From man to man E-Book

Alexander von Gruenau

• Herausgeber: tredition
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 339

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Understanding male menopause as a new beginning “Even the longest journey begins with the first step,” says Confucius. I, too, had to overcome myself to take this step and write this book. Male menopause? A taboo subject that I experienced first hand. What started out as a mild uneasiness became a relentless process that put my marriage, my career and my self-image to the test. Inexplicable fits of rage, sleepless nights, cheating and constant mood swings? I felt like I was on an unstoppable rollercoaster ride. Sound familiar? You're not alone! This book is more than just an account of my experiences – it's an honest look at the lows and the turning points in the life of a man who has grown not only through the menopause but also through himself. There are countless books and guides by women for women, but there is not a single book in the German-speaking world that supports us men in this phase of life. I break the silence and show that talking about it is not a sign of weakness. Rather, there is an unexpected strength in acceptance. I reveal my innermost thoughts, my failings, my successes and my failures. Starting with my childhood and continuing to the present day. You will learn how physical changes affect our self-image and why men often fall into the trap of affairs or unhealthy behavior patterns. And more importantly, I will show you ways to rediscover yourself and set new goals, whether in your relationship, your career or your inner self. This book will help you to reflect on yourself, to accept the changes and hopefully not to make the same mistakes as me. Yours sincerely, Alexander von Gruenau

Leseprobe

From man to man

The truth about men in midlife crisis

My guide with an unsparing look at a phase of life

Why am I writing this book?3

You are the sum of your past experiences6

The day that put my life on a completely wrong track15

Men and their fathers - The generational conflict25

Meep-Meep-Meep -the Roadrunner-31

Honey, I think I have a fever41

Beam me Back in 80s46

Be an Easy Rider for once50

Isabell - or why we idiots cheat57

The bomb bursts65

The Judgement Day - Karma strikes75

The causes of cheating: an analysis85

The male hunting instinct - instinct or excuse?87

Cheating - but the right way?89

Hair loss in men106

The new ideal image of the man109

Friends or mates from the perspective of an ego type112

The power of male hormones115

Decabolin and steroids: stay away from the devil's stuff119

Vitamins and nutrition - how to stay in balance122

Sport and exercise124

Dr Steiger is coming - luckgood128

Sleep disorders and regeneration 132

Snoring - when the nights become hell135

Sex and passion - now let's get down to business139

Menopause in women144

Accept growing old147

Me the "Lone Survivor"150

Class reunion after 30 years151

The spirituality of men - faith, search for meaning153

Does life have a meaning158

I will become the North Pole of my family161

The self-esteem of the man162

My bucket list - missed dreams, or not?165

With scratches through a difficult time172

My mate Tino - a few words from him175

Loneliness in old age 180

Drugs & Rock 'n' Roll - Never ever183

Love-Letter - the biggest fool of us190

New beginnings - the courage to change196

Mentor and role model199

Financial provision203

Mental reset - a fresh start during the menopause205

A few words at the end207

Why am I writing this book?

Confucius says: Even the longest journey begins with the first step. I had to get over myself to start this book. Firstly, because I didn't really feel like dealing with everything, and secondly, because I was afraid of the huge amount of work involved in this book. It was only at my wife's insistence that I was able to tackle this book and I hope it helps you.

It was a difficult journey and a gradual process that imperceptibly turns you into something else, and that is not necessarily a good thing. If you feel the way I describe in this book, behave the same way or learn from my mistakes and do better.

Losing everything just because of a few damn hormones isn't worth it. So, guys, read on and take care of yourselves. If you've bought this book or received it as a gift, you're or were probably just like me: midlife crisis or menopause. Even before we go to the urologist at the age of 50, we have already experienced a lot.

We freak out over every little thing, feel ill, think we have a fever because we feel like we're burning up, and then suddenly everything is fine again. We can no longer sleep, are constantly restless, have constant flashes of thoughts and can no longer find our balance. This rollercoaster ride is exhausting, gruelling and has also pushed me to my limits.

