Reflections, Chocolate Addiction & Lessons from Country Life - Workaway #1

Workaway #1 (Lensahn / Schleswig Holstein)

Lensahn, my first Workaway experience. Livia, a teacher in her 60s, welcomes me at the train station. In the car, she tells me how, after a painful separation and 23 years of marriage, she rediscovered herself – and now dances salsa with her new partner. Something her ex never wanted to do with her.

“Salsa,” my trigger. My first evening with Lucas was at a salsa party. He wanted to learn to dance but wasn’t good at it. I teased him, he laughed. Years later, he accused me of showing that very evening that I wasn’t a kind person.

Livia’s house in a village at the edge of a forest has a red wooden façade, straight out of a Swedish storybook. Inside, I find everything a traveler could wish for: a piano, board games, and a collection of instruments.

I jump right into my projects for the next five days: expand a vegetable patch and dismantle an old bed made of pallets. While digging, I try to spare the worms – not always successfully. The work becomes meditative, and memories resurface: how Lucas always sought validation from others that I was annoying, while he acted patient and understanding. When I couldn’t express myself clearly, got flustered, or tangled up in my thoughts, he’d say, “See? It’s not just me. Others get frustrated with you as well.”

From Livia, I learn that her husband also constantly criticized her. He called her “broken” and in need of therapy. She stayed – for the kids and out of fear of being alone. It wasn’t until she really began therapy that she realized how toxic the relationship had been. In the end, he left her for a twenty-year-old.

Ever since I started speaking about what happened, I’ve met many women with similar experiences. They stay until only a radical break can save them. Friendship afterward? Impossible – you lose yourself otherwise.

Livia says the separation was the best thing that has happened to her. Now she dances, makes music, and is in a relationship where she feels accepted.I, on the other hand, am afraid I’ll never regain my strength, never be able to open up to someone again. Waves of withdrawal hit me relentlessly. Two years – is that enough to justify this kind of pain? I am ashamed I was not able to endure it longer. But then I remember him saying he couldn’t rule out the possibility of killing me one day. With that I remember why I had to leave.

After a day’s work, I cycle to the sea. But everything triggers memories.The beach – our vacation, when we fled our shared apartment in search of peace.Beach chairs – he’d never seen them before Rügen, was fascinated, and spent hours in them.“Fishbrötchen” – our birthday tasting session.Wherever I look, I can’t escape my thoughts of him.

I sit on the beach eating fries. I look at my hands.

Countryside Wisdom #1: Living in the countryside means always having dirt under your fingernails.

I long to arrive – in my work, in a home. For two years, I tortured myself trying to advance our projects without success.He accused me of not enjoying it, and he was right – I didn’t.

“You never had a real job,” he said. But what does a “real job” even mean? Are 12 hours on a film set worth less than 6 hours in an office? I don’t carry boxes but baremy soul. Do I have to suffer in an office for it to count as “real”? Creative work, writing for hours – is that worth less just because I enjoy it?

I longed for the weekend – like so many others. But does life have more meaning when lived that way? I gave up my freedom for an office job, hoping for “more.” But what I expected demanded too much of me. I had to realize: I wasn’t made for it. I wasn’t allowed to think that, though. Not made for it? That didn’t exist in his eyes – to him, I was simply lazy.

This week, I’m pulling out trees. Okay, not actual trees, but deeply rooted wooden stakes. I unscrew, rake, haul soil, mow lawns, and shovel until my back aches – all while fighting off an aggressive army of mosquitoes. Gardening sounds romantic, but in reality, it’s hard work. Falling into bed at night feels good: for my body, my mind, and the sense of accomplishment.

Countryside Wisdom #2: Living in the countryside means trading Chanel perfume for mosquito repellent.

I dig and cry. I stir up the earth, and with it, my memories and pain. I dig deeper, cover it with fresh soil, and seal it with my tears.We had so much potential, could have fulfilled all our dreams. But his anger destroyed everything. Yes, I overreacted, stood up to him. But he started it – and never stopped. Yet he still blames me for everything.

Was it worth it? That we now have nothing, that everything is destroyed? I dig for hours, endlessly, until a fever sets in. With Livia away for the weekend at her partner’s, I put the shovel aside and crawl into bed. With the fever comes grief – and the fear that letting him go means betraying our connection.In my diary, I find an entry from two years ago: “I can’t imagine being without him. My life is more exciting, intense, with him. Without him, it’s boring and empty.”

It hurts so much, I want to go back to him. This must be what withdrawal feels like. Distantly, I know it from chocolate: If I forbid myself, I hold out for a while, then break down and eat it. And then? I feel terrible. It would be the same with him. All the things I’ve rebuilt for myself – spontaneous trips, visiting friends, eating what I want – I’d have to give up.

When I was home alone, I could breathe. But everything in me tensed when I heard the key in the lock – a reaction I later learned is typical of PTSD.

As the fever subsides, I step into the garden and breathe in the warm evening air. The leaves on the trees rustle. A dull sound catches my attention. In the greenhouse, I see a small bird, panicked, flying against the glass. When it notices me, it hides in a corner.

Carefully, I try to catch it without hurting its fragile wings. Finally, I manage. I carry it outside and place it in the grass. For a moment, it sits still, looks around – and flies away.

I was afraid I’d hurt it, but it seemed fine. As it flew off, I didn’t feel joy, just a quiet peace. At least today, I did something good.

At the end of the five days, all the wooden stakes are gone. Where the rotted bed once stood, the soil is flat and ready for new growth. Livia is dancing again, the bird has flown. And me? I keep digging, perhaps learning to be patient – healing takes time, and maybe soon, something new will grow in me too.

If you would like to share your experience, have questions or would like to get in touch, you are welcome to write me.

Be well,

Vaselisa