple of things have slowly been becoming clearer for me. Paths forward, and the realisation of how much community and companionship I need to not go insane with this. My next words stem from that place. They've been cathartic for me to write. They're basically what I want to shout at pretty much everyone I meet, but I don’t, because that wouldn’t go down so well (I assume). I guess in writing it down I’m giving you a choice to read my words, making it a tiny bit more consensual. So, here goes:

First and foremost, I need you to wake the fuck up. Yes, you. I know it’s uncomfortable. I know it’s really, really, really uncomfortable. But I need you (yes, you!) to feel the situation we’re in. The house is on fire. Fuck! Engage with whatever you need to engage with to have this be part of your reality.

Secondly, I need you to engage with your emotions – despair, grief, anger, sadness, pain – whatever it is. Finding your own relationship with your grief (and everything else) can be challenging. Thankfully there’s support. I’m including a list of resources at the bottom of this post.

Thirdly, I need you to act. To re-evaluate everything you know, knowing that life as you know it will be over in the near future. Personally, I’m calculating with 5 years. I’ve heard that if the next two summers are like last summer in terms of drought and crop failure, we’ll have food shortages in Europe before that time. Is what you’re doing now useful in this scenario? What are you doing to mitigate the effects of climate change? What are you doing that’s contributing to it? Take a good hard look at yourself. How can you support those that are actively breaking out of their ‘normal’ lives to engage with this topic? Those we are walking the uncomfortable path? There are lots of ways – emotional support, financial support, resource support (places to sleep, places to gather, food, etc.), companionship – and undoubtedly many more. Hell, maybe break out of your ‘normal’ life yourself?

Fourthly, I need you to be inspired. Engaging with grief can lead us to very inspiring places. What world do you want to live in, all things considered? What needs to happen to create that world? How are you going to contribute to it being created? What’s your next step?

What I yearn for most is companionship in this issue. If any of this resonates with you, please let me know. I am desperate for people who share my reality – who feel my reality. I want to connect with you, to support each other, to share our grief and to maybe create something amazing together – so fifthly, I need us to band together.

Deep breath.

I’ve been in the climate movement for years now. And yes, there have been victories. Headway has been made. But it’s too little, too late, I think. I’m not saying we should give up – hell no. It’s more important than ever that we try to mitigate as much as we can, to keep the heat down, to prevent the absolute worst.

But we also need to prepare. Prepare for a warmer world. A world which is different from the one we know currently. One with food shortages, with mass migration, with extreme weather events becoming more and more common… We need to mourn, to grieve, to feel the despair. I sincerely believe that it’s a fundamental part of coming to terms with the crisis we are in.

And If it’s not true? If I’m way off about the extent of the crisis? What if it’s all not that bad? Implementing the changes that I think are needed are not going to make the world a ‘worse’ place. I’d still advocate for them even without the urgency of the crisis. The only thing that’s changed is that I can’t bear to wait around for things to happen in 5… 10 years. We must act today.

I have an idea of what this life amidst the climate crisis might look like, so that it’s not utterly terrible – and how we might get there. More on that at another point in time.

If you need support with any of the things that have come up for you while reading this, there are some things you can do:

• For grief: check out https://www.goodgriefnetwork.org/10-steps/
• For grief, companionship and getting shit done: Extinction Rebellion is more than just a protest movement. They practise what they call regenerative culture. Amongst many other things, they create spaces to engage with emotions. See if there’s something for you, near you.
• If it’s about finding out how you can support others and yourself, how you can re-evaluate things, how you can contribute, what your purpose is now –  feel free to contact me.
  

My financial situation has been precarious… since somewhere in 2015, when my last semi-stable contract ended. More so the last 3 years, when the unemployment money I had ran out, and I made decisions that led to more freedom and autonomy for me, at the cost of financial stability. I decided against more unemployment benefits – which carry some – to me – crass rules that are not easily combined the way I’d like to live my life. I also decided against finding a company to hire me on a (semi-)permanent basis – this would, again, be difficult to combine with the way I’d like to live my life.

