THE SPOT

Category: Self-Help

  • When Birthdays Don’t Feel Magical Anymore

    When Birthdays Don’t Feel Magical Anymore

    Sunset – Chania Old Harbor

    27 years ago, I “blessed” this world with my presence. 27 — not yet old, no longer really young. And I felt it.

    Birthdays stopped being magical for me a long time ago. I was thrust into the reality of life when I was 6 and my father got sick. Gone were the faint memories of presents and cake. In their place, the door opened for mental health issues, financial woes, and many suffocating crying sessions, both at my parents’ house as well as in my very own first apartments.

    This year, unfortunately, was no different. It started on August 15th. I felt overwhelmed, tired, exhausted — and very much done. I started reflecting: what have I accomplished so far? Based on all the experiences, the hurdles I jumped, the tears I wiped away, and the birthdays celebrated… was I there?

    It didn’t feel like it. It didn’t feel like I would ever reach there.

    I had read Meg Jay’s book once, The Defining Decade1. I knew that even clinicians don’t believe your twenties are the time of your life. But still, I felt… like I lacked.

    Lacked knowledge.
    Lacked guidance.
    Lacked grace.
    Lacked happiness.

    I don’t like myself — my weight, my thought process, my mental health issues, my job, and, lastly, the point I am at in my life currently. I wished I did.

    I look at Instagram, Reddit, LinkedIn, and other social platforms, and every post, every picture, every caption seems to solidify these thoughts.

    All of this culminated in tears — on my birthday.
    A day I should be thankful for.
    Not only for being given life, but for all the blessings I already have: family, friends, a roof over my head, food, life itself.

    But is that all I am meant to do on earth?

    Is this it?
    And if it is… shouldn’t I be as content as possible?

    I don’t know. The day I was supposed to be happy about was the day I felt like I had wasted it all. And as the sun set for another day, it felt like all my hope set with it.

    This was a great overview of the book, I hope you enjoy.
    Sunset in Heidelberg

  • Self-Date: Tipsy, Therapy and Tiramisu

    Self-Date: Tipsy, Therapy and Tiramisu

    It was a cloudy April day when I chose to take myself on another self-date.

    I embraced the small troubles of “going” to work. At the time, I was still working remotely—navigating the highs and lows of behavioral therapy. It was a difficult period. Just a couple of months had passed since I got my bachelor’s degree, and I was still tangled in the aftermath of a situationship I couldn’t quite let go of. Still a mess. Still struggling. Just… trying.

    As I mentioned in my first self-date post, my therapist had advised me not to wait for a knight in shining armor. Not for friends, either—friends who were busy, wrapped up in lives of their own. I had to show up for myself.

    So, I did.

    I dressed up. Overdressed, really. I wore this beautiful dark red dress I had gotten from Zara. It wasn’t the first time I’d worn it, but I was definitely showing off a little. For myself. Or at least, that’s what I told myself.

    My therapist, of course, noticed. She seemed pleased—maybe even a little proud—that I was trying to get out more, enjoy myself, live a little. Ever the people-pleaser, I was happy to see her happy. But even beyond that… food has always been something I strive for. A reward. A comfort. A ritual.

    After therapy, I stopped by Hunkemöller—a lingerie shop. I bought my favorite bra. It broke just a few months later, but I wore the hell out of it while it lasted. I also splurged on a matching slip. Way too much money for underwear, but I felt fancy. I think, deep down, I was trying to feel sexy. Trying to feel like someone who deserved to feel good.

    Then I made my way to my self-date destination: Papi in Heidelberg. Best pizza in town. If you ever want a slice of Napoli in Heidelberg, that’s the place. It’s a bit pricier than the average spot, but the flavor, ambiance, and experience make it worth every euro.

    For once in my life, I was on time. Unfortunately—or maybe fortunately—my table wasn’t ready. The waiter was the kind of arrogant that’s polished just enough to pass for charm, especially when tips are involved. He offered me some sparkling wine while I waited. Since I hadn’t eaten much that day and wanted to savor my night, I got tipsy very fast. Big mistake… but kind of a fun one. He offered me a second glass. I said yes.

