You Are Gonna Hear Me Roar E-Book

Roberta Cuttica

• Herausgeber: Bruno Editore
• Kategorie: Fachliteratur
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Sometimes, in order to not succumb, one must be able to change their perception of oneself. When life disrupts your plans and erases your certainties, it forces you to choose who you want to be, or who you want to become.

Since she was a child, her nickname was "LoGattina" (The Kitten), but one day Stefania, left alone with three young children and without a penny, realizes that the meek and defenseless figure that everyone saw would have to transform into a lioness capable of taking care of her cubs, with courage and determination. She has always walked with her head held high, but at a certain point, life asked her for something more a different kind of pride, that relentlessness necessary to overcome great obstacles and start from scratch.

"You Are Gonna Hear Me Roar" is the story of an extraordinary woman who has climbed the peaks of network marketing, but it is also a true-life tale in which many women can recognize themselves. Like her, they have to find the strength to rise again, making sacrifices and difficult choices. From the province of Milan, where she grew up, to an inflexible and romantic Switzerland, from an exclusive university life in London to a suffocating New York, from Portugal—her joy and pain—to the United Arab Emirates where she resides today, Stefania Lo Gatto's journey is filled with great loves, textbook betrayals, moments of pain, faith, loneliness, and redemption. It's a story that, by showcasing the unstoppable vitality of the protagonist, can instill confidence, hope, and inspiration.

STEFANIA LO GATTO
Entrepreneur and mother of three boys, she is one of the main figures in the Network Marketing industry, with a network of over one and a half million distributors in more than 130 countries worldwide. Due to her achievements, her dedication to the business, and her strong faith in God, she is often invited as a speaker at national and international training events.

ROBERTA CUTTICA
Entrepreneur, manager, and writer, she is co-owner of HRD Training Group, the leading company in Italy for over thirty years in the field of coaching and personal development. In 2017, she published her first inspirational and educational novel, "L'altra linea della vita" (The Other Path of Life) with Mondadori.

Leseprobe

STEFANIA LO GATTO

ROBERTA CUTTICA

YOU ARE GONNA

HEAR ME ROAR

You Are Gonna Hear Me Roar

Stefania Lo Gatto

with

Roberta Cuttica

To my children,

Giulio, Jason, and Luca,

my strength,

my "why".

CONTENTS

Foreword

Part One

1. Grandma Adele and Happiness

2. The Village

3. My Three Musketeers

4. Mom And Dad

5. Cory

6. I Want To Go To Boarding School

7. Beautiful and Damned

8. From Switzerland to London

9. Double Betrayal

10. The Rebirth

11. Three Fairy Tale Weddings

Part Two

12. From New York to Miami

13. From Miami to Oxford

14. From Oxford to Cascais

15. You are my champagne

16. Proud of You, Proud of Myself

17. The Losers' Plan B or a Great Opportunity?

Part Three

18. A New Encounter

19. My Prince

20. My "Second Half"

21. Money and Responsibility

22. Keep Going, Never Quit!

23. It Was Worth It!!

Acknowledgments

Contacts

Epilogue

About The Authors

FOREWORD

I loved the idea of this book from the very beginning. I didn't know that I would have such an important role in its writing, but I knew that every word on these pages had to be written in the first person because it's beautiful for Stefania to tell her own story.

The words are mine, but they are also hers, as I tried my best to remain true to her way of being, her rhythm, her spontaneity in sharing serious topics and funny anecdotes.

Stefania has a contagious energy, she is spontaneous, transparent, engaging, and unfiltered. She speaks in a simple language that is understandable to everyone. She couldn't be misrepresented in this work that tells her story from every angle, touching on the private, professional, and spiritual aspects, and wanting to retrace the milestones that marked her redemption as a woman in the world.

What you will read here is not theoretical; you can find that kind of content in hundreds of books, essays, and manuals, but not here.

What allowed Stefania to achieve the milestones that we all bear witness to has much more to do with the mindset than with technique, and it is precisely on this aspect that the novel focuses.

Life stories can be great teachers.

There is an extraordinary "wealth" that each of us can draw upon if we can look at our past with the filter of years and the right detachment. Looking back can sometimes offer access to fantastic reflections and important realizations, allowing us to find meaning. Connecting the dots. Learning.