Life changes during these years. To give you an insight into a man's menopause and what I've been through, I'll tell you my story: my fear of death, manhood and the total loss of my marriage. I would never have thought that it would also affect us men.

There are many books about a woman's menopause, but no guides for us men. This topic is taboo for men and talking about it is frowned upon. It is not even discussed among good friends. The image of the constantly strong and controlled man falls apart when we openly admit that we are not invulnerable either. I want to put an end to this and show you what I have experienced and how you too can deal with this sensitive topic. You see, you're not alone. The menopause is a tough time full of changes. Repressing it under the motto "It doesn't happen to us men" is not a solution.

Today, I see the menopause in men with different eyes. Looking back, I ask myself what was wrong with me and why I didn't deal with the issue. It was pride, it was ignorance and perhaps also fear of the unknown. You have to take your time and not work against it, because in the end you can say that things can only get better. There is life after the menopause. Life goes on. For me, it was with a new love for my wife.

The menopause is a gradual process that I didn't notice. It started for me at 49, I became unbalanced, moody, quick-tempered and impulsive. Sexual aversion and loss of fitness were the result. I, who had always been sporty and looked after my body, suddenly saw my muscles give way and my energy dwindle. I would like to warn men who think they are too cool for these issues: this change catches up with everyone.

There were constant arguments and disputes with my customers. I was self-employed as a web designer and photographer for 30 years. Anyone who got on my nerves even a little bit felt my aggression. Disputes often culminated in pure hatred and ended up with a lawyer. I didn't want to be bullied, neither in my private life nor at work. A gentler way never occurred to me. The warrior in me drew a broadsword and, metaphorically speaking, hit others in the skull. My wife felt the full brunt of my aggression on those days and I took my anger out on her. In short, I was a complete arsehole.

I was no longer open to reasonable arguments, even though my wife often only wanted to help me and protect me with her loving nature. If I had heeded her advice, I would have been spared money for lawyers and courts, as well as angry customers and friends. But the bastard was the greatest and everyone else was just maggots. But I didn't reflect on all that.

Whinging is for sissies, I told myself. Negative thoughts were catching up with me more and more often. Even things from my school days and youth came to the surface, people who had annoyed me or treated me unfairly. I hated them all. Depression, lack of sleep and anger plagued me. The next moment I was in a great mood again. A constant up and down of emotions. Something had to change fundamentally. I wanted to get back what I had lost in my youth and experience all the things I had on my bucket list before the lid closed. So I made a decision.

The menopause is a gradual, imperceptible process that has changed the way I think and act. But it is also a turning point. A moment when you the chancehave to understand yourself better and redefine yourself. I'm getting everything off my chest to show you: There is an after. And it can be a damn good after if you take the first step.

You are the sum of your past experiences

In the first decade of the 2000s, I was a real workaholic. I had several companies running: a financial advisory agency, a property company and a web design business. Financially, things were excellent. I was a cocky, arrogant monkey. If you've ever seen the film "Wolf of Wall Street" - I was like Jordan Belfort, just the biggest (the biggest jerk).

But for 30,000 euros a month, I also had to work seven days a week. During the week, I kept the finance and web business running and at the weekend I carried out viewings for the property company. Our sons were born at the same time in 1998 and 2001, and to top it all off, my first wife wanted a house at that time. Simply so that the kids wouldn't have to grow up in the city and would have a nice environment.

No sooner said than done: we bought a house on the outskirts of Berlin, but it was only half-finished. There was still a lot of work to be done. Only the roof and the façade were actually finished. All our relatives advised us not to buy this house, especially my father-in-law. The house was basically a shell. He realised immediately that this house would become a million-dollar grave. I grew up in the country and had some manual labour experience. My father-in-law knew that, but he also realised how much work would have to be put into this house. But the location and style of the house, as well as the large plot, were a strong argument in favour of buying it. The house was very large, with almost 300 square metres of living space. The living room alone was 120 square metres, with a window front across the entire width and a view of the forest. The living room was very high due to the pitched roof, around seven metres, and had a gallery running around the top. That was a real eye-catcher.