    About ten minutes later, a sweet and soft-spoken waitress showed me to my table. She had a gentle energy that made me feel even more at ease. I liked her instantly.

    I ordered the Quattro Formaggi—with more wine, of course. (As if I hadn’t already had enough.) Plot twist: I forgot to ask for the pizza without nuts. Oops. I figured I’d just scrape them off later and call it a day.

    As I sipped my wine, the warmth began to spread through me. I was alone, yes—but in that moment, I felt… light. Like I was learning how to enjoy my own company.

    The pizza arrived. Then, shortly after, it disappeared—into my stomach. It was amazing. Neapolitan pizza is the thing. Soft, charred crust, melted cheeses blending like poetry.

    Feeling bold (and a little buzzed), I ordered dessert. Tiramisu. The best I’ve had in my entire 24-year-old life. I didn’t take a photo of it, but trust me—it was heaven. The kind of dessert that makes you close your eyes after the first bite.

    If you wanna go check out Papi on their socials here: https://www.instagram.com/papiheidelberg/

    When it was time to go, I paid, left the lovely waitress a good tip, and stepped out into the night—feeling full. Physically and emotionally.

    No grand revelation. No love story. Just me, a red dress, some excellent wine, and a slice of peace.

  • From Heavy Hearts to Full Plates: A Journey of Self-Celebration

    A couple of years ago, I was crying in my bed, feeling like a loser. I hadn’t gotten the things I wanted, hadn’t found contentment, and life felt like a continuous spiral of unhappiness.

    I had just gone through a mentally draining, manipulative situationship. One night, after another bout of loneliness, I swore to myself: I would learn to enjoy my own company.

    I don’t always like myself. I don’t always enjoy my thoughts or how my brain works. But I decided I would damn well try to make the best of it.

    I kept searching online for an answer to the heavy heart in my chest and the sinking feeling in my gut. But the loneliness stayed, even in crowds — laughing among friends, sitting in class, waiting at the doctor’s office. It was there at dawn, dusk, night, morning.

    Some said I needed a boyfriend. Maybe they were partly right. But male attention always felt more like a band-aid than surgery — it never really touched the wound underneath.

    What was I supposed to do? Where was I supposed to go?

    That’s when the idea of self-dating crossed my mind. So, ready, set, Google.

    Oh man, I found a plethora of ideas. Single people, formerly married people, even married people — all talking about self-love, self-celebration, and self-finding.

    And honestly, what could be more important than finding, loving, and celebrating yourself?

    While I’m still learning how to love myself, I have found ways to celebrate myself.

    Join me on my adventures in self-celebration.

    First things first: food. Because what is life without food? Plain, boring, and barely tolerable.

    I started looking for restaurants in my city — Heidelberg. (Yes, the Heidelberg where so many people have lost their hearts; there’s even a whole song about it.)

    The first spot I chose for my culinary journey: Salerno’s (Brückenstraße 38, 69120 Heidelberg).
    Located in Neuenheim, Salerno’s is known for fresh, flavorful food and a charming atmosphere.

    I made a reservation online. And then I panicked.
    Would I look stupid all by myself? Would people stare at me, pity me?

    I told my therapist, who in her free-spirited way simply said: “You should still try it.”

    And so, I did.

    (As you can probably tell from my solo travel adventures, I have never once regretted it.)

    At Salerno’s, I had a pizza, a bit of wine. The waiter seemed perplexed that I wanted to sit in a corner alone, but funnily enough, he never forgot me — he came by quickly and often.

    I sat there, looking around at all the groups of people.
    And for once, I felt something different — gratitude.
    Maybe even happiness?

    I was proud.
    Proud that I went through with it.
    Proud that I didn’t let loneliness drown me, even if just for a twenty-minute dinner.

    I lived to see another day.
    And I’ll live to see many more.