Our friendship was born by chance in January 2015 and grew stronger in the following years.

We met by accident. We always say that.

God's plans are never random, and ours was a meeting of souls that happened in the right place at the right time. That's exactly how it happened.

An acquaintance invited me to the inauguration of a Pilates studio. I brought along my ex-husband and two friends who were staying with us. We had recently moved to Dubai, and meeting new people seemed like a good idea.

A few days earlier, I had met a nice Italian couple, and I remembered that she was a Pilates instructor. I connected the dots. It would be nice to see her again.

We arrived very late at a venue with about fifty theater-style chairs. In a matter of seconds, we realized that it was a Network Marketing presentation and that we were in the wrong place at the wrong event.

Since we were stuck in four chairs at the back of the room, it didn't seem appropriate to escape. We stayed and listened.

The woman leading the stage was not only beautiful but also skilled and engaging, and the evening turned out to be very pleasant.

Towards the end, while enjoying drinks and tapas, I noticed the Pilates girl, Cloé. "Hi, it's so nice to see you," she exclaimed.

"You won't believe it, but I thought this was the inauguration of your studio," I said, amused.

As we exchanged a few words, the speaker, Stefania, joined us.

I told them about the misunderstanding, and amidst laughter and conversation, we agreed to have lunch together the following week. We had all arrived in Dubai in the same month of the same year, with big dreams in our hearts. For all of us, it was the beginning of a new adventure that both fascinated and scared us. The barriers fell in an instant.

Since then, many years have passed, and beautiful and difficult moments have alternated in our busy lives filled with family, work, travel, events, daily routines, and projects. But the continuous support and being there for each other has never wavered.

A "wrong evening" gave us a wonderful friendship, chosen, desired, nurtured,

and cared for as it should always be done for something that truly matters. When the desire to meet and be together makes us rearrange our schedules and mark our calendars well in advance, it means there is value. There is love.

We met by accident.

Or maybe not.

Call it what you want, but I like to think that God never signs His name.

Many things brought us together from the start: the affinity of character, the values that guide us, and similar life experiences in some aspects.

Writing this book has been an honor, a privilege, and a blessing for me. When you are called to do something you have never done before, something you don't even think you're capable of and that scares you, you are faced with a choice. To accept the challenge with yourself or not to accept it.

I accepted it without having the slightest idea of what it would entail, how much time it would require, what creative commitment it would demand, or how I would complete this marathon while meeting Mondadori's deadlines.

But we did it. Together.

We put our hearts into it, and we trust that these pages can touch the souls of our readers and perhaps inspire and impact many lives.

Enjoy the journey into Stefania's story.A story of love and redemption.

Roberta Cuttica

PART ONE

Wear your authenticity proudly

every day and never ask anyone

for permission to be yourself.

As a young girl, my nickname was "LoGattina," (the kitty) written just like that, almost like a hash tag of modern times. They called me that because of my last name and because I have always been petite. small both in height and build. Or maybe it was because even then, I was affectionate—I always enjoyed giving and receiving cuddles.

My parents were hardworking people who owned three high-end fashion stores in the center of Milan. I think that's also why I love clothes and shopping.

They never dedicated too much time to me, not even when I was a child, and they never praised me if I did something well. They wanted me to be autonomous, independent, capable of handling any situation on my own.

My father's idea of work could be summed up in a phrase he often repeated: "I will never work for anyone else!" Those words stuck with me.

I studied at a prestigious Swiss boarding school, graduated from a top American university, and lived a life of constant travel. I had an enviable youth, filled with influential friends and fortunate opportunities.

Then one day, the perfect situation to "handle things on my own" knocked on my door. I was married to my first husband, and thanks to our financial circumstances, I had never needed to work. We had our three children, each born in a different country—the first in America, the second in England, and the third in Portugal. I was deeply in love, even when I made one of the most difficult decisions of my life: to leave him.

We had met so early on that he was also my best friend. Until that day.

With my three children, I ended up living in a small apartment belonging to my parents, which I was grateful for. I cried for six months, and in addition to tears and weight, I lost everything else.