What is this way? I like having the freedom to choose what I do on a given day – to see which needs want to be met, and to then see how I want to meet them. A lot of the time this involves work in some form. Hah! There it is. The impulse to justify. “I do what I want to do and I really, really like working! Really, I’m not lazy, or wasting time. I’m a benefit to society!”

If I don’t work, then I am not useful. I am worthless. That’s the thought behind it all. And it’s bullshit. But I’ll get to that in a moment.

Let’s take a step back to understand this better. Once upon a time, someone, somewhere, decided: there’s not enough. There’s not enough for everyone. And so the rat-race began. We live in a Black-Friday-Sale world. Constantly scrambling to get enough – not just money. Love, intimacy, fun, connection, meaning, freedom, safety… everything we need. We learn from a young age that there’s not enough for us. That we need to do certain things to make it more likely that we get the thing we need. That it’s conditional.

With time, this grew into capitalism. It grew into belief systems that say that what you earn is an indication for how important your work is. That say that you need to work, otherwise you are not useful. That say that if you give someone something, they need to do something useful with it. That they need to give you something back.

With this in mind, I’m not at all surprised at the state of our world. We find it hard to trust. We feel shame when we ‘need’ something. Because that means we can’t take care of ourselves, right? That we can’t provide for ourselves? It’s so ingrained that we need to fight for ourselves, that we forget that asking for support is a way of taking care of ourselves. We’re social animals. We need others. The expectation that everyone should be able to manage to lead a perfectly happy life with no support from others is ridiculous. It’s unrealistic. It’s unnatural. And yet, we strive to fulfil it. With disastrous consequences.

Here’s what I think:
We all have our intrinsic worth. Every single person has their value. And sometimes, we don’t see it – in ourselves, or in others. But we’re all connected. One action from another – no matter how small – can spark something in someone. And it doesn’t need to be something ‘positive’, like smiling at a stranger, as propagated on the internet. Just be you. With everything that’s there. That is enough. You are enough.

Unlearning all of this is really fucking hard. But it’s happening. In the people around me, in myself, in others I don’t know. It gives me hope. And it gives me courage to continue on my financially precarious path, trusting that somehow, I will be held. That I’m not alone. That this isn’t just my problem, my challenge, my thing to solve. We’re all in this together.

Two nights ago, it finally started to sink in. When I was 19 years old, I was raped. As I type these words, I notice thoughts trying to make me soften the wording. I will give those room in a bit.
This rabbit hole started with a BuzzFeed quiz to test your privilege. A friend brought it to my attention. There’s quite a bit I’d like to say, prompted by that quiz, but I will stick with one topic today. One of the questions asked whether you’d been raped. And here, I hesitated.

Flashback to my 19-year-old self. On what would turn out to be the first and only hookup of my life to date, I was out and about with friends. We’d met another group of party-goers on public transport and we’d hit it off, roaming the streets and clubs together. Amongst the other group, there was a guy. Long story short, we ended up making out that night, and, when faced with the decision of whether to join my friends on the first train home, or whether to stay, I decided to stay.

I don’t remember much of what happened on the way back to his place, or what we did there before the incident. Knowing myself, I can guess that I would’ve been tired, excited, nervous, and happy. Probably in the process of falling head over heels for this guy.

What I do remember, is him asking me to have sex with him. I remember saying no. I remember him saying please. I remember saying no. I remember him saying please again. I remember saying no. I remember him saying please, again. I remember saying okay.

A quick penetration later, and that was that.

No big deal, right? I had agreed, and I guess that meant I wanted it, on some level. I certainly wanted it the next time the opportunity presented itself.
I continued to see the guy for a few weeks, until he broke it off. He was 26.

The memory has always stuck out, but it wasn’t until recent years that I started to re-examine it.

