Self-Love or the Warrior’s Path: Back to Life

Self-Love or the Warrior’s Path: Back to Life

What does self-love really mean?

Self-love—a term often misunderstood.

You hear: “Accept yourself as you are.” “You are good enough.” People advise you to stand in front of the mirror, compliment yourself, smile kindly, and convince yourself that everything is fine. But what if you look deeper and realize: I am not good enough—not for myself. Perhaps for others, but not for the standards I set for myself.

In the morning, as I prepare in the bathroom for the challenges of the day, I stand in front of the mirror—critical and self-reflective. Before that, I complete my meditation routine, which puts me in the right mental state—clear, focused, ready. This is followed by my intensive workout routine, for which I wake up an hour earlier. Routine, focus, discipline—these are the values that drive me. As my body still feels the final steps of the workout, I check to make sure my business attire is immaculate, every detail in its place. Sometimes lines form on my forehead as I think. My gray-blue eyes stare back at me, scrutinizing—firm, clear, focused. Almost demanding. I am resolute.

Self-love, to me, means respecting myself so much that I don’t settle for the status quo. “You are good enough” might be comforting, but it holds you back. Because as long as you’re satisfied with “good enough,” you’ll never discover how far you can truly go. My journey shows: it’s okay to challenge yourself. Self-love isn’t always gentle—it can also be the spark to awaken the inner warrior.

2017: When the Ground Beneath My Feet Began to Crumble

2017 was my personal low point. My health, already severely burdened by cystic fibrosis, deteriorated rapidly. Misdiagnoses, physical decline—I felt my life slipping out of control. By May 2017, even the smallest movement seemed like an insurmountable mountain.

One evening, I stood before the staircase in my parents’ house. My legs refused to move. But I had to go up to reach my animals. They were waiting for me upstairs, depending on me. Every step was a battle. I pulled myself up by the railing, gasping as though I had just run a marathon. But giving up was not an option. I had to make it.

My parents’ house was never a place where I felt understood. “You’re different,” they often said. This otherness was never accepted. Early on, I was drilled by my father, who demanded perfection. “No mistakes! Again!” His strict discipline shaped me—but left little room for weakness. My mother, on the other hand, always saw me as the fragile, sickly daughter. Leisure? Sports? Unthinkable. She was too afraid of the risks.

The Lesson of Cystic Fibrosis: My Invisible Mentor

It wasn’t just my parents who were my teachers. My genetic illness, cystic fibrosis, was one as well—and often the toughest of them all. From an early age, it imposed a discipline on me akin to that of an elite athlete. An elite athlete trains daily, lives for peak performance, and cannot afford breaks if they want to succeed. It was the same for me, except I had no choice: this discipline was my means of survival.

Every routine—whether it was taking daily medications, performing breathing therapies, or constantly monitoring my body—was essential. Without this precision and rigor, I would have had no chance. But this routine was also a teacher. It showed me that self-discipline isn’t an obstacle but a path to keep moving forward, even in seemingly hopeless situations.

Today, there are specialized medications that can bypass the genetic defect of cystic fibrosis. They allow people to live almost like normal individuals. But before these medications, life with cystic fibrosis was a constant battle—not just against the illness but also against the limits it sought to impose. And while these new medications make life easier, the spirit of discipline that this disease instilled in me remains a central part of who I am today.

When I finally climbed the stairs, I was exhausted, but my animals were cared for. They gave me the affection that was often denied by my parents. But that was just the beginning.

Hospital: The Wheelchair, the Oxygen, and My Reminder

After a week, my husband returned from Switzerland. He saw that I could barely breathe. The family doctor immediately called an ambulance, which took me to Munich. When I arrived, everything was ready. But the reality was devastating.

A wheelchair was brought, oxygen was attached to my nose. I looked at the device that was now supposed to keep me alive and felt weaker than ever. Nurse M., a warm-hearted nurse, helped me to my room. “You will recover,” she said gently. But the weight I felt in that moment seemed crushing.

Every morning in the hospital, the doctors examined me. They told me I would need to stay—weeks, maybe months. “Your condition is critical.” Beside my bed stood the wheelchair, and the portable oxygen became my constant companion. It was a reminder.

I saw suffering all around me—a woman with cancer and her young child, an elderly lady with COPD. But I decided that I would not give up. Even when the doctors told me it was unlikely I’d walk normally again.

The Climbing Wall: My Symbol of Ascent

On the 14th day, a new chapter began. The physiotherapist brought me to the gym. Before me stood a climbing wall. “Try to stand up,” she said. But I wanted more. Not just to stand. I wanted to reach the top.

With trembling hands, I grabbed the first holds. My right arm, weakened by the IV needle, hurt with every movement. But I ignored the pain. I pulled myself up, hold by hold. When I reached the first milestone, the therapist said, “That’s enough.” But I replied, “Not yet.” And I kept going—all the way to the top.

The Climbing Wall of Life: A Lesson for Businesses

The climbing wall became a symbol—not just for me but also for the principles of growth, whether for individuals or businesses. A company that believes it is “good enough” will stagnate. No progress. No innovation. Just standstill.

Growth requires courage. Courage to explore new markets, adapt technologies, and constantly question oneself. The lesson is clear: “Good enough” is not enough. Neither for you nor for your company. Leaders who believe in the status quo risk being left behind. But those who dare to climb higher find new paths and grow.

On Day 13: The Decision to Take Back Control

On the 13th day, I decided to turn off the oxygen—and not use it again. Not out of defiance, but from a deep conviction that it was time to prove myself. My body felt the change. Breathing was heavier, the air no longer as light and free as with oxygen. But it wasn’t a rebellion of my muscles, not a painful struggle. It was a new rhythm, an unfamiliar state that I accepted and wanted to challenge myself against.

