There Must Be Something Else

By Catrin Jacksties

As a child growing up in Northern Germany, Catrin believed that her 'relationship' with her parents was normal and the same as in all other families. Weren't all children physically abused by their fathers? Weren't all wives and mothers beaten by their spouses? Not until she became an angry teen, one who protected her school friends from bullying, with a fierce uncontrollable rage, did she believe that was simply the way life is. As she grew into an accomplished sportswoman and a efficient, hardworking adult did she question whether her insistence on working endless extra hours to please teammates and appease bosses wasn't a little different to what others were doing. A little over the top? Following a move to New Zealand with her then husband and the birth of three wonderful children, she discovered that others had experienced similar childhoods … and there was a solution. Help was at hand. Catrin found an answer to the thought that had plagued her all her life: there had to be something else! This book is the true story of the journey from fear to freedom and a life that not only enabled her to control her own self-sabotaging behaviour but also to facilitate change in others.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Catrin Jacksties
• Release date: Aug 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393066538

Catrin Jacksties

Catrin was born and raised in Schleswig-Holstein, Germany. A challenging childhood left her wondering whether there could be another way to live. Travelling to many countries, learning about different cultures and fostering a lifelong desire to learn more about personal development lead her to a tool that would begin healing her painful stories and start a new way of living in New Zealand.

Book preview

THERE MUST BE SOMETHING ELSE

By

Catrin Jacksties

Prologue

IT WAS A SUNDAY MORNING, very early. The exact time I do not remember but it was the time when most people in a village are still sleeping. In my mind I see the little suitcase. It was red and had black stripes. The buckle was golden and the handle easy to carry. The image of that suitcase is still so clearly imprinted in my mind. Interestingly, I have no recollection of what I put in my suitcase. Not one. How can that be?

My twin sister was ready too and followed me without hesitation. My brother on the other hand refused to join us. Much later I would understand the reason for his decision.

Kirsten, my twin sister and I went down the stairs. Really quietly. We had done something similar before, but not quite like this. This way was a first. The staircase seemed never-ending. Holding our breath for the last few metres we reached the front door and went outside. We closed the door very quietly from the outside and went down the driveway. I was holding my sister’s hand.  I can still see the suitcase. Kirsten had one exactly the same.

We reached the end of our driveway and onto our street. Then after a few metres we both took a huge big breath. We’d made it! We’d escaped.

We knew the first part of the journey really well. Passing the bank, the drug store, the grocery shop until we reached the main road. My heart was still racing but with excitement. I felt free for the first time in my life.

My sister was still holding my hand tightly and not saying a word. We crossed the road passing many houses and our school, and got further and further away from our house.

As it got warmer we could see that people were starting to rise on that beautiful Sunday morning. No one seemed to see us though. Apart from our parents’ friends who had a farm (Bauernhof) at the end of our village. I have no recollection of how we were spotted, I just remember that the farmer came out of the front gate to greet us. He looked rather surprised I might add, and asked if we wanted to come in for some hot chocolate.

By that time, we were quite hungry and thirsty, so we just followed him. We had always loved the farm and the animals, and for a brief moment our plan was forgotten. We went into the barn and spotted some kittens. That was one of the most wonderful moments of our lives. We were allowed to stay a while to play with them.

Kirsten and I smiled, enjoying those few moments of bliss and happiness with the hot chocolate that helped to fill our tummies.

And then we heard his voice.

He came into the barn and said, You are coming home, now.

My heart dropped. My whole body froze. I could not speak or scream. Although I wanted to.

My sister and I clung to each other while we walked towards the car; we did not see or say or feel anything.

When the car arrived in our driveway we knew what was coming.

We were six years old. That was the first time my sister and I escaped on our own. We’d had previous experiences of escape with my mother and brother, and we would have more escape attempts later. Yet we always ended up back in our so-called home.

MY FATHER AT THE TIME was an alcoholic, a workaholic and a man who had many issues. However, in those days in the north of Germany, living in a small village of approximately 3,000 people, we were still living in the age of what happens at home stays at home; sweeping issues under the carpet. I am the head of the household and you do as I please, you are my assets.

I was one of 3. My brother was 11 months older than my fraternal twin sister and me. My father was an architect who belonged to the middle class in the village.

My mother was 12 years younger than him and I think, in hindsight, was easily manipulated by my father’s standing in the outside world. She came from a less financially fortunate family and didn’t really get on with her mother. In order to keep this story real I need to say that all of these observations are from my own experience and perspective much later in life.

I think my father just wanted to show the world that he was powerful. Powerful to him meant being successful in his work, earning good money, building a house, owning a family.

I cannot recall whether my father or my mother ever actually played with us. They provided us with toys, we certainly had no financial hardship and to the villagers we were a normal family. In those days being happy was not a requirement.

What happened behind the closed doors of our family home would haunt me for most of my life and would shape my view of the world ... and of people.

I would like to show you how early experiences shape a child, an adult, a person, and how those experiences will influence a wider circle, a community, a culture and sometimes a country or the whole world. This is not about blame, but a search for answers for how we can solve the pattern of abuse that has damaged so many people around the globe for far too long.

Behind closed doors

I WOKE IN THE MIDDLE of the night. Something had startled me. I felt fear and had no idea why. I wanted to go to my brother`s room for comfort. While I stood in the small hallway on top of the stairs I heard a noise. It came from downstairs. I could not make out what it was. It sounded weird. Slowly and quietly I made my way down the stairs. The noise got louder and the further down the stairs I got, the more different noises I could hear. Then I heard my father’s voice. Immediately my body froze. What was he doing? Then I heard a whimper. It was my mother, she sounded like an animal in pain. I had to stop what was going on. I went to the door and peeped in.

My mother was crouched in a chair at the dining table. My father towered above her, and now I understood what the noise was. He was slapping her face. Again, and again. She was holding her hands up for protection and pleading for him to stop. I heard him asking questions, but I was so shocked that I couldn’t move or hear anything else. I was just 5 years old. I didn’t understand this scenario. I had already learned that my father would beat us when we didn’t behave well or had done something wrong. So all I could think of in that moment was that my mother must have done something wrong. What wrong did my mother do to earn her such a beating?

I now know that I did not understand the concept of domestic abuse. For me, even at that age, the idea of receiving a beating when not conforming to my father’s will was normal.

As a child we experience what life seems to be all about first and foremost at home. The mind of a child does not question any scenario. Before growing up they are very impressionable.

Physical abuse was normal in our household.