Out of my Comfort Zone

Seeking Happiness and Joy …

Gabriele Annegret

Copyright © 2014 Gabriele Annegret.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

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ISBN: 978-1-4525-2287-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4525-2288-3 (e)

Balboa Press rev. date: 10/10/2014

Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1   Birth

Chapter 2   Higher Education

Chapter 3   I leave my relationship and travel the world

Chapter 4   I get married and immigrate to CA

Chapter 5   I dissolve my marriage and become a businesswoman

Chapter 6   I sell the business and jump off the ledge into the unknown

Introduction

May this story about my life journey inspire you to leave the familiar, to go outside the ordinary, and to heal yourself.

Our thoughts define reality.

We can easily get stuck in a box of limitations of our own making.

Step out of your comfort zone and face truths about yourself. Taking responsibility for your own life is the first step toward self-empowerment and, ultimately, freedom and joy. Life is a constant exploration, and opportunities to grow are always offered, often through challenges and obstacles. They are never more than you are able to handle, and help is all around us. Do you give up, or do you take charge of your life? By facing and overcoming obstacles, your spiritual awareness will expand and you can grow into who you are truly meant to be.

CHAPTER 1

Birth

Do we choose to be born when we are? I always wondered. What made me decide to be delivered in a hospital in Bremen in northern Germany on a winter’s morning at 2:15 a.m.? My mother insisted that I hesitated and stayed in the womb so long that my skin was as soft as a ripe peach. However, I agree with the following teaching that Paramahansa Yogananda received from his master, Sri Yukteswar: “A child is born on that day and at that hour when the celestial rays are in mathematical harmony with his individual karma. His horoscope is a challenging portrait, revealing his unalterable past and its probable future results” (Paramahansa Yogananda, Autobiography of a Yogi). Since I believe in horoscopes—from accomplished astrologers—I suppose my time had come and my soul had slipped into a new vessel.

There was no going back, and I attempted to make the best of it. The Buddhists say that life is suffering, but at that stage in my life it wasn’t obvious. I was a healthy, friendly baby, and it had nothing to do with my behavior when my mother put me in a children’s home run by the Catholic Church before I reached my first birthday. She had no choice, as she let me know when I found out the details some thirty years later—sadly, when I decided that she would be better off in an old people’s home. Even though it wasn’t intended, it seems to be true that what goes around comes around.

As I got the paperwork ready for my mother’s application, I stumbled over some of the timelines. They didn’t make sense. I dug deeper. She had spent a long time in an institution. Where was I during that time? Neither my brother nor my sister would have been able to look after me; my brother had been an apprentice in a bakery, and my sister had still been going to school. I vaguely remembered that I had spent some time in a children’s home. But exactly how long? I contacted the Theresienhaus, which was still in operation helping children and teenagers, and discovered that they had archived the ledgers from the period when it had been run by nuns. I made an appointment. The building is situated close to the River Weser in Bremen-Vegesack and is beautiful and grand. I have always loved big hallways and doors, and something resonated with me as I stepped through the impressive entrance.

A helpful employee with a couple of books under his arm approached me and invited me to sit down at a table. We started the search in 1954, the year I was born. I noticed the beautiful handwriting and followed the entries with my index finger, reading the names of the children and the dates they had arrived and left. So many stories! Finally, there was my name; I had been signed in on January 12, 1955, shortly before my first birthday, and released on September 14 1956. That long? I was in shock. I wrote the dates on a piece of paper that I have kept all these years.

At university, I studied early childhood education and learned that during the first five years of life, a child accomplishes more than in any other phase of life. The foundation for healthy emotional development is established; the child begins to understand his or her own feelings and those of others. Recent neuroscience research shows that the development of the brain over the first three years is more rapid, intensive, and vulnerable to external influences of the environment than at any other time of life. I certainly did not grow up in an enriched environment during my extensive stay, most likely did not form a secure and warm relationship toward my caregivers or was exposed to music or art.

I pondered how I had been affected and looked again at some of the black-and-white photos my brother had taken while visiting me.

I was very playful with my brother and sister; however, one photo shows me on my mother’s lap looking at her skeptically. I must have felt heartbroken from being there so long. Many years later, I came upon Carol Pearson’s book, Awakening the Hero Within. She describes twelve archetypes, each of which can go on a heroic quest. I wondered which one fit me and decided on the orphan, who is abandoned and survives difficulty. Tom Butler-Bowdon writes in his review,

“Pearson tells us not to despair, for such experiences are a ‘mythic event calling you to the quest’. In many myths and stories, the hero overcomes their background to rise up and live a rich life. Cinderella has a wicked stepmother and is treated as a servant, Oedipus as a newborn was left on a hillside to die, and Dickens’ David Copperfield must escape the horrible orphanage. We are all born in innocence, but the job of the orphan is to face life head-on instead of becoming attached to the victim mindset and states of dependency.” (http://www.butler-bowdon.com/herowithin)

My subconscious mind certainly stored abandonment. As I am writing these lines, I become aware that it is Mother’s Day. What synchronicity! I believe she did the best she could, given the circumstances. When I visited my mother with my new insights, she said, “The nuns took care of you, but what they couldn’t give you was love.” It was one of the few occasions I remember her getting teary-eyed.

