I had a happy childhood; a wonderful family, parents who would have moved heaven and earth for me. But I set out on a quest at an early age: as a child, I would lose myself in other worlds, devouring book after book. I had a penchant for danger; it fascinated me rather than put me off. As a teenager , I sought my happiness in intoxication, catapulting myself into other realms.
When my mum was diagnosed with cancer and eventually passed away, I was plagued by feelings of guilt – had her worries about me made her ill? In my 20s, I worked in the restaurant scene, turning night into day. Then I wanted to take my life in a new direction, so I went travelling.
My brain injury has shown me my limitations. I'm learning to see the good in this and to trust that things will work out.
What happiness never meant to me: a career, money. Rather, I imagined finding inner peace. I sat in Central Park and opened a packet of chocolates that my dad had given me as a parting gift. It said: «If you are at home in your heart, you are at home everywhere.» I realised: I wasn't any happier in New York than I was in Aarau. I travelled on to Australia and came to the same conclusion there.
Appointed as a teacher
In Switzerland, I caught up on my Matura, initially studied business administration, and eventually found my way to the University of Teacher Education. When I stood in front of a class for the first time, I knew: this is it. From day one, I've loved this profession; it's become my life's work. School is a must for children; not everyone thrives within the system. I wanted to listen to them, encourage and support them – not just help them with their schoolwork.
Not to care, just because lessons were over? Unthinkable. I didn't see it as a burden; it nourished me. In my mid-30s, I felt a strong desire to have children. The birth of our son, Bela, has enriched my life in ways I cannot put into words and multiplied my happiness. He brought me a sense of gratitude and peace.
Even back when I was a teacher , I found a sense of balance in Aikido, a martial art that had become a passion of mine. In 2024, I fell and hit my head during training. The next morning, in the middle of a lesson, I had to vomit. An odyssey that continues to this day began. The brain injury turned my life upside down.
A challenging time
Suddenly, everything was too loud: I was in pain when bells rang, crockery clattered, or my son played. I made two or three attempts at going to school, but felt as if I were drunk. I attended parent-teacher meetings and, right in the middle of them, forgot who was sitting opposite me. I was signed off work. Trivial things would make me burst into tears; my sensitivity to stimuli just kept getting worse. In the end, I could barely bring myself to go out the door and developed an anxiety disorder. I'd always wondered how people could be afraid of things that didn't actually threaten them. Now I know.
I've been through a challenging time: separating from my son's father, medical examinations, sorting out insurance matters, fears for my livelihood. I've never felt so much uncertainty. At the same time, I can feel that there is an unshakeable strength within me. I do tend to let it all out when things aren't going well. But I also know that I'll get back on my feet again.
I find fulfilment in many things: kneading bread dough, going for a walk in the woods – even hanging out the washing can make me happy.
My brain injury has shown me my limitations. I'm learning to see the good in this too and to trust in the way things turn out. I'm in the process of setting up my own business as a breathing coach. I can no longer imagine working in a school. But I still have this great love for life, for learning. I can get excited about all sorts of things and find fulfilment in many activities: kneading bread dough, going for a walk in the woods – even hanging out the washing can bring me joy if I simply live in the moment whilst doing it.
Collecting moments like pearls
It's only now that I realise: I used to overlook happiness quite often. Since my brain injury, I've become much more aware of the beauty in the little things in everyday life. I'm able to cultivate this new gift wonderfully with my son: just think how happy we were when we found a small bathroom cabinet to take home and gave it a makeover!
Or the little apple tree for which we made a protective charm after we'd replanted it: the way it's sprouting new leaves and how much joy it brings us! It symbolises a new beginning that we're embarking on with my father, my sister and her family in our multi-generational home. Noticing small, beautiful moments and collecting them like pearls: that's what happiness means to me.
