I sit at my desk. The tablet lies in front of me, and old school grades appear on the screen. A relic from a time I don't miss. I hated school—this constant evaluation, the measuring against a system that left no room for creativity or individuality.
You just have to sit down and study! they said. Read more books, and your grammar will improve!
But it wasn't that simple.
Lazy but smart, they said when I was a child. And I believed them.
On top of that, I was overweight. Obese. And because others made fun of me, I felt worthless.

My gaze keeps wandering to the mirror. My own reflection looks back at me, but I don't really recognize myself. Hadn't I finally become thin enough to be perfect? Am I finally worth something? Adapted enough to blend in?
It was always: René, you're too loud, or too much.
So I tried to meet their expectations. Thinner, more ambitious, more conforming. Deep inside, these words were like programs running in my mind, controlling my thoughts.

AI generated picture of: A chaotic vortex made of geometric shapes, swirling in an intense and stormy atmosphere. The shapes are sharp and dynamic, creating a sense of unrest and movement. Instead of black and white, the colors are neon green and vibrant pink, glowing against a dark background. The composition feels tense and energetic, with the shapes twisting and colliding, forming an abstract yet visually striking scene. Source: AI generated picture

At work, I function. I smile in video calls, speak professionally, get my tasks done. I do far more than I should. Do more—because it's still not enough or not perfect enough. Always hoping to climb higher, to move forward—at any cost.
But as soon as I close my laptop, all that's left is exhaustion. My eyes fall on the mirror.
The same question again: Am I finally perfect now? Better? Worth more?

There was no single moment of realization, no sudden enlightenment. It was a long journey, an endless battle against the doubts deeply ingrained in me.
Enough, I thought. Take a sabbatical, after COVID it will do you good. Walk the Camino and try applying elsewhere in the meantime.
Always with that feeling: It's not enough. If it doesn't work out there, then somewhere else.
But I didn't find anything new.
Whatever—back to the golden cage.

A dark picture of the camino

But what awaited me left me speechless: Suddenly, I often felt nauseous when talking to people, I was exhausted for no reason, I had pain in my left arm, and I could barely work, let alone manage my daily life. This went on for almost an entire year.

A dark hollow path into the darkness

And then, thanks to someone who opened my eyes, it finally dawned on me:
I cannot live in a system that keeps me small.
I can create my own space.
I can finally decide for myself who I want to be.

I learned to see that I am enough.
That my exhaustion wasn't a sign of weakness but proof that I had accomplished something.
That my sensitivity wasn't a burden but a gift.
I can read people's emotions, pick up on the smallest nuances in conversations.
What once overwhelmed me now makes me a great observer.

I no longer have to hide because I accept that I am gay.

In the middle of the picture, René Bergenroth, who is slightly smiling, is wearing glasses and is a bit rounder with earrings and a beard. He is wearing a shirt in various colors, with a cool design featuring a lot of red, yellow, and blue dots. He is holding a wrap, and in the background, you can see the horizon at the Marschseefest. The sky is cloudy, but it's a warm day.

The people around me—my sister, friends, my husband, the +1 nice colleagues at work—are my anchors, my mirrors, in which I no longer feel like a stranger.

Since then, I get on my road bike with a different feeling, in skin-tight gear. The wind rushes past me, nature flies by, my mind clears. Conversations with colleagues become more authentic, more honest. At work, I set the pace now—without burning out.

René Bergenroth holding a toy, In der Hanumag building, Der Hintergrund ist ziemlich blöd. He is wearing a skinny blue training shirt. He looks really happy and he is smiling. His hair is not so in a good shape because he is sweating. He wearing black trousers. The toy is a small dinosaur with a handle and it's only the head like a Smaller stick. Und Sie können am Ende sehen, die Zucker-Candies in dieser Kiste.

Freedom.

I don't want to be free just for myself.
I want to show others that it's possible.
I want to inspire, to motivate, to give people the tools to shape their own path.
To create something beyond imagination.
Something that not only helps me but also those who struggle the most.

I see myself in the reflection of a window. A man who doubts less, who is no longer afraid to be seen. I am attractive, full of energy, ready to shape the future and make the impossible happen—not just for myself but for anyone who needs support.

I don't pretend anymore.
Either like this—or not at all.

Since then, a new chapter of my life has begun. Even though there are still setbacks, I now stand on a different foundation.

Ever since I developed cataracts in my right eye, I understand everyone who relies on accessible products. And once again, I see the same patterns:
People saying: "Isn't that a bit much? The design, the effort?"

I can finally respond: NO.

As I keep riding, I lift my gaze. The sky is bathed in soft colors, the day is coming to an end.
But for me, a new chapter is just beginning.

A man René Bergenroth with a three-day stubble, wearing sunglasses and a white-and-black patterned shirt, paired with black shorts. He is sitting on a mosaic bench in a park in Barcelona, enjoying the warm weather at sunset. René Bergenroth For everyone who can see this image, this example is meant to help you create a better alt text: A man René Bergenroth with a three-day stubble, wearing sunglasses and a white-and-black patterned shirt, paired with black shorts. He is sitting on a mosaic bench in a park in Barcelona, enjoying the warm weather at sunset.