When I began to sing

From the age of four, I grew up with my stepfather. After separating from my mother, my true father did not feel able to build a connection with my brother and me. My stepfather was twenty-three years older than my mother and deeply passionate about medieval music — folk songs from another time.

Almost every week, we would walk through the forest to the Henneburg, a medieval castle in the Spessart forest in Bavaria. We were dressed in medieval clothing. I smile when I think about it now. It was a joyful and unusual time, even though my stepfather was a very strict and authoritarian man — not someone who encouraged the free unfolding of a child. And yet, this period lives in my memory as an adventure.

We lived at the edge of the forest, and we children spent most of our time playing there, often on our own. That was completely normal back then. Of course, I fell out of trees, and I still carry countless small scars on my scalp. As I said, we walked to the castle almost every week and met like-minded people who also wanted to sing. Most of us were dressed in medieval clothes, and we would sing with great enthusiasm in a circle while my stepfather played the drum.

As a small child, I often sat on the lap of an elderly man named Walter Hagen, whom I felt deeply connected to. I remember one moment very clearly. I was singing along with all my heart when Walter suddenly looked at me, visibly moved, and said, “You have such a beautiful voice.” Those words stayed with me.

And yet, for many years, it felt difficult to let my voice be heard in the world. Deep self-doubt weighed on me and held me back. Not following my heart affected me both mentally and physically. At times, I felt as if I would go mad if I did not allow my light to move outward into the world.
The time of excuses is over now.

Nature has inspired me for as long as I can remember. When I feel truly connected to her, I hear melodies — as if they were carried from far away. I hear them when I look at the sea as well.