The seller was a shady bloke who was on the verge of bankruptcy and was divorced. The fact that we didn't "get to the bottom" of this guy before buying the house was to take bitter revenge.

My wife at the time really wanted the house and urged me to speak to my bank. I wanted to have an appraisal done in advance, but she was against it and urged me to buy almost every day. The bank gave its approval for DM 375,000 within a few days. As I was earning well at the time, a monthly instalment of 1700 DMwas no problem.

We then moved into the house in mid-2000. I started renovating straight away and finished off room after room. I worked on the house after work or in the morning, then went to work and came home late at night.

These were usually ten to twelve-hour days. I'm very good with my hands as I grew up in the countryside and my father taught me a lot. So I could do almost everything except tiling, which was always too fiddly for me, I didn't fancy it. I even built the fireplace in the living room all by myself

There were actually DIY kits back then - a bit like Lego for adults, only without the fun and in XXL. You can imagine it like this: They deliver you a huge pallet of aerated concrete blocks, bags of plaster, a few marble benches and a monstrous cast-iron insert. Oh yes, and to top it all off, there was a VHS video. It explained every step as if you could do it in your sleep. Not at all!

You really had to do everything yourself: Cutting the stones to size, fitting the pieces together precisely, and then lifting those darn heavy marble benches that were so bulky you thought they came from an ancient temple.

But I wouldn't have been me if I had let that get me down. With a home-made pulley block - yes, the thing was really home-made - I pulled the whole thing up on my own. No help from friends, no neighbourly help, nothing. Just me, my will and this incredibly heavy monster.

I swear, when I was finally finished, I felt like a bloody hero. Anyone who sees the thing today probably thinks: "Oh, that must have been a professional." But no, it was me. A guy with a VHS tape and a good dose of madness!

The chimney sweep was thrilled at the inspection, he couldn't believe that I had managed to do this for the first time and on my own.

But now back to the subject of buying a house.

The first problems occurred just a few weeks after the purchase. It was raining in. We called in a roofer, who discovered that part of the shingle roof was damaged, which the seller had of course concealed from us. And this is where the hasty purchase without a survey took its revenge.

The end of the story: a new roof for 18,000.was needed But it didn't stop there. Every project I tackled in this house turned into an odyssey. No matter where you started to open or uncover something, it was always a mess. The previous owner obviously only knew building foam, cable ties, armour tape and silicone as building materials.DM

In the end, the house cost me a total of 795,000 euros by the time I moved out in 2008. I could have got a brand new period house for that. It was the biggest money-grab of my life. It really bothered me, my savings melted away and so did my pension provision. At the time, I didn't realise that I wouldn't receive more than 165,000 euros for the house and I couldn't even imagine it.

I couldn't work as much as I had to earn money to keep this darn place running. The heating costs were also immense due to the size of the house and the fact that the place was inadequately insulated. As my wife and children were at home all day and it was always around 25 degrees in the house, the heating drained the tanks in no time at all. I used around 12,000 litres of heating oil a year. An enormous cost factor.

But my dissatisfaction with my life grew steadily and constantly. After all, what good is all that money if you don't have a life to live?

Now more on the topic: You ruin your whole life with too much work

I loved my father-in-law very much. He was a great, simple, down-to-earth man. He was like a magnet that held the whole family together. We had a good relationship right from the start and he was more of a father to me than my biological father. If I needed advice, he always had an open ear for me. His advice was often simple and to the point.

What I always loved was his patriarchal manner: when a family get-together was called for, he wouldn't let anyone be absent. As I've always been a total family man, I was happy to follow my father's 'orders'. My parents-in-law lived in the Uckermark, in a very idyllic location on an ancient farm.

I loved it there because it reminded me of my childhood in the countryside. The farm was right next to a forest, with a view of a bend in the river - just great.

