Christmas Letter

Here it comes again. Dreaded Christmas time. Down the black pit. Falling deeper every day.

I remember clearly my decision as a 16-year-old to never, ever have children. It simply wouldn't be good for any child to be born and raised by a woman like me. I was unwanted, sexually abused and beaten from an early age. Doctors put me on addicting medication at age 12 in order to “help” me cope.

My background from an underprivileged family and my lack of education added to my determination not to have children.

Fleeing home at 16, I pulled myself together, found a young, educated man from a good family and was able to upgrade my position. In exchange, he to be with a woman who admired him and his writing skills. Full of himself and me being damaged, we never got close, but it looked good from the outside.

Back in 1989 living in West-Berlin we were hit hard by the so-called reunification of Germany. As soon as the wall came down, all the Nazis popped up from their hidings. Overnight, every human being not looking “Aryan“ or as an anti-fascist, had to fear for their lives. Homes of asylum seekers were burned. They were openly chased in broad daylight by police and “pure“ Germans, insulted and beaten in the streets. These were the so-called “baseball bat” years. This was celebrated worldwide as the “Peaceful Revolution“ but, being well aware of Germany’s history, it came as no surprise. It was unbearable.

Together, it would be easier to start a new life and so we left for Spain. Not knowing the language, with no money and just two backpacks, we settled in Valencia. It was such a warm and friendly environment. It felt like home - like no other place had before in my life. There I got pregnant, unintentionally, at age 35. The fear deep down in my guts told me to have an abortion. Hormones told me otherwise. My husband wanted kids desperately. I made up my mind to get through pregnancy. I gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl, on Christmas Eve. I was overwhelmed with joy.

I went out earning the bread while their father was looking after them. It worked well for 10 years. Then the Spanish economy broke down and I couldn't make ends meet any longer. We had to return to Germany and everything went wrong right from the start. The twins missed home and couldn't come to terms with these German “square heads” as they are called in Spain.

My daughter went on a hunger strike, suffering from anorexia. Then started cutting herself.

Our family broke apart, my husband left with our kids and he made sure that I was to blame. It's been seven years now. My daughter turned against me. The great friendship I had with my son was a comfort. He had a lovely relationship with a wonderful young woman. The three of us got on so well - spending holidays together, visiting festivals, sharing environmental activities.

My son used to record good, old-fashioned mixed tapes just for me. What a proof of love. One was even called " Mother!". It had a range of emotional to cynical songs on the topic. A brilliant mix. I got him interested in a free radio station which I supported and we did a radio program there. Mother and son in conversation about our relationship adding the convenient songs. It was brilliant. Listeners liked it a lot and it got on air several times. I can still listen to him on the radio but now he has a forced high pitched voice lobbying for trans-rights.

It's been three years since my daughter tried to take her own life for the first time and got locked up in a hospital. Simultaneously, her twin brother started on cross hormones. The last time I saw him, he looked pitiful -skinny with his lion's mane like hair destroyed by colored chemicals, dressed cheaply in over sexualized shreds. Of course, he demanded I accept him as a woman. Of course, I couldn't. I was called TERF and the rest of it.

Wonderful, understanding Miriam Grossman tells us to never give up hope. Well, there is this German proverb: Hope dies last but will eventually.