Sometime before, at the supermarket, I had done some shopping for about 40 Euros, but I only had 30 Euros in total. At the checkout, I was forced to return some items. The concept of returning became very familiar during that period, and soon I had to return to the dream house as well. Inside, apart from beautiful furniture, there was all the love we had shared during our twenty-two years together. They took everything, doing it clumsily, just like the mistresses who, over the years, had taken a piece of my children's father.

Even our cars were repossessed, and we were left with practically nothing. I tried to sell my valuable jewelry, which suddenly seemed worthless when I tried to sell them. I sold my most precious clothes, my shoes, and my designer handbags.

I worked as a makeup artist for brides, as a receptionist in a beauty center that I had previously only frequented as a client, as a power plate instructor for ladies, and as the driver of a British taxi that we had bought on a whim. It was the first time in thirty-six years that I had worked.

I still had my health, my three children, and my faith.

One day, I met a couple, and we ended up talking about network marketing. I didn't even know what it was—I thought it involved selling products to friends after gathering as many as possible. I considered it the 'Plan B for losers'.

However, that business transformed my life.

No one gives you orders or imposes limits on you. The limits are self-imposed. You don't have a fixed salary; your income is based on the goals you achieve, not the hours you work. You don't have vacations or Sundays; you collaborate with whomever you want, and the success of others contributes to your own success.

Two things are necessary, though.

One is the desire and ability to communicate with others, and I was fortunate to learn that in Arese, in the province of Milan, where I grew up. It was a well-maintained town where you could feel a certain prosperity, but above all, it was a place where forty children, including myself, could play together every day. In a way, each house was also everyone else's home. Becoming sociable was natural.

The other thing is to truly believe in it. To Truly believe in it.

In that world, I met my second and current husband, and it was also thanks to him that my fighting spirit and desire to succeed became evident.

I worked hard, tirelessly, never holding back, until one day, the opportunity to become a shareholder in my current company came along.

But the real change had started twelve years earlier, when all the certainties in my life shattered. In that difficult and extreme situation, one day, as I looked at myself in the mirror, I no longer saw the LoGattina that everyone else saw.

I had to raise my children, my little ones, and unleash all my determination. It was as if my imagination had suddenly changed, as if someone had changed the setting. Instead of the little cat in the mirror, I saw a lioness, like the female lion that you see roaring at the beginning of certain American movies, just before the music starts.

And I began my own movie.

1

GRANDMA ADELE AND HAPPINESS

Let's start from afar.

My grandmother Adele was one of those grandmothers you find in fairy tales, who bake cookies for their grandchildren and all the kids in the neighborhood. She would make rice pudding or beat eggs with sugar and chocolate, delicacies that are hard to find nowadays.

All my friends from back then always wanted to come to my house because of her, Grandma Adele, who, in a way, was everyone's grandma, even though I was extremely jealous of her. She was my grandma, and no one could take her away from me.

She was special, Mrs. Adele. She had my mother when she was forty years old, very late for that time, so when I was a child, she was already quite old. Her husband went off to war right after their wedding, and for the next eleven years, she waited for him without knowing, all that time, if he was alive or dead. She wrote him letters every day, as if she were a 20th-century version of Penelope transplanted to Milan. She waited for him without ever giving herself to anyone else, without any distractions. When he miraculously returned, they spent about ten years together before he passed away. They desired a child very much, and indeed, there couldn't have been a more beautiful culmination to the joy of finding each other again. And that's how my mother was born.

Nowadays, it is highly unlikely for a woman to wait so long for her man's return.

The women in my family, including myself, however, deviate from the norm, following their own path. We have solid principles: not giving up and maintaining lasting relationships, two qualities that have distinguished my family of origin and have been taught to me.

I don't know if I have managed to honor this tradition, but I leave it to the pen to reveal that.

Among all the people in my family whom I have known, my grandmother is the only one I have a cinematic memory of, as if she were the protagonist of a period film.

With her, I see muted colors, hear melodious voices, and smell delicate fragrances. She was the perfect grandmother for a child's imagination, the grandmother of a bygone era that no longer exists.

Grandma Adele had a shop; she called it a boutique. It was one of the three shops that later became my parents'. She always liked to say that the Queen of England had once entered it. I don't know what she bought, but she had been there, at my grandmother's shop, which coincidentally was called "Diana." She was so proud of it.