I knew I wouldn’t achieve peak performance immediately without the oxygen. But I was clear about my goal: to free myself from this dependency—not someday, but now. Each breath was a challenge, but I stayed calm. I breathed deeper, more deliberately, like a soldier adapting to their surroundings to gain an advantage.

In that moment, thoughts of my father and my childhood home influenced me. My father, who had disciplined me early on, was someone who demanded perfection. Whether it was physiotherapy exercises—the bridge, the swing, the giraffe—or the way I approached challenges: “You do it right, or you don’t do it at all,” he often said. His voice echoed in my thoughts as I experienced those first moments without oxygen.

But had I ever been good enough for him? Were my efforts ever enough? I had to achieve the perfection he demanded—without compromise, without deviation. And now? Now I was my own benchmark. I decided what was good enough, and I knew: good enough was not my goal. My goal was more.

My mother was different, but no less influential. Her strictness stemmed from fear. She had always tried to protect me from the dangers of my illness but had unknowingly drawn a boundary she never intended: a boundary limiting my belief in what I could achieve. No sports, no leisure activities—always the worry that I might fail or overexert myself. At that moment, without the oxygen, that boundary felt like an invisible enemy I was determined to overcome.

The hospital room became my battlefield, the oxygen mask my test. It wasn’t a direct fight, but a strategic, internal war. I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the air I breathed without assistance. It didn’t feel like complete freedom—not yet. But it was a beginning. The depth of my breaths, the heaviness in my chest, the slight burning sensation—they weren’t obstacles. They were like a test I passed, step by step.

I knew the doctors were watching me, documenting my progress, but also harboring their doubts. “Mrs. Glock, don’t overdo it,” they had said. I nodded but thought to myself: You don’t understand. This isn’t overconfidence. It’s the decision to take back control.

The First Night Without Oxygen

The first night without oxygen was a challenge—not physically, but mentally. Breathing was harder, but it was manageable. What kept me awake were the memories. Memories of the voices that had said I wasn’t enough. The teachers, the parents, the doctors: “You can’t do this, Verena.” But those words had lost their power. Now, I was the one deciding what was possible. Yet, I also thought of my husband and my animals.

Lying in bed, my gaze rested on the oxygen tube lying unused beside me. It would have been easy to put it back on. No one would have blamed me. But I knew: taking that step back would only hold me back. I stayed strong. The air wasn’t enough, but it was mine. My body adapted, and my thoughts focused on the next day.

The Next Morning: A Small but Decisive Victory

In the morning, I woke up. The oxygen remained untouched. I was exhausted, but I had made it through. This small victory was more than just a night without oxygen. It was a symbol of my ability to take control—for myself, for what I wanted to prove, and for the next step I would take.

When the doctors came for their rounds and asked how I felt, I calmly said: “I’m managing.” They glanced at my readings and nodded hesitantly. “You shouldn’t overdo it,” one said. But I knew I had already shifted the boundary—both in my mind and in my body.

The Significance of This Step

This moment wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t dramatic either. It wasn’t a heroic battle against pain or suffering, but a quiet, determined decision. That’s the true fight: not to impress the world, but to overcome yourself.

The lessons from my father—perfection and discipline—and my mother’s fears were part of this process. I had carried both within me, as shadows and as motivation. And now, I used both to forge my own path.

Self-Love as the Warrior’s Path

The truth is: self-love is not always gentle. It is not just about accepting who you are but having the courage to look at who you can become. It means admitting to yourself that standing still is not an option. Self-love is not about settling into your comfort zone but constantly venturing into the unknown, the challenging. It calls on you to critically examine yourself—not out of self-doubt, but from the determination to reach your full potential.

Self-love as a warrior’s mindset is tough. It demands sacrifice. You will experience setbacks, feel doubt, and sometimes even fail. Yet it is also a promise: the promise that you will rise stronger every time. It means seeing your inner critic not as an enemy but as a driving force. The warrior’s path is a journey of constant growth, one that shapes you, teaches you, and ultimately rewards you with a deep sense of fulfillment.

True self-love means recognizing your own strength—and using it to move mountains. It means taking responsibility for yourself, not just accepting what is, but shaping what could be.

Your Decision: Will You Be Your Own Warrior?

The question is: Are you ready? Are you ready to go beyond “good enough”? Most people eventually settle for what they have. They tell themselves they have done enough, achieved enough, that they are good enough. But what happens when you take one step further? What happens when you fight not just for the status quo but for what you could truly be?

The decision is yours—and it won’t be easy. The warrior’s path is hard, full of trials, full of moments when you will question whether it’s all worth it. But this path takes you further. It is the path where you grow. It is the path that sets you apart, whether in your personal life, your career, or your business.

For Yourself

Are you ready to leave your comfort zone and overcome your own limits? There will be moments when the next step seems impossible, but that is where progress begins. It is not about whether you will fail—you will. But how you rise afterward, that makes the difference. It is the process that shapes you, strengthens you, and shows you that you can achieve more than you ever thought.

For Your Business

Leadership means thinking beyond the status quo. It means taking risks, exploring new paths, even when success is not guaranteed. The economy rewards those who are bold, who don’t settle for “good enough.” Innovation, growth, and success don’t come to those who stand still but to those who have the courage to leap.

The Warrior’s Path: Your Next Step

Are you ready to walk your path—as a warrior, a leader, a creator of your life? The decision to go further, to go beyond “good enough,” is not just a choice. It is a commitment. A commitment to believe in yourself, in what you can achieve, and in what lies ahead.

The warrior’s path does not always follow straight roads. But it is the only path that truly moves you forward. It is the path to true growth, genuine strength, and a life you have built for yourself.

What will your next step be? Where will you find your climbing wall? Share your thoughts. Let’s grow together.