My Parents

My mother could have used so much more love in her life. She had to address her parents formally—having been born in Friedersdorf in Silesia in 1920, then German soil, close to the Czech border. She often told me how much she liked to go to school and that she had been elected to be her teacher’s assistant. Over and over, she showed me her certificates written in ink in beautiful, even letters. However, when her father passed away at her tender age of eight, her mother remarried, and she had to help on the farm and raise her stepsiblings. Ultimately, she had to give up her dream of becoming a teacher when she found herself pregnant with my brother, who was born before she turned seventeen. My sister followed four years later, and when my father was drafted into the war—proudly sitting on his tall horse—she had her hands full raising my siblings by herself.

I now believe that deep down she felt ashamed of becoming pregnant so early and that she never got over the toxic feeling. Raised strictly Catholic, she felt she had done wrong; she believed in a punitive God. Many people find comfort in religious faith, but The Huffington Post posted an article on April 24, 2013, about a provocative new study, published April 10 in the Journal of Religion & Health. It showed that “people who believe in an angry, vengeful god are more likely to suffer from social anxiety, paranoia, obsessional thinking, and compulsions.” Aside from paranoia, those attributes certainly fit my mother, and the effects of the war most likely exasperated her tendencies and affected her well-being.

After 1945, the main part of the former Prussian Province of Lower Silesia fell to the Republic of Poland. When the German authorities finally gave people the order to leave their homes, the available means of transport (such as trains and ships) were inadequate, and this forced many to leave most of their belongings behind. My mother took a few possessions, and she and my siblings joined the long stream of refugees. About 85 percent of the Lower Silesian population was evacuated in 1945. I wonder how they got food and how they slept. It must have been so cold and their journey was so far.

My sister recollects stopping in Austria where they were supposed to settle, but my mother insisted they keep going to meet up with an aunt who lived far away in northern Germany. It was then that a gypsy read her hand and told her that she would have a long life of illness and suffering. We will never know if this prediction would have been accurate if she had decided against thinking of herself as a person who was not well. Paramahansa Yogananda’s teacher, Sri Yukteswar, permitted his students to consult doctors, “but he extolled the superiority of mental therapy, and often repeated: “Wisdom is the greatest cleanser.”

“The body is a treacherous friend. Give it its due; no more. Pain and pleasure are transitory; endure all dualities with calmness, trying at the same time to remove yourself beyond their power. Imagination is the door through which disease as well as healing enters. Disbelieve in the reality of sickness even when you are ill; an unrecognized visitor will flee!’’ (Paramahansa Yogananda, Autobiography of a Yogi)

I wish my mother had had access to his teachings and accepted them! Displaced persons made themselves known in various ways, and allied forces took them into their care by improvising shelter wherever it could be found. My mother eventually made it to Bremen, Germany and found some work in a kitchen where she cooked for American soldiers. She learned a few words of English and deemed the young men rather delightful.

My father was taken as a prisoner of war by the Russians. Approximately three million German prisoners of war were captured by the Soviet Union during World War II, most of them during the great advances of the Red Army in the last year of the war. The POWs were employed as forced labor in the Soviet wartime economy and post-war reconstruction. By 1950, almost all had been released. My father was one of those Spatrueckkehrer. When he finally reunited with his family, he was a broken man. He was unable to express any feelings and he turned into a jealous husband. Two broken people!

Bruno Groening

At around the same time, another man, Bruno Groening (1906–1959), returned to West Germany as a refugee. In 1949, his name became popular overnight.

His miraculous healings were considered by some as a gift of grace from a higher power; others considered him a charlatan. Even though medical examinations confirmed the power of his healings, the controversy ended with a ban that was eventually imposed on him.