Perhaps she, more than anyone else, taught me the right way to interact with people, not just when I had to sell something, but on every occasion. I started gaining experience with the customers who came to the shop. They bought, spent a lot, and my grandmother gave them suggestions that, many years later, I understood were guided by empathy, a word that now occupies a significant part of my life.

Today, you can take courses to learn how to develop it, to persuade and win over the customer, but I remember being very attentive to how she communicated with others, and from her, I learned to develop this innate ability she possessed.

Her habits were tied to a distant past, to a way of being a woman that now helps me in certain moments. A way of not giving up, not feeling sorry for oneself, and not sitting around waiting for someone to solve your life.

This is what I learned from her, and I owe her for it.

Moreover, life hadn't given her the opportunity to sit down. She was left alone with a child to raise and an elderly mother to take care of, whom she looked after without ever complaining until she died at the age of ninety-nine. That's why I speak of the example of a woman who never gives up.

At some point, my grandmother bought a villa near us, which allowed me to spend more time with her, especially since my mother was often away from home due to work, between the shops and fashion shows. I would often give Grandma a task: if she happened to visit a shop that sold fabrics, buttons, or underwear, she had to buy me "the elastic." It wasn't a normal plastic or rubber band, or one for hair. I needed a specific elastic, about one or two centimeters thick, with blue or red stripes, an elastic that some people bought to mend the edges of their underwear when it ripped. But for us kids, we needed 4 or 5 meters at a time, forget about underwear repairs. It was for playing.

I would see my grandma come home with the ball of elastic wrapped in a white paper bag, and for me, a primary school child, there was no better gift. What was the challenge?

There were two friends, facing each other at a distance of a couple of meters. We would tie the elastic to both of their ankles, so that when it was pulled tight, it formed a rectangle at my level, as the contestant. I would jump in, then out, then in again, then out on both sides, then in and out with just one foot, attempting a series of increasingly spectacular "moves." I wasn't allowed to touch the elastic, and as the game progressed, the level of difficulty would increase. The whole body was involved in this game, calves, knees, thighs, hips, waist, shoulders, neck: the challenge could last entire afternoons. Forget about going to the gym!

That elastic that kept rising and rising, making it increasingly difficult to jump inside, I carried it with me through every phase of my life.

In the afternoon, I would sneak away to join my friends, who could be three or six, and as the hours went by, we would become more numerous. In those meadows of the village where I grew up, we would end up being around twenty kids.

Happiness, aside from the uncertainty of the train on which it would pass, was a simple thing. It was strange, but even though I was little more than a child, I had already understood it inside me. It was simple and almost free, yet too often we forget it. I had also forgotten it at a certain point. It took a few years and many pieces of life before I could remember it again. Now, from time to time, I sit down and remember it, as an exercise in gratitude. I thank God that He has never spared me happiness.

When I was very young, I hadn't met God yet. But perhaps because in my life there is a before and after God, it is a topic that means a lot is very important to me.

As a young girl, my grandmother Adele, who was very religious, took me to church every Sunday, and if she could convince me, even a few more times during the week.

Our church in Arese was modern and cold, and in my eyes, it had very little that was reassuring or inviting.

I attended two years of catechism for First Communion and another two years for Confirmation. I received both sacraments, and on both occasions, I remember a beautiful celebration with family and lots of gifts. I continued to go to church with my grandmother. Sometimes, if I got distracted chatting with a friend or didn't follow the liturgy sheet, she would lightly touch my arm or wink at me to bring me back to attention. She always did it with that understanding of someone who knows life well enough to know that a child is a child, and that the priest's 'sermon' isn't always so interesting to listen to.

The truth was that I hardly got anything from those religious services, from those long sermons by the priest. When the day of Confirmation approached, I remember that the catechists invited us to confess, and even then, I didn't know what to say to the priest. It didn't seem like I had so many sins to confess to someone who was ultimately a stranger. Why not confess them directly to my parents or my friends, repent, and promise to behave better? Well, not to my parents, I wouldn't have confessed to them. Or why not talk directly to God?

There was a moment, shortly after Confirmation, when I took a "wrong path": I enjoyed participating in so-called "spiritual sessions" with some other kids. At first, it was like a game, but over time, I began to believe—or at least I thought—that I could contact the souls of the afterlife. It got a bit out of hand, to the point that even though I was very young, I became the "medium" of the group, not knowing that these "entities" had nothing to do with the deceased. But I was convinced that I was helping people.