I did not consent. My okay was given under pressure. I don’t think I saw an alternative. That alone is enough for me to cautiously, hesitantly, use the word rape.
I don’t feel comfortable using it. There are so many critical voices in my head when I do. “You’re making a big deal out of nothing, blowing it out of proportion”, “It’s such a big word to describe such an aweful thing, do you really think you’re on par with that?”, “Rape involves violence and intention to hurt. This was not that. Stop being such a drama queen. Stop being such a baby.”, “It can’t have been that bad, you stuck around, after all”.

The majority of me recognizes that these voices are reflections of things I’ve been taught about the concept of rape. Something that, as has become more and more obvious in recent times, our society thus far has been somewhat misguided on – and in large parts still is.

Which brings me to the subject of patriarchy – our history of separation, if you will. From each other, and from ourselves.

Because beneath all of the sadness, the fear, the vulnerability I feel about this matter, this situation -  there’s a much, much deeper pit of sadness that this is… so normal. I think that’s one of the main reasons why it’s so hard for me to label what happened as rape – because that resets the baseline and suddenly so, so many women would have been. The idea that every single day, women are confronted with behaviour that objectifies them. That every single day, women find themselves in situations they did not consent to. That every single day, the message is hammered home that our value is dependent on what the men in our lives think us worth. And that sex, is, somehow, part of that package. Something we owe. Something we must provide to prove our worth.

This might seem like a mighty tangent to you, reader, but this is a thought pattern I have identified in myself and in some women I know. So yes, perhaps the way it is phrased is a generalisation, and I, of course, cannot speak for everyone. Right now, I speak for those that I know of, with the assumption that we are not the only ones.

But there’s two sides to this. It’s not only women who learn their place. Men learn their place too, and how women should fit into that.

I hold no anger towards the guy. I’m certain he did what he thought was okay – what he had been taught was okay. And that’s where I start to get angry. Angry, and frustrated, and a bit hopeless.

How can we change the way we learn to be male and female? How can we change the roles, the behaviours, the patterns that are thought acceptable of the genders in our society?
And yes, of course, we are so much more than just our gender. Just because you’re a man doesn’t mean you’re assertive. Just because you’re a woman doesn’t mean you’re in touch with your emotions. Our lives shape us to be individuals. However, one thing that is part of our lives are the gender roles society inflicts upon us - that we inflict upon each other. For it’s easy to blame ‘society’, but what is society if not us?

But I digress. My point is gender roles do influence us. How that manifests is another matter.
A friend told me, after sharing some of this, that we wishes he could protect me. I realised very strongly in that moment that I don’t want to have to need protection. I want to live in a safe world. A world where people are aware of the concept of consent and what to do with it. Where we consciously try to break through the gender concepts that live in us. Where we genuinely want the best for everyone, not just ourselves.

I don’t have an instruction manual for this. I’m very sure there are good resources online. I’m also very sure that talking about this helps. Hence this post.

Das Leben ist voller Geschichten. Jeder Tag ist eine, jeder Lebensabschnitt, und ja, das eigene Leben als ganzes auch. Da ist es manchmal schwer zu wissen, wo man anfangen soll mit dem erzählen. Für die Geschichte, die ich erzählen möchte, fange ich im Jahr 2017 an. Das Jahr, wo ich mir die Sinn-Frage stellte, und keine Antwort fand. Das Jahr, wo ich mich selber wirklich, ehrlich kennenlernte. Das Jahr, wo ich mich bewusst auf meinen Weg machte.

An meine Jugend erinnere ich mich schwammhaft. Einige Momente, Menschen, Situationen. Vor allem erinnere ich mich daran, dass ich nicht bewusst gelebt habe. Ein Tag wurde zum nächsten und so floss das Leben daher. Mit der Zeit, fragte ich mich immer wieder: Warum? Was mache ich hier, auf dieser Welt, auf diesem Planeten? Warum existiere ich? Und dann fing ich an, Gründe zu sammeln, Missionen auszuformulieren. Ich dachte, dass wenn ich einen Satz habe, der genau den Kern erfasst, weswegen ich hier bin, dann… dann hätte mein Leben einen Sinn.