Like me, my father-in-law was a total workaholic. In his main job as a forester, he kept the farm going after work. Like me, he worked ten to twelve hours a day. He was very frugal and rarely went on holiday with my mother-in-law, and then only to the Baltic Sea or the Harz Mountains. It couldn't cost anything. My father-in-law never saw the rest of the world, even though he would have had the money for it. In short: just working, not living. Exactly the same life I'm living right now.

I lost this great father substitute to cancer in 2001. His death tore a hole in my life that I couldn't fill for a long time. He was not only like a father to me, but also my mentor, my support, my refuge when everything else fell apart at the seams. When he left, it felt like I had lost my compass.

I fell into a deep hole. The grief was overwhelming and suddenly all the things that used to drive me so much - work, success, status - were meaningless. His absence was like an echo in my everyday life, reminding me again and again how much of my life I had missed out on because I was constantly busy.

Here, for the first time, I had real doubts as to whether I wanted to continue my life in this form. All the hours I had spent in offices, on business trips or in meetings suddenly seemed like wasted time. What was it all for? For a full bank account? For a fatter car? For an ego that constantly craves validation?

I came to the conclusion that I urgently needed to change something. "Screw the money and start living," I thought to myself. But how do you put such a thought into practice when you've done nothing but plough for years? It was like trying to suddenly steer a heavy locomotive in the other direction. Difficult, but not impossible.

I decided to slow down, experience things more consciously and make time for my family and my young sons. Because his death had shown me in a brutal way that our lives are finite - and that the question of whether we have really lived our lives is more important in the end than any commission statement.

Life after death - is there really such a thing?

I was a believer, convinced that there must be something after death. In any case, I clung to this hope, because without it, life simply seemed meaningless to me.

In 2004, a major operation was scheduled: the removal of all four wisdom teeth. It was to be an outpatient operation under general anaesthetic. The room was cool, the air filled with the quiet hum of medical equipment. The anaesthetist leaned over me, his smile professional but distant. "I'm going to count to three, you're about to fall asleep," he said, his voice calm and controlled. I heard him counting and as soon as he had said the number three, the world around me seemed to dissolve.

The next moment was a mystery. A moment later - or so it felt to me - I was gently woken by a nurse. Her voice was warm as she said: "The operation is long over, you've made it." I blinked and searched for a clue in my complete disorientation. "When do we start?" I asked, confused. She laughed lightly and repeated that it was all over long ago.

The most amazing thing about this experience was not the physical recovery or the success of the operation. It was the feeling of absolute nothingness that pervaded me during the anaesthetic. No dream, no sense of time, no shadows of thought - just an all-encompassing darkness that began and ended without warning. "This is what death must be like," I thought to myself. An abrupt end in which the lights simply go out, and behind them there is silence. No continuation of life, no transition - just a hole, deep and silent.

This realisation made me shudder. If life only encompasses this limited period of time, a patchwork of obligations, work and the hunt for recognition, what remains? The death of my father-in-law, which still throbbed like a wound in my soul, suddenly came into sharper focus. His life, which consisted only of work and the constant endeavour to provide for the family financially, appeared to me in all its tragedy. He had never known the happiness of simplebeing . He was the rock that carried everyone, but could never let go.

I swore to myself that I would not go down the same path. Life had to be more than just numbers, tables and the seemingly endless repetition of the same processes. For the first time, I dared to think about what really mattered. Was it the smiles of my children, which I saw too rarely because I left the house before sunrise and only returned late at night?

I no longer wanted to be a shadow rushing through the days, driven by the fear of not being enough. Instead, I wanted to feel, live, breathe - do all the things that had always fallen short in my imagination. And when the lights went out again one day, I didn't want to step into the darkness and regret that I had never really felt the glow of life.

So test he who binds himself forever...

I have no idea why I fell in love with her. Her nature was rather brittle and chilly, like a cold breeze on a winter's morning.

Emotional warmth was rarely felt, there was never any real depth. Nevertheless, she had her merits. What I had appreciated about her was her undeniable sense of beauty, her gift for creating a cosy home and her strong sense of family. These qualities attracted me at a time when I was looking for stability and structure. We met at a financial convention in the mid-nineties - one of those stiff events where the air is pregnant with ambitious conversations.