At that point, since the village was small and news spread like wildfire, the nuns from the church took me to talk to a friar who seemed to have the ability to speak to kids and guide them back to the "right path" if they had strayed. In adolescence, you know, anything can happen.

This Franciscan was supposed to hear my confession and "cleanse" me of these "acts" that the Church disapproved of. He received me in a small room in the house of the family who hosted him. He talked to me about the love of Jesus, the great love He also had for girls like me, who were a bit lost like little sheep. Something bad happened. I remember it perfectly: I was wearing a dress by Enrico Coveri, with a slightly short skirt, but very innocent. I had worn it to school in the morning, and the friar, evidently seduced by the skirt, put his hand under it, touching my private parts. I quickly got up and ran out of the room, asking the homeowners to immediately call my parents to come and pick me up. I was finally safe, and I never saw that friar again.

I never told anyone at home what had happened, although some time later I tried to talk about it with the nuns. Nobody believed me. They attributed my story to a phase of egocentrism and the need for attention.

I wanted to report it, but I didn't because I felt too alone, and I was convinced that if I showed up at the police station, they would have taken me for crazy, and I would have run the risk of ending up under psychiatric care. So, I let it go, also because my parents agreed not to send me to confer with him anymore. I must say that over the years, I have always regretted not having done something concrete to stop that terrible individual.

The pedophilic attitude is not a 'frailty', a small vice that even a man of God can fall into. Whoever commits an act of pedophilia, whoever they may be, commits a crime.

A few years later, I found out that he had been expelled from the Church. The news of his pedophilic behavior had come out, not only with girls but also with other boys. I was truly relieved.

Despite the negative experiences I had gone through—between the boredom of Mass and the harassment of the friar—the hope and inner certainty remained within me that the true presence of God had nothing to do with those ugly individuals in cassocks.

However, this event kept me away from God for many years. Not that I completely distanced myself from spirituality. I practiced yoga, meditation, admired the stars in the night sky, and the immensity of the sea, knowing that there was something that had not yet been revealed to me. I knew there were encounters I had yet to have and that there was a space in my heart that had yet to open to understand God's true love.

I had the feeling that there would be events in my life that would allow me to go beyond, far beyond the priests and Sunday Mass, far beyond myself and the small role I believed I had been assigned. I had to discover that I hadn't been reserved a minor role. We are all potentially immense, incredibly important, necessary, and wonderful. Discovering this is a true blessing. I will reveal later the gift that God gave me.

2

THE VILLAGE

I was born in Milan and raised in Arese, a small municipality in the province of Milan. Narrow streets, colorful apartment buildings, a street with shops, and the famous Alfa Romeo, now transformed into a huge shopping center.

We lived in a residential area with tennis courts and gardens, just a few minutes from the city center. It was truly a village, and at the time it reminded me of the neighborhoods depicted in the American TV series we watched at specific times on the only available channels.

These houses shared a large swimming pool exclusively for residents. Perhaps calling it "large" is a bit excessive, but that's how I saw it as a child. I saw it as my "aquatic city." The gardens had palm trees, hedges, pathways that could be safely traversed by bicycle, and they were very well-maintained and lush green.

In this place where my brother and I grew up, I never felt alone; it was impossible. The houses were all close together, and if I had shouted, they would have heard me. If I had a problem, I just needed to call the people in the villa next door. It was like being one big family, where everyone was involved and participated in community life.

One of my habits since childhood was to leave home and ring doorbells. “'Want to play”?'

“I'm watching a cartoon"

"Can I watch it with you"?'

"Come on up."

Or:

"What are you doing"?'

"I'm doing homework'. "

"Do you want to do mine too"?

"Come on up".

Or even:

"Are you coming down?"

"Mum is making cutlets".

"I'm coming down".

Everything was available to others. Every door was open, every scent offered a taste of something, and every voice was an invitation to share, to find comfort if needed, or to have a good laugh together.

I never envied my friends who lived in the center of Milan. In summer, we had the pool; the in-between seasons were dedicated to 'elastic band' tournaments, and during winter, which seemed short, we spent time inside the houses, either ours or our friends'. We were never alone.