Hello dear reader, my name is Gabi, but I will be going by Chicken. No worries, I will explain why in a bit. At the time of writing, I am 38 years old. I was born and raised in Switzerland and still live here with my lovely geeky 42-year-old husband. In high-school, I developed a deep passion for the English language and this eventually lead to me getting two Master’s degrees, one in English linguistics and one in translation. Even though my mother tongue is German (Swiss German, to be precise), English has somehow become a more natural fit for me. I often dream and think in English and since starting my small translations business 7 years ago, I’ve spent about 50% of my days writing or reading in English. Most of what I read, watch, listen to is in English. And I’ve made some wonderful internet friends who are all English speakers. So yes, writing this blog in English was a no-brainer. So get ready for the occasional awkward sentence, this is a German-speaking Chicken blogging in English.
None of the above is massively interesting or warrants a blog. But here’s the thing: I have been to hell and back. I have hit absolute rock bottom, and I’m here to tell the tale. I was viciously bullied from age 12 to 16, I developed an anxiety disorder and terrible health anxiety in my teens. I never managed to develop self-esteem and have major body image issues that probably border on body dysmorphia. In my mid-twenties, I developed a neurological illness that put me into a wheelchair. And I wasn’t coping. For about 7 years, my life was hell. My days were filled with crying fits and suicidal episodes. I developed a panic disorder, agoraphobia, self-harm tendencies and depression. Becoming disabled is the most painful process I have ever gone through, and so little of that pain was caused by the disability or illness itself. I was rejected by society and plunged into the reality of being a ‘marginalised person’. I got misdiagnosed several times. As a result, I expected to recover, and everyone around me expected the same. For 7 years of my life, I was convinced that I had become disabled because I was lazy and worthless. I battled my own body every single day. I spent years in therapy. But then last year, with the help of the right therapist, I finally found a way back to myself.
And this is why I’m here writing this blog. I was swallowed by darkness and clawed my way back. I think there’s value in that. My lovely therapist encouraged me to share my story, my thoughts and the things that have helped me through all of this. Over the years, many bloggers and YouTubers have helped me by sharing their stories and their insights, and I’m hoping to do the same for some of you.
And last but not least: the Chicken thing. I met my husband when I was 17, and he was 21. Four years is a big age difference when you’re that young. So at some point, I thanked my then boyfriend for spending so much time with a ‘chick’ like me. Chick is ‘Küken’ in German and has no derogatory connotations. It just means ‘very young’. The pet name stuck. My husband, who’s always been very creative decided to draw a little cartoon chick for my 18th birthday, and the Chicken was born.
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