For as long as I can remember, my childhood memories have been vivid, almost photographic. I was diagnosed with hypermnesia, meaning I could recall events from as early as two or three years old with striking clarity. Yet, in stark contrast, my life between 18 and 31 feels like a blur. It’s a strange experience—this disconnection from the self. I used to think I couldn’t relate to the spiritual “asleep” phase that many people talk about, but now I understand. I lived it, unaware, through those years.
At 18, my life changed drastically. I lost a pregnancy, and with it, I lost my connection to my inner world. That world, which had always been my comfort, became a place of pain. I hid in jobs—crappy, soul-crushing jobs that took me farther away from who I was. I worked as a sales representative in a hypermarket, waking up at 4 a.m. while my peers were still coming out of clubs. At the time, I was also attending university, studying Communication, Media, and PR, although I had no real passion for it. It was just something I picked because, back then, I wasn’t questioning my choices. I was simply surviving.
I juggled three different jobs during university: selling cakes, gifts, and baby items in malls. My long-term boyfriend, the person I had lost the baby with, worked nearby. We were living parallel lives, caught in a monotonous loop of work and study, devoid of purpose. There are so many gaps in my memory from this time. I don’t remember the small moments. The connections I made with people feel distant. It’s as if I wasn’t fully present in my own life.
During that time, I tried to reconnect with my inner self by dabbling in holistic practices and organizing tolerance courses for children. I even started an NGO to promote self-acceptance and mutual respect. I volunteered at festivals, threw myself into event organizing, and thought maybe I’d follow a career in public speaking. But nothing stuck. The disconnect was deep.
I got married at 23, right after university, and became pregnant during our honeymoon. This pregnancy brought a new wave of fear—fear of losing another baby, fear of not being good enough to raise a child. I threw myself into studying again, this time about parenthood. I became a mother-to-mother breastfeeding consultant through La Leche League and hosted events for moms to support one another. But even this didn’t bring me back to my inner self.
At 25, we moved to Malta, and I fell into one of the deepest depressions of my life. I took on more studies, this time in Positive Parenting (or as I like to call it, Authentic Parenting), to understand the deep connection between our shadows and how we raise our children. But despite the courses, the work in schools, and the recognition from NGOs, I wasn’t smiling anymore. I sank further into myself, isolating from the world. My dental health deteriorated, my self-esteem plummeted, and my weight fluctuated drastically.
A brief moment of empowerment came when I gave birth to my daughter. Being known as “Daria Stan, the Positive Parenting lady” by the midwives at the hospital was a reminder that I had some power left within me. But it wasn’t enough to pull me out of the darkness. It would take nearly two more years of what I can only describe as a dark night of the soul—a period where I gave up on almost everything.
Yet, as the haze of that time began to lift, I felt a stirring, a call back to the deep, spiritual self I had lost along the way. It was the beginning of my reawakening, and even though the journey back has been hard, it’s been worth every step.
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