I must have lost it in the deep end of spirituality. I must have thought that my ego is too heavy, too old, too stubborn, too competitive and far too masculine. So I dropped it; life got lighter but not very much brighter, I felt softer and more vulnerable, tearful, sensitive and lost. I embarked on a wonderful horrific adventure through the fog of my own self, I tapped in the dark and bumped on old pains, discovered my scars and I felt the throbbing pain of my stitches. A true adventure it was, indeed. Equipped with only a  little light of understanding I explored the painfilled caves of my ancestors; overwhelmed by the discoveries I fainted and was unable to carry my burial hoards. But brave as a woman on a mission, I recovered and decided that I have to bring them up to the light and the fresh air, so eventually I could breathe again. I wasn’t strong, I wasn’t well equipped, I walked on the last string of courage only accompanied by a little glimpse of hope that this all will make sense one day. I shouldered my heavy painful fundings and walked the lonely long path back up to the bright daylight. The pain didn’t turn into gold as it does in the fairytales. Instead, I turned into a stronger me with every step I made out of the shadows. I cleared the fog, I constructed myself, I fixed my mind, I healed the stitches, I outshined the past. I realised the power of my thoughts and the strength of a decision. I honoured my emotions and their magic. Today, I am choosing new colours for my ego, like choosing a summer dress.