She was an impressive figure, a successful businesswoman with brunette hair, a slim figure and expressive, dark doe eyes that were hard to forget. Her smile was rare, but when it came, it was like a fleeting ray of sunshine through thick clouds. Her charisma was a mixture of elegance and coldness, and that fascinated me more than it should have at the time.

We quickly found a good connection with each other. It turned out that we didn't live far from each other, and so we met up again, which led to a relationship.

This relationship was like a blazing fire from the very beginning - hot and destructive at the same time. There were many break-ups, followed by the inevitable return. At the time, I thought it was passion. Opposites attract, I thought. It was only years later that I realised that what attracted us was also what separated us. In the long run, similarities matter more and everything else becomes a constant source of friction.

In 1997 we decided to get married. This decision caused a storm in my family. My parents were strictly against this marriage. Their disapproval went so far that they didn't come to the wedding reception or the wedding. The rest of my relatives were influenced by them and my sister and also stayed away. No phone calls, no congratulations, just silence, which weighed heavier than any arguments.

This rejection tore something inside me apart, and in my pride and disappointment I broke off contact. The break was final. My father died in 2017 without me ever speaking to him again... screw it.

Back to my wife: our first son was born in 1998 and I was prouder than words can describe. My heart was filled with a happiness that I had never known before. Our second son followed in 2001. Life felt like a perfectly orchestrated piece in those first few years - career, family, the newly purchased house near Berlin. Everything seemed to be in perfect order. But beneath the shiny surface, cracks began to appear.

With the birth of our children and life as a housewife, my wife began to change. She became more and more dotty and increasingly looked like a typical housewife who only looked after the home and hearth. Her once eloquent and quick-witted manner seemed to have disappeared. Instead, a narrow-mindedness emerged, coupled with a worrying lack of information.

This was particularly noticeable at business meetings, which I sometimes took her to. At first I thought she was just having a bad day, but it became more and more obvious - and, to be honest, more embarrassing - as time went on. She often made completely incoherent comments, was ill-prepared or seemed disinterested.

I noticed how my business partners looked at each other more and more questioningly and I sank inwardly with shame. It hurt me to see her like this, because this was not the woman I had once known. Her former sharp-witted and winning personality had been wiped away. Instead, I was left with the impression of a woman who had lost herself - and both of us along with her.

I was the one carrying the financial burden and my job was going extremely well, earning me 20,000 to 30,000 euros a month. She enjoyed this prosperity, I was convinced of that. The money was invested in the finest clothes, high-quality furnishings and expensive outings. The supply was always there, like an inexhaustible spring. But there was a lack of things that money couldn't buy: Closeness, tenderness, words like "I love you".

After the birth of our second child, intimacy also disappeared. There was no physical closeness for two years and every attempt on my part was blocked with a cold wall of silence. I searched for answers, wondering what had changed, but an open conversation was not possible.

The day that put my life on a completely wrong track

Then came that Sunday morning. We were sitting at the breakfast table, the children were playing in their rooms. I plucked up my courage and broached the subject: "Honey, I miss our closeness. It's as if there's nothing left between us. Do you think that's normal?"

Her answer hit me to the core.

"You sissy, pull yourself together. I'm not in the mood for you. Get over it."

I was shocked by the abysmal malice of this statement. I couldn't believe what she was like. It showed me that something was very wrong between us. I then sat quietly at the table for another hour without talking to her again. She took care of her household chores five metres away from me and didn't even look at me. She must have realised how I was feeling, but there was no apology or anything like that.

There I sat, the man who gave everything for his family, and heard that the woman I loved no longer felt anything for me.

I was numb for days afterwards and only spoke to her when I needed to. I waited for a sign of remorse, a word of regret. But nothing came. So I drew my conclusions.

