Last year started just great. In December 2013 I quit my regular job and started working as a freelancer. I was full of enthusiasm and thought I could have it all. January, February and March were great. I had my assignments. The freedom to work when I wanted. What I wanted. As I wanted. I had time for myself. I finally started a life I was kind of dreaming of.

In my home country changes started to happen. People were on the streets. Demanding the corrupt government to resign. I felt so much good energy everywhere and wanted to be part of everything that is good. I believed that change is gonna come. And that made me enormously happy and proud.

My mother decided after 20 years of living in Berlin to end the infamous stigma of being an immigrant and go back home. I was more than happy about that decision and wanted to come to Berlin at the end of March to help her with the big move. So everything was flowing and happening. Just as I wanted.

Switch to end of March in Berlin, I realize my mother was overwhelmed by her choice. She was almost paralyzed and scared like a little child. Making such a huge step wasn’t easy for her. But I believed that was the best decision she ever made so I did everything to help her out & not to overthink it. My friends asked me how was I going to feel when my mother left Berlin and I would always say that I’m more than happy that she is finally going back “home”. Thinking about her, I totally neglected my own emotional relationship with Berlin.

And here I was. 1st of April. Lying on the bare floor of her now empty apartment in Neukölln. An hour before I brought my mother to the station to wave goodbye to her and then came back to her place to put the last things into my car and drive back to Amsterdam. I saw that empty apartment once again. And I crashed. Physically and emotionally. I felt like I was again losing a place I called home. I couldn’t stop crying. I crawled insanely on the bare floor and wept like a baby. I couldn’t stop crying. I took pictures of the empty apartment. Of every corner of it. Obsessively. Like I wanted to take that home with me. To put it in my pocket and take it with me. I couldn’t stop crying. My drama lasted not longer than an hour. It stopped suddenly and I stood up. Like waking from a bad dream. I put the last things into my car. Closed the door behind me. And drove as fast as I could back to Amsterdam. I didn’t stop. My body was stiff. And it felt like I was having a big hole in my stomach.

Back home nothing was the same. I didn’t enjoy my work. I couldn’t see anything positive about my life. We traveled for a month and I did my best to enjoy it. But truly I felt dead inside. I lost a part of me there on that floor in Berlin. And I felt like I would never find it back. Ever. And that was scary. The hole in my stomach was ever-present.

The only bright moments during these dark days were the Kundalini classes on Wednesday’s evenings. That wonderful peaceful atmosphere once a week my teacher, Esther, created was soothing for my mind and body. I felt like my teacher and the techniques she shared would heal me bit by bit. She would start every class in the same manner. And I loved that routine. I would close my eyes and listen and breathe. In some of the classes I would constantly cry. But also that felt good. Every class felt like mental hygiene. Some of the classes were very relaxing. And I would relax. Some of them were physically very demanding. And I embraced that because I enjoyed feeling my body again. I could finally feel. I enjoyed feeling anything.

Even if I was visiting classes only once a week they had so much impact on me. They were glimpses into a parallel, more beautiful reality than the one I was living in and showed me that I actually COULD feel good again. Feel alive.

I never shared that with my teacher as I thought that something was wrong with me. I would come to her classes hoping that nobody would notice me. Enjoying my mental cleansing. And leave. My lack of confidence wouldn’t allow me to talk to my teacher (or anyone else) about it. I was ashamed of being depressed and insecure. And that is a vicious circle that needed to be broken. And I needed something pretty much radical to break it. A full commitment.

Soon I gave myself up for the teacher training.

Not everyone needs Kundalini yoga. But everyone needs something that will help him remember how wonderful life is. We often forget it. Especially when we are stressed. When we are in pain. When we suffer. We forget that the stress, pain, suffering are not permanent. Like nothing is. The only thing that is permanent is our true being, our true self, our true identity, the Sat Nam. And once we get in contact with it (thru love, yoga, art, dance, sports) we learn to trust. To trust that everything will be all right. Always.