A documentary clip about a healing deeply affected me. I finally understood why my father was so shut down emotionally. A farmer who was healed during a community hour tells his story very passionately:

“The war, the war (der Krieg, der Krieg) put a stamp on us. The war destroyed us. That was the whole thing … emotionally destroyed. During the war, we weren’t normal human beings, we were hyenas. (Wir waren doch keine Menschen, Hyaenen haben sie aus uns gemacht.) As a normal human being you can’t shoot anyone. We had to. Either you or me! No wonder that we got sick. That’s not normal. And our life was hanging on a thread, grasp at straws, something you can hold onto. It can be over in any moment. It’s awful when you experience something like that. We were emotionally destroyed (seelisch kaputt). Then there was salvation. We felt newborn—that’s how light you felt. The heaviness went out of the body.” (http://www.youtube.com/user/BrunoGroening)

The Teachings of Bruno Groening

Bruno Groening’s teachings are based on the premise that one has to believe in goodness and be willing to be healthy. A person is like a battery that uses energy. If not charged through einstellen (tuning in), consequences can be “fatigue, exhaustion, nervousness, anxieties and finally, illness.” However, Heilstrom (healing waves) “can be absorbed.” He considered the healings as “spiritual” and not dependent on his “physical presence” (http://www.brunogroening.org/english/lehre/defaultlehre.htm).

Nowadays, the Bruno Groening Circle of Friends is to be found all over the world and continues to report healings.

How different the lives of my parents could have been if their paths had crossed with Bruno Groening. They were two disoriented, displaced people who couldn’t return to their homeland or their farm, which was dispossessed. Eventually, my mother received a small pension for the property she had to leave behind. But back then livelihood was about surviving; even though my mother was resourceful, I observed her constant struggle. Lack and scarcity were stored in my subconscious mind.

Ho’oponopono

How different the lives of my parents could have been if my mother had known about Ho’oponopono, an ancient Hawaiian practice of reconciliation and forgiveness. In his book, Zero Limits, Joe Vitale gives us these simple steps to healing: I Love You, I’m Sorry, Please Forgive Me, and Thank You. He tells the story of how Dr. Hew Len healed the ward of criminally insane patients at Hawaii State Hospital. As he worked on himself, patients began to heal. “I asked Dr. Len how he went about healing himself. ‘I just kept saying, I’m sorry and I love you over and over again,’ he explained. Turns out that loving yourself is the greatest way to improve yourself, and as you improve yourself, you improve your world” (author and inspirational speaker Joe Vitale on the ho’oponopono process. (http://www.weboflove.org/070701msorryiloveyou).

My parents couldn’t get along, and my mother started to see a psychiatrist who specialized in the diagnosis and treatment of mental disorders. Why her doctor ordered a lobotomy I will never understand, and I wasn’t able to find out. She was severely depressed, in a loveless marriage, and suffered emotional distress and constant headaches—but she was far from schizophrenic. Undergoing this procedure was the reason that nuns cared for me during my first years. Now we know that electroshock therapy is a drastic psychiatric treatment that only relieves suffering temporarily. Brain tissue gets destroyed, however, and eventually so does memory. A popular victim of this cruel procedure was Hemingway, who also suffered severe depression. He sought treatment, but the only thing offered at the time was electroshock therapy. He also had a lobotomy, which destroyed his memory. “Well, what is the sense of ruining my head and erasing my memory, which is my capital, and putting me out of business? It was a brilliant cure but we lost the patient” (http://www.sntp.net/ect/ect3.htm).

And my mother? Did she get any better? She seemed to improve in the beginning, even though she was stuck in a constant cycle of consulting with her doctor, who prescribed a lot of pills. She expected that she would eventually be fixed. She was hoping that the healing would come from outside of her. The body is a vessel that we only inhibit for a certain while. I strongly believe we have a personal responsibility to take care of our well-being, and then our bodies’ innate healing abilities kick in. We know now that exercise is more effective as a treatment than any other, as it changes the brain chemistry. When you exercise, your body releases chemicals called endorphins. These interact with the receptors in your brain that reduce your perception of pain. (The neuron receptors that endorphins bind to are the same ones that bind some pain medicines.) Endorphins also trigger a positive feeling in the body, similar to that produced by morphine—but without leading to addiction or dependence. Many studies show that people who exercise regularly benefit from a positive boost in mood and lower rates of depression (http://www.webmd.com/depression/guide/exercise-depression).

My mother had her share of chores; these kept her moving about, but she considered some to be an ordeal. On wash days, the water had to be heated in a big vat, and the clothes had to be washed and wrung. The sheets were hung on the clothesline to dry—which actually made them smell nicely of sunshine—then they had to be taken down, stretched, ironed, and folded. She walked to buy groceries, gardened, cooked, and baked. One day she would be cheerful, and the next day her energy would be low and she would feel overwhelmed by all the things she wanted to do, like sewing a new pair of pants for me, or canning fruit or jam—which included picking apples, cherries, or currants in the neighborhood, or strawberries, which we grew in our garden. Our bodies have daily energy needs. Our ability to get energy and resources where they need to be determines our relative state of health. My mother knew about the importance of fresh air (oxygen) and how to extract adequate energy from our food. It was organic and fresh, and additives or chemicals were never used. She loved to cook and bake, and she attended cooking classes to learn new recipes. She insisted on the ritual of eating our meals together, which connected the family. However, even though her chores took care of exercise and the food gave maximum energy, she didn’t adhere to her mindset.