I decided that our marriage was over inside, even if I was still there on the outside. This was the beginning of my descent into a world that fascinated me as much as it destroyed me. I registered on a dating site and quickly found women who gave me what I craved: reassurance, warmth, tenderness.

It wasn't long before the first ladies got in touch and the first dates were arranged. I met countless women over the next few months and I was amazed at how easy it was to get the ladies into bed. I wrote in the office in the morning, had a lunch date in the afternoon and then usually ended up in bed with the mouse a short time later. I had fun and sex without end. I could easily conceal it all as I was travelling a lot anyway and was also at "conferences" overnight. To be honest, it was a very, very cool time. However, it also had serious consequences, as the next chapters will show.

It also showed me that I was still attractive to other women as a man - exactly the feeling I no longer had with my wife.

My childhood in the GDR

Okay, my childhood was by and large normal. As normal as it could be in the former GDR. Despite imposed socialism and the supposed "equality of all people", society was deeply divided. The inequalities could be felt everywhere, a constant undertone in everyday life that divided people into three unequal classes.

The first class consisted of the Politburo commissars, the untouchables, the chosen ones of the system. They lived in secluded villas, protected behind high walls and guarded by security forces. Just think of the Honecker estate in Wandlitz, where the party elite enjoyed their privileges - swimming pools, imported food, medical care to Western standards. Their children went to special schools where they were spared the problems of ordinary life. They lived in their own, almost surreal world, in which the ideals of socialism merely served as a backdrop.

Then came the second class - the people who had relatives in the West and whose foreign currency gave them access to the "Intershops" . These shops, a mystery to us who only knew the shop windows, offered goods that the average GDR citizen could only dream of: Chocolate from Belgium, jeans from the USA, perfume from France. These people were the pinnacle of creation, and they showed it. You saw them in their shiny cars and with the latest achievements from the West - cassette recorders, branded clothes, nylon stockings. These people felt they were better than everyone else and looked down on the normal people with arrogance. At the disco, they wore their Levis jeans and were the biggest. I, on the other hand, stood there in my salt-and-pepper trousers made of cheap, ill-fitting flannel.

The message was clear: "Look what I have and what you will never have." This demonstrative superiority was a constant reminder that equality only existed on paper.

And then there was the third class, to which my family belonged. The class that had to make do with the grey reality of the economy of scarcity. We had no relatives in the West to provide us with parcels full of prosperity and the scent of freedom. Our shopping was a constant struggle. We stood in endless queues for hours, only to be told at the end that things were already sold out. The promise of socialism, equality and justice for all, was nothing but a hollow slogan. A system that preached to liberate people had in fact put us in invisible chains, trapped in a cage of deprivation.

But back to my mum. She always wanted to belong. She wanted to be part of the glittering second class, wanted to belong to those who walked past us with a smug smile while we pulled our thin jackets tighter and accepted the lack.

Why this wish? Perhaps because the neighbours to our left and right were second class. They drove western cars, which were sensational even in the GDR. One of our neighbours even drove a Mercedes - a symbol of luxury and a slap in the face to those who travelled in a Trabant or Wartburg, if they were lucky enough to own a car at all. Next to it was a Moto Guzzi motorbike, a magnificent specimen that magically attracted attention.

The guy loved to show off these symbols of his wealth. He deliberately left the vehicles outside so that anyone passing by could admire the precious possessions. It was as if he was saying to us: "You can dream of equality for a long time, but here I am, and I'm better than you." It was a display of arrogance that filled my young self with a mixture of admiration and anger. What a smug arsehole.

To understand this, you need to know what Genex was. Genex was a trading company, a channel between the worlds, through which citizens of the FRG could buy goods for their relatives in the East. Naturally at inflated prices that hardly anyone could afford. These goods - whether it was a pair of brand new Adidas shoes, coffee or a car - were then ceremoniously handed over to the East German relatives, who treated them like a treasure. And this neighbour, this guy, was living proof of how unfair the system was.

He shaped my childhood more than I realised at the time. His constant display of wealth fuelled my mother's insatiable desire to prove herself and keep up. She wanted to belong, whatever the cost.

