Who am I?

I was born in a small town in Bulgaria in 1985. I grew up in a time of big socio-economic and political change, scarcity and frequent family tornadoes, as I called them. As a child, I found escape in my mind - I was in love with astrophysics from early age. The local observatory was my second home and I spent my days questioning the reality of time, the meaning of infinity, emptiness, nothingness.

There was little to no space for spiritual practices in my family - though naturally soulful, my parents were busy with survival. Religion equated tradition. My brother and I were mostly exposed to sports and books and made well aware that life was hard work. My beautiful dad, the love of my life and a very pure being, died unexpectedly in a car accident when I was 13. I spent the rest of my days missing him.

I was a good student and desperate to escape, which led to my studies in Paris. My mum put me on a bus with 500 euro in a small wallet. I arrived at Gare de Gallieni 34 hours later and the little wallet disappeared moments after that.

Studying without cash was difficult but served its purpose. In my early 20s, I made it to one of those tall investment bank buildings in the City of London. “Wow” I thought, “Here comes sustenance.  And with sustenance, freedom”. But I felt empty.

The part where I worked in the City

Indeed, I had a successful 10-year career in finance. I worked for one of the biggest hedge funds with the smartest people in the industry. Finance is usually associated with a ruthless men’s world, but that was far from my experience. I was honoured and supported as a woman and as a human being. I was well paid and looked after, inspired and humbled by the people (mostly men) I worked with. Promoted at tender age, I sat on tables with famous policy makers around the world. On paper, everything was perfect. I was supposed to feel proud. But for some reason, I felt empty.

I then briefly worked for an economic consultancy, which was doing good things for the world. Consulting was no easy gig - long hours, understaffed projects, long sentences, Pret sandwiches and unhealthy amounts of coffee. I thought that a noble cause would bring me lasting fulfilment. It didn’t. After a while, that too felt empty.

Sooner or later, I had to admit that working full-time in an office was not for me.

By that point, my spiritual search had long begun. In my mid twenties, volumes of buddhist, hindu, Christian and Sufi mysticism had started filling my shelfs - all gifts from people who appeared unexpectedly in my life. My bad reading disability would trouble me at work, but it would somehow disappear when I was devouring their pages.

The part where things went pear-shaped

In my late 20s, like most wealthy and successful people of my generation, I went through a burnout, deep heartbreak and an identity crisis. Some experience it in a more subdued way, or get busier to ignore it. Others are less well equipped to cope and go into proper depression. I was part of the latter group.

After some difficult life events, things spiralled down dramatically in early 2016. The copious amounts of anti-depressants I was prescribed would make things even worse. By February of that year, the thought of waking up one more day felt unbearable. Hopelessness is not what you think it is, until you get to experience it fully. It is physical and heavy, thick and uncontrollable.

As a good researcher,  I went on a study of the most reliable methods to end my life. And I gave them a good try.  In a strange set of circumstances, I failed. Hopelessness turned into complete despair. I was admitted in the Royal London Hospital under Section 2. At the time, this felt like the only option worse than waking up one more day at home.

From darkness towards light

I was surprised to discover that at the bottom of despair, there is a strange sense of peace. In another of these life-changing moments, the doctor who admitted me altered the course of events in an unexpected way. Three days later, he let me go home with my loving and panicking brother. He told me to stop the anti-depressants, forget about psychotherapy and sent me to the London Buddhist Centre instead.

Suffering is often what makes us turn decisively towards the search for peace. When I look back, I couldn’t be more grateful. Mindfulness and meditation quickly yielded much better results than any medication or therapy ever did. Yoga asana kept me physically strong and present. Things were not improving in a linear way, but at least, they started moving.

By that point, yoga wasn’t new to me, and yet it was. I stepped on the mat for the first time in 2011. Hard to forget that first day - it was a level 3 Sunday hatha yoga class in an expensive gym in Central London. I injured my neck, trying to get into a headstand. I had no idea what I was doing. Little did I know that it was not about the physical practice. It was my depression that revealed the deeper layers of yoga, beyond the spiderman-looking poses.

In the spring of 2016, there was a glimpse of the light in the depths of darkness. It wasn’t all joy, but it was just enough to counteract the cynicism in me and ignite the fire to uncover more of the mysterious peace underneath.  I completed Buddhist philosophy and mindfulness courses with the London Buddhist Centre, immersed myself in silent vipassana meditation as taught by S.N.Groenka, explored holotropic breathwork taught by Prof. Stan Grof. You name it.

In September 2016, an ex boyfriend and dear soul brother took me to an ayahuasca retreat with the beautiful Geke Disjkstra. The plant medicine was no easy teacher, but it started shifting my perspective and rewiring my brain in ways I didn’t expect. Little by little, it created space around the sadness. And much more than just space.

Coming home

These were all beautiful experiences. They all left a big mark. They all gave a glimpse of freedom and ignited a desire to share with others in need. But like every experience, they came and went. After 33 years of search for meaning outside of me, I had finally failed completely. Amen. I could finally have a look in the only place I hadn’t so far - within.

Nothing really defined my life stream more than that one video on youtube. “Who are you?”. Minutes after I watched it, I was googling the lady with the velvety voice and angel-looking face. Her name was Gangaji. In the early 90s, after a long spiritual search, she met her final teacher, Sri H.W.L Poonja, also known as Papaji. This meeting brought her search to an end and she was sent to share this inner stillness with the Western world.

Something in me recognised the lasting and absolute Truth in her. Before I knew it, I was on a flight to Amsterdam to meet her. I didn’t really understand why, which typically would have meant a no-go for my brain. But this time, I went.

What a blessed meeting. People came to speak to her one by one. She didn’t give any practices, nor instructions. Instead, she kept pointing them back to the source of their questions. There was nothing for my mind to hold on to, nothing it could remember, understand or learn. It was on its knees with no answers. And while answers never came, the questions slowly and blessedly started falling away.

As I look back today, it is humbling to see how much life changed after this day. Subtly, unnoticeably even, many layers of who I thought I was have fallen away. Others are still peeling off in their own time and nothing is lost in this shedding - on the contrary. It still feels empty, if you were wondering, but this emptiness is mysteriously full, alive and overflowing with joy. May this life serve it fully.