About me

Yvonne Unger

I could tell you that I was born in the late 70s in a small German town that made it easy for me to go out into the world. About my time as a digital nomad and my travels around the world.

I could tell you that I dedicated an entire study to my love of films and that I juggled with words as an editor. About how my life as an employee was short-lived and how I turned night into day for 15 years as a freelance web designer.

I could tell you about dancing with shamans and meditating with Daoists. That in order to understand my own chaos, I was trained in systemic counseling and spiritual nonviolent communication. That I enjoy hosting Dyad meditations.

I could fill page after page with the stories that life has written. But as crazy as it may sound to you: None of it has any meaning for me.

An existential No!

From the very beginning, I perceived things that others did not see: energies, unspoken truths, the stage behind the stage. For me, the world was just one of many spaces of experience, and I knew that my real home was somewhere else—in a vast, dark space beyond here.

But I was alone in this. The others believed in their roles, in the reality of this world. I didn’t. And then came massive childhood trauma, which turned my open perception into something threatening.

Openness turned into confinement. Knowledge of other dimensions turned into defiant resistance: “I don’t want to be here. There must be a way out.”

Attempts at self-rescue

For decades, I searched for a way out. Books, shamans, seminars, breathing exercises—anything that promised to get me out of here. My nervous system kept collapsing. My body was chronically ill. Depression became my default state.

My resistance was joined by arrogance. Together, they were my bulwark against life. I withdrew almost completely, committing “social suicide.” Suicidal thoughts became my constant companion. Only the fear of having to come back kept me here.

After decades of struggling, I gave up.

Radical Surrender

Exhausted by life, I surrendered. I was too depleted to keep pretending that there was anything to save here. This feeling of “nothing matters anymore” became the crack in the door.

I went to a clinic. Through therapy, I felt for the first time that it might be okay to be here. My healing began. Trauma after trauma dissolved. My heart opened to the trivial human experience.

Then came the ultimate test: a life-threatening event forced me to choose—life or death. For the first time, I wanted to stay.

Awakening by chance

Without an agenda, breadcrumbs appeared: A Course in Miracles, Dyad meditations, self-inquiry. I followed them intuitively. Then the belief itself imploded. I saw that “I don’t want to be here” had never been real.

My body disappeared. The universe looked through my eyes. What followed happened without my intervention: emptiness, oneness, kundalini. One after the other, all at once, then just one again. Woven together into a wild kaleidoscope of ever deeper experiences of awakening. Later, I found a context for it in Multidharma.

The greatest irony: what I had perceived as a child had never been gone—only buried under decades of trauma. My desperate resistance to being here had led me to awakening.

But that was not the end. Integration meant no longer running away from life, but directly into it. In the embrace of everything, healing took place on levels that had previously been inaccessible.

Awakening from awakening

And then came the final blow: the idea of returning to the marketplace. My inner cry: “Anything but that! I am prepared to die a thousand times over – but not to let go of spirituality!”

Because that was exactly what it was: my only identity since childhood. The belief that I am not a human being, but something else—something that does not belong here. This identity had carried me through decades, subtly present even after my awakening. And in recent years, I had further solidified it: through daily writing, talking about it, working with it.

But then I saw it: I was keeping a dead patient alive artificially. That was the last remnant.

One morning, it was gone.

I felt betrayed. Deep sadness followed—and then that was gone too. Feelings as I knew them? No longer to be found. Intuition? Gone. I had to give up projects, realign my work. No more mystical experiences. No spiritual drive.

But: I am here. Not enlightened. Not optimized. Just here—with good days and bad days. And I have made my peace with having this experience as a temporary human being.

Yes, that’s perfectly okay.