She also wanted to have a "West car", wanted to experience the feeling of being part of this second class. There was an opportunity to buy a run-down Fiat model on the black market - for 150,000 East German marks, a price that was beyond all reason for a car that was barely worth DM 2,000 in the West. But this dream ate up our savings.

My mum always wanted to belong. This urge to join the glamorous world of those who had more, who above uswere , drove her to do all sorts of things. For her, a "West car" was more than just a means of transport - it was a symbol, a status symbol that was supposed to show: "Look, I'm no less than you." The car was her ticket to a club that, in her mind, was only open to the chosen ones.

It was a time when the pursuit of these symbols meant making sacrifices, and we did. The battered Fiat that my mother had bought on the black market swallowed up all our savings. 150,000 Ostmarks for a car that was barely worth DM 2,000 in the West. The figure alone was grotesque, but for my mother it was a price she was prepared to pay. The dream of recognition, of respect, had its price - and we all paid it too. Saving meant that there was only ever the cheapest food - and far too little of it. No wonder I weighed just 45 kilograms at the age of 16. We also saved on clothes: we only had the cheapest clothes, which neither fitted well nor were particularly stylish. I looked like a "Lui", as we used to say. Logically, I was often the target of ridicule and bullying because of my appearance. It was easy for the others to make fun of me - I was a real target.

The money that my father had earned in countless night shifts making furniture was put into this car. I remember the smell of sawdust and varnish that filled our house and the constant whirring of the home-made lathe.

The furniture was his masterpiece, lovingly crafted to keep us afloat. And although these pieces were a rarity and almost a treasure in the GDR's economy of scarcity, he never had the gleam in his eye that my mother had when the Fiat was finally parked in our driveway.

Man, was she proud. Proud like a queen in her kingdom, finally wearing her crown. The neighbour, who always set the tone, actually came over and spoke to her, if only a few fleeting words.

He gave her an appreciative nod, and at that moment everything was accomplished for her. The neighbour, who flaunted his chic Moto Guzzi and Mercedes like jewels, paid his respects. But this small triumph of my mum's had its price - and it was me who paid it.

With my meagre 45 kilos, I was an easy target for the strong ones at school. The bullying was relentless, the teasing painful, and the teachers looked the other way, as was so often the case in those days.

I sought shelter at home, but there was nothing but emptiness. My parents had no ear for my complaints. When I stood in front of them crying and asking for help, the answer was always the same: "Don't be like that, deal with it." So I learnt to keep quiet. I learnt to endure pain and hide my fear. I learnt that I was on my own.

There we see it: narcissists are devoid of empathy. They can't see beyond their own world, and my mum was the prime example of this. Her voice echoed through the house every day, shrill and demanding, accompanied by the hard slaps of her hand when she lost her temper. Hardly a day went by in my teenage years without her shouting at me or hitting me. Sometimes I thought she really hated me.

It was a cruel irony that I was bullied at school and found no safe haven at home. The house, which offered other children protection and warmth, was another place of horror for me. For the life of me, I can't remember when my mum ever gave me a hug or told me she loved me. Those words that should have come so easily from her lips remained trapped inside. It was different for my younger sister. She was the 'nestling' who could never be wrong. She was the shining centre around whom everything revolved.

Later, as an adult, this injustice continued. My parents favoured my sister's child, giving her love and attention that my children never knew. They went on holiday with my niece, while my children hardly knew what their grandparents looked like. No phone calls, no cards for birthdays or holidays - nothing. It was as if we didn't exist, and that gnawed at me, causing an anger to rise up in me that I could barely control.

My mum, I'm sure of it today, had psychological problems. Anyone who got too close to her and didn't conform to her ideas was banished from her life. Friends, neighbours, even family members - they all fell victim to her moodiness and her urge to control. My father, the gentle man who hid behind sawdust and wood shavings in the workshop, didn't have the strength to stand up to her. His silence was his protection, his attempt to in a marriage.survive

Sometimes I saw my mum hitting him, humiliating him, while he remained silent, his shoulders slightly slumped, his eyes on the floor.