Another important factor for health is sleep, to rest and recover. She couldn’t turn off her mind. She went over and over in her head what she didn’t accomplish, which made her feel inadequate to her own high standards. Resonating with positive thoughts is always better than fighting conditions. I wish she had been given a way to relate to herself with a thinking technology that could have produced a positive biochemical reaction in her body. She was tuning into a lower frequency.

Frequency

Quantum physics tells us that it is the invisible, energetic world that is responsible for shaping the physical world. Bruce H. Lipton, PhD, is an internationally recognized leader in bridging science and spirit. The new biology defines how our thoughts, attitudes, and beliefs create the conditions of our body and illuminate the hidden connections between body, mind, and spirit. In an interview he said: “For a couple of thousand years, spiritualists had defined spirit as invisible moving forces that shape and influence the physical world. Spiritualists knew the effect of it. Quantum physicists have brought in the mechanics of it. Quantum physics is really the merging point of spirituality in our world” (http://www.energesse.com/dr-bruce-lipton-subconscious-mind-spirituality-quantum-physics-linked/). How wonderful meditation would have been for my mother!

Early Years

We looked like a happy family. My mother had managed to get a brand new flat, and my parents, brother, sister, and I moved in. Being born in the fifties, my upbringing now seems very old-fashioned. There was no central heating—just a coal-burning oven in the living room and another one in the kitchen where the whole family congregated. Hot water had to be heated up in an auto geyser. For my weekly bath, typically on a Saturday afternoon, a metal tub was filled with hot water. In wintertime, my mother would scoop me up in a big towel and carry me into the warm kitchen after scrubbing my skin and rinsing off the soap. Next to the little cooking area was a balcony where I could see our garden and a living area furnished with a table, chairs, and a comfortable chaise longue. It was my favorite place to play and squirm about when I got tired. In the evenings we listened to the radio. I remember wonderful plays and music entertaining us. Kitchens are important; they are the heart of the home, and everybody likes to be in the kitchen. So did we!

I cannot remember my father living with us. But one incident is etched into my brain. I recall seeing myself on the back of the couch in the living room, pressed against the wall, scared. Maybe I wanted to make myself invisible during an argument my parents were having. I wasn’t there long; our neighbors took me to their place. Eventually, my mother attempted to get a divorce, which the Catholic Church was not in favor of. A lot was going on behind closed doors. At some point my father intended to hang himself, but she found out before. Eventually, she was granted a separation on the grounds of his insane behavior. Now she was a divorced woman and I was fatherless.

It left me with a deep wound subconsciously, and I created vows: ‘I will never be with a man who yells at me, who treats me with disrespect.’ Vows don’t give us freedom, and I eventually broke them. I believe every girl looks for approval from her father, who most often is the first man in her life. In our western society it has traditionally been the father’s job to protect the daughter until she is ready to be handed off to the protection of another man. He acknowledges her value and beauty; it is a powerful bond. A girl wonders, Am I known and am I wanted? Am I valuable? Can you see me? Some fathers are wise, smart, and supportive. I truly didn’t feel seen. When I had to visit my father because of a court order, he always questioned my progress in school, and I would feel uncomfortable. My big brother loved me, but did he look upon me proudly like a father does? On the mortal plane, my father did not cherish me. And I didn’t feel divine love then. I just didn’t know for the longest time that I mattered. He did show his pride when I was admitted to university, though. I was the first in our family, and he—who had always been withholding—gifted me the money for a car. I picked a deux chevaux.

My father was gone and my aunt moved in. My mother needed help and got her a permit that allowed her to leave Poland. When my aunt took me to the playground, she was less protective of me than my mother. She encouraged me to climb around and take the risk of falling. I liked her a lot.

There was no lack of playmates; every family had plenty of kids. I would leave our flat and always run into someone who wanted to kick a ball around or play with dolls.

We were lucky to have had a garden. Besides growing some flowers, vegetables, and strawberries, I also had my own grassy play area. My elementary school was right next to it, separated only by a fence. Though all the neighborhood kids ran around fairly free, we respectfully never climbed over it. I fondly remember summer evenings—playing in the yard, building tents with blankets, going to the nearby playground, or even riding our bikes into the forest. During summer vacation we were all allowed to stay out late. In northern Germany it doesn’t get dark until almost ten at night; we played badminton until we couldn’t see the birdie any longer. Heini was my first friend, and it was very sad that we didn’t carry our trophies together on our first day of school.

During an assessment it turned out that he had to attend a special school. I started to hang out with Axel. I really liked him. He had three brothers, and his family lived kitty-corner above ours. I remember looking out my window at night and seeing him on their balcony. Looking at the stars together resembled a somewhat romantic moment. His father was very stern and I was terrified of him. One time I stepped on a little play car and didn’t