Image source: 123rf.com/fmua

Diana - for some an annoying media figure, for others the biggest projection screen in the world. No one can ignore her. A woman to whom an incredible mass of people reacted emotionally, a Madonna to this day. That says more about the image of women in our society than countless scientific studies.

Like so many people, I remember exactly where I was when she died. I was a young woman and had just met the love of my life. We were exploring romantic corners of the west coast of Rhodes together when the news broke on the television in a small taverna. I never liked Diana and yet, like her, I was about to sacrifice my identity for love. Like so many other women, I was prepared to give up much of what made me who I was for a smoothly functioning us. Love - the supposedly most worthwhile thing in the world. It wouldn't be until years later that I would search for the wreckage of my identity in this us and try to find a meaningful clue as to who I actually am. Please don't get me wrong. The love of this man is one of the most beautiful things that has happened to me in my life. But today I have a place in our us as a whole and complete personality.

This is something that we women often only realise in later years. We begin to realise how much we give ourselves up for our relationships, how many relationships, including professional ones, are built on our indulgence. We discover our self-efficacy and mature into an independent personality that is enough for itself. Rarely does this process take place without a moderate earthquake occurring in a woman's life. Like the Greek goddess Persephone, who is abducted into the underworld as the girl Kore and returns as the powerful goddess Persephone, you are no longer the same woman afterwards.

Tragic, if so. Just like Diana.

As much as she may look at first glance like a rebel who rebelled to go her own way, on closer inspection this turns out to be an optical illusion. Throughout her life, this woman served the most useless images with which society manipulates us women: she was a princess, Barbie, Mother Theresa, star, the caring mother. She was a walking cliché and, until the end, not capable of going her own way. Magically, she was always drawn to wherever there was admiration and affection to be had. The age-old trap of women. In the end, she is nothing more than a shiny trophy of the patriarchy and anything but a worthwhile role model.

A documentary shows pictures of her rhetoric training. They should probably remain private, but what was private about this woman? The camera is rolling, but no work is being done yet. She tells the children to keep quiet, then skilfully puts on her Diana look - lowering her head and looking naive. This look alone is a single symbol of everything worth rebelling against. The trainer asks her where she gets the motivation for her gruelling charity work. Diana laughs: "I've got nothing else to do," and can't get her head round it for a while. As I said, these pictures were not intended for the public. And of course, it was a joke. And in a tragic way, it was also the truth.

Diana had no plan of her own for her life. In fact, she didn't have a life of her own. She traded the pressure of royal etiquette for the pressure of publicity, walking past paparazzi with a coquettishly shy look, which she had demonstrably called out herself often enough. She remained what she was - dependent on the love and admiration of others, unable to build on herself, the property of the public and/or the men into whose arms she incessantly threw herself. A woman who was incapable of respecting herself and supporting herself.

I don't want to be unnecessarily strict with Diana. After all, we make this mistake ourselves over and over and over again. We want our authenticity, we want to learn to say no - and at the same time we want the world around us to understand this. We don't want to lose the affection of others in our self-discovery, and yet often enough we lose our bearings again in this dilemma. We finally go our own way for a short time and can't bear it if we don't please others. We are full of guilt when we don't fulfil the expectations of those around us. We can't bear their displeasure. And fall back. Je suis Diana. We are all a little bit Diana, the torn woman. We want to be ourselves and authentic, but we want to please everyone. The price for our authenticity seems too high as long as we are unable to find the support and encouragement we need within ourselves. As long as we don't understand that we are first and foremost committed to ourselves and that we are enough for ourselves.

Lady Di was not a rebel. Lady Di was torn, restless, an addict, always on the lookout for the next shot of attention, affection and encouragement. She couldn't get off this drug until the end. She remained addicted to it until the end and considered it her identity. The queen of hearts. In reality, however, hearts were the substance she had to take every day, which she, like so many of us, needed so badly that she put it above everything else. She was deadly consistent in her use of female projections, died too early as a victim and became a legend. Victim of paparazzi, victim of a completely drunk driver, but in reality victim of her own lifestyle, her love addiction elevated to the maxim of life. Diana died from the golden shot of a drug from which no woman is immune.

On the anniversary of the death of this tragic figure, I would like to remember all the women who sacrifice their identity every day in the good faith that they are doing the right thing. All the women who believe they can save the world or even just their relationship with their willingness to sacrifice. Who forgo living their needs so as not to jeopardise the balance of the family. Who deliver top performance at work and don't demand adequate pay because the satisfaction of others is reward enough. All the women who maltreat their bodies with eating disorders and cosmetic surgery because society only accepts one kind of beauty. All the women who believe that a good mum doesn't take her own needs so seriously. All the women who don't live their power because it sometimes looks unattractive. All the women who immediately betray their path when there is more affection to be had elsewhere. All the women who have not yet exposed these sh...een images of women for what they are - lifeless images, sh...een ones at that.

And so I now come to the most important question of my female soul: Do you all still love me, even though I speak my mind?

Joking aside. Diana should not have lived and died in vain. For me, she is a symbol of a woman's life that failed magnificently, the life of a woman who had every opportunity and yet succumbed to the same longing as Mrs Müller, Meier or Schmid. A woman who succumbed to the misconception that the affection of others was more important than her own path. Going your own way may have its price. But as Diana's fate shows, so does not going your own way. That popularity could be a higher currency than authenticity is a fallacy. A smart woman who fearlessly goes her own way recently said to me in a telephone conversation: "I realise that my self-confidence costs me something." Everything has its price. A true queen knows that.