He was a gentleman of the old school who would never have raised his hand to a woman, and I admired that. But it also made me angry. Because if he put up with it, it also meant that he didn't intervene when she hit me, when she hurt me. Maybe because he didn't know how to fight such an inner demon himself.

I learnt patience and manual dexterity from my father, but I also learnt what it means to live in the shadow of fear. I learnt how to remain silent to keep the peace and how to become invisible so as not to be a target. It was a lesson that shaped me - a lesson that I later found hard to shake off.

You are what has shaped you - never apologise for it.

Everything you have experienced, every pain, every happiness, every decision, has made you the person you are today. There is no need to justify yourself for your past. Your experiences, whether good or bad, are the cornerstone of your character, your strength and your uniqueness. They are as much a part of you as your name. So own up to what has shaped you and don't let anyone tell you that you have to apologise for it.

I think a lot of my behaviour and aggression came from the negative experiences of my childhood, bullying and unequal treatment. These formative years, in which I learnt that love is conditional and that protection remains an illusion, left scars that stayed with me for a long time. As an adult, I carried these scars around with me like an invisible weight, and ultimately many other negative experiences led me to break off contact with my parents and my sister.

A particularly formative moment was the wedding, which my parents ignored as if it were a casual side note in my life. It was as if they had drawn an invisible line under our relationship - except that this line had been there from the beginning, I had just never really seen it. But I'll come to that in a later chapter. The lack of understanding that had tormented me all those years grew into a bitter realisation: I didn't know what I had done wrong or why my parents never accepted me for who I was.

At some point, I had to realise that it wasn't me. My mum was not a normal woman. Her personality structure - narcissistic and manipulative - was like a net in which the people around her became entangled and wriggled helplessly. She played the cards of emotional abuse with a masterful perfection that only made me realise much later as an adult how sick the dynamic had really been. since I haven't exchanged a word with her and I never will again. Sometimes cuts are necessary to survive.2011

My father, the quiet hero of my childhood, died of dementia in 2019. It is an irony of life that the man who endured so much spent his last moments in a state in which he could probably hardly remember anything.

He died without me being allowed to see him again. My mother and sister, always anxious to maintain control, prevented my visit to the hospital. They cut me out like an unwanted footnote. I only found out about my father's death weeks later - via the probate court, as if it were incidental information in an administrative act. His ashes were scattered in an alpine meadow in Switzerland. This meant that there was no place I could go to say goodbye. No headstone, no flowers, just an emptiness that grew inside me.

This last chapter of alienation intensified my resentment and aggression. During this time, I felt betrayed by everything and everyone, even by my own story. What does something like that do to a person? It corrodes you from the inside. You start to question the value of all relationships. Does honesty even exist anymore? Are there real, deep and genuine feelings? If even those who fathered and raised you let you down, how can you trust anyone else?

From that point on, mistrust was my constant companion. Relationships that once had meaning became playgrounds of caution. I no longer allowed myself any deep feelings, forcing myself to keep my distance. It was a mechanism to avoid being hurt like before. Love became an act for me, a role I played because it was expected of me. I imitated what love should look like, showed what others wanted to see, but there was nothing behind it. Only emptiness.

The strange thing was that this distance, this subtle coldness that I radiated, attracted the women even more. It was as if my reserved behaviour was a riddle they wanted to solve, a fire they wanted to light. I enjoyed the attention, the admiration, the feeling of being desired, but they never got any closer to me. In the end, I only saw the people around me as a means of satisfying my needs at . Distance was my protective shield and I thought it was the only way to keep myself safe.

This is where the "lollipop effect" comes into play. If you're not familiar with it, here's a brief explanation: Imagine you hold out a lollipop to a child because you want to give it away. The child, defiant and stubborn, says "No". You take the lollipop back and casually say "Well, then don't", turn round and walk away. And what happens next? That's right - the child starts to cry, his little hand outstretched, and now wants the lollipop all the more.