Und so schrieb ich meine Sätze, engagierte mich in verschiedensten Bereichen, und trug zu einer ‚besseren‘ Welt bei. Und doch nagte es in mir. Immer wieder kam die Frage auf: Warum bin ich hier? Und immer wieder fand ich eine Antwort. Aber es schien nicht auszureichen.
Anfang 2017 war es dann soweit. Ich musste einsehen, dass ich keine befriedigende Antwort hatte. Und ohne Antwort hatte mein Leben keinen Sinn. Uff.

Es war die schwerste, tiefgreifendste Depression, die ich in meinem Leben erfahren hatte. Ohne Sinn, sah ich keinen Grund mich dem Schmerz für diese Welt, den ich in mir trage, auszusetzen. Warum das Leid auf mich nehmen?

Ich habe oft von Menschen gehört: „ich könnte mir nicht das Leben nehmen, was ist mit all den anderen, die um mich trauern würden?“.
Es war mir egal. Ich war so taub, so hoffnungslos, dass ich nur dachte: „ach, die werden das irgendwann verarbeitet haben.“ Implizit: So wichtig bin ich doch nicht.

Wenn ich auf diese Zeit zurückblicke, spüre ich ein Kribbeln im ganzen Körper. Wenn ich gewusst hätte wie… ich erinnere mich an folgende Szene: Es war ein Mittwochmorgen. Mein Mitbewohner war auf der Arbeit, meine Mitbewohnerin war den ganzen Tag über unterwegs. Ich war allein. Ich war in der Küche, und habe mir für mein Frühstücksporridge einen Apfel kleingeschnitten. Mir wurde bewusst, dass ich ein scharfes Messer in der Hand halte. Ich sank zu Boden, Tränen fluteten aus meinen Augen. Ich dachte: Ich könnte mich jetzt in die Badewanne legen, meine Pulsadern aufschneiden, und es würde mich niemand finden bis es zu spät ist. Das wäre aber kein schöner Anblick für deine Mitbewohner. Vielleicht schreib ich einen Zettel, dass sie die Polizei rufen sollen, und nicht ins Bad gehen sollen…

Und dann der Gedanke: Ich hab‘ gleich meine erste Therapiesitzung. Vielleicht bringt das ja was. Wenn nicht, kann ich es danach immer noch tun.

Ich hatte nämlich das Glück, Florian und seine Mitbewohnerin Janne zu kennen. Janne begleitet u.a. Menschen, in schwierigen Lebenslagen. Ich hatte zuvor mit Florian gesprochen, der sanft aber bestimmt empfohlen hat, Janne zu kontaktieren. Die Geldfrage würden wir später klären. Also schreib ihr doch einfach.

Ich bin nach wie vor der Meinung, dass Florians Hinweis, und Janne mit ihrer unbeschreiblichen Gabe, genau das richtige zum richtigen Zeitpunkt zu sagen, mein Leben gerettet hat.
Ja… So wurde das gefühlte Ende zu einem Anfang. Der Anfang von meiner Fähigkeit, meine Emotionen und Bedürfnisse zu identifizieren und wertzuschätzen, und andere dabei zu unterstützen. Der Anfang von einem Weg der Selbsterkennung, der Heilung, und des Wandels. Der Anfang vom Rest meines Lebens. Wie das aussieht? Das ist eine andere Geschichte.

Aber zu guter Letzt die Frage: Was ist denn nun mein Sinn? Warum bin ich hier?
Ich bin hier, weil ich etwas beitrage. Mein Dasein allein trägt etwas bei – auch, wenn ich es manchmal nicht mitkriege. Wir sind alle verwoben - miteinander, und mit dem Leben. Wenn ich an einer Stelle des Netzes zum Glück beitrage, dann trägt es weiter. Diese Stelle kann auch ich selbst sein.

Und, was heißt das nun genau? Was ist meine Mission? Ich weiß es nicht. Aber ich weiß, wie es sich anfühlt, wenn ich in meiner Kraft bin. Wenn ich zum Leben beitrage. Wenn ich bewusst Entscheidungen treffe. Und solange ich diesem Gefühl folge, tu ich das wofür ich hier bin.