A contribution to Susanne Burzel’s blog parade: My / Our Story with Giftedness
A Dirty Little Secret
Giftedness is a sensitive topic—and a stigmatized one. Susanne Burzel is right when she writes: “Every single story of a gifted person is interesting. It helps dismantle stigmas and opens our eyes to this delicate topic.”
Still, I found it hard to contribute to this blog parade. Writing about my own giftedness feels presumptuous. It was never formally diagnosed. I’ve taken a few IQ tests out of curiosity, but I’m not a member of Mensa—and my husband (who’s almost certainly gifted too) finds Mensa ridiculous. So I’d either have to sign up secretly or endure his mockery.
But that’s the thing about giftedness: when you discover it only in yourself, it becomes a kind of dirty little secret.
Between Teen Beat and Nature
In school, you learn quickly: if you want to belong, you need to act like your good grades are the result of hard work. You don’t admit to voluntarily reading Nature magazine instead of typical teen stuff. And the vague sense of not fitting in? You explain it to yourself as a flaw: Something must be wrong with me.
I have a conflicted relationship with giftedness. On the one hand, I’m grateful for how my brain throws itself enthusiastically at anything even remotely interesting. On the other, I wonder: why do I notice so much? Why do I want to know everything? Why does my inner horse—whom I’ve named Areion, after the mythical steed from Greek mythology—need so damn much space to run? And seriously—how am I supposed to stay in the saddle with all this leaping around?
Areion is my intellectual soul-animal. Incredibly fast, clever, powerful. But also overburdened. For years, he tried to solve problems he wasn’t built for—and nearly ran himself to death in the process. It took a long time to relieve him of that burden. That process is still ongoing.
Or less metaphorically: I’m a chronic overthinker. A bit of a control freak. Exhaustingly rational. And always searching for truth. Which is elusive.
School Years: Between Erasers and Bookstores
In elementary school, I was unremarkable. Average grades. Mostly Bs. It was hard for me to write neatly (there were marks for that). So was keeping tidy notes. Textile crafts? A horror—I still have knitting-related trauma.
I was obsessed with horses, constantly daydreaming, and had no idea how to “be a girl.” Most of the girls in my class transferred to secondary schools that seemed to match them: polished, socially skilled, well-adapted. I desperately wanted to go to the academic high school (Gymnasium). My teacher disagreed: “You’ll have to work hard there.” My parents stood up for me.
At Gymnasium, I rarely had to work hard. But keeping my notes organized remained a drama—usually a last-minute panic attack solved by borrowing a friend’s notes. Deadlines? Torture. Art projects? Sometimes my mom stepped in.
Still, I loved the beginning of every school year. Especially picking up new textbooks from the bookstore. I often got to own my copies rather than borrow them—and would start reading them during summer break. Yes, really. Some covers are burned into my memory—like the hazel dormouse on the orange biology book from 5th grade. Outside of school, you’d never catch me without a book.
So by the time school started, I already had my “Best Of” version of the curriculum. And I was disappointed when the official syllabus skipped my favorite parts. If I couldn’t connect with a subject—like math with the “Grasdackel” (grass-dachshund and you can guess it isn’t a compliment) teacher—my grades dropped. One teacher said he was surprised I was good at physics, since I was “clearly not cut out for math.”
I generally didn’t like participating in class. There was the boredom. But also a stressful home life. I was quite overweight and didn’t hit the classic teenage milestones to my satisfaction: clothes and makeup, first boyfriend, parties, alcohol. My coping strategy? Fully embodied invisibility. This blog is the opposite of that. Only took me 25 years.
A Mathematical High in Oregon
At 16, I spent a year abroad in Oregon. To avoid repeating 11th grade in Germany, I needed to take calculus. The only option was AP Calculus—a college-level math course, 90 minutes a day. I arrived with gaps—and had to catch up in English.
After two weeks, I wanted to drop out. But my teacher -by far the best teacher of my educational career-convinced me to stay. And he made it happen: I fell deeply, irreversibly in love with mathematics. The rest is history.
When I returned to Germany, I didn’t want to start over. The head of the upper school disagreed. So I did a trial run: the last month of 11th grade in fast-forward. It was liberating. A full year of chemistry in four weeks? Challenge accepted. Nathan the Wise and The Sorrows of Young Werther in two days and then a test? Sure.
But I still had to complete two more years of upper school. I chose chemistry and math as advanced courses and graduated with the second-best GPA in my class. I had finally gotten over my grade mediocrity but I felt really held back by the German school system- it was high time to move on.
Between Aerospace and Burnout
I studied math and- after completing a Master thesis at Airbus- earned a PhD in Aerospace Engineering. After that I worked as a scientific programmer, and eventually ended up at a startup. The higher you climb, the thinner the air—and the more normal giftedness becomes. At some point, no one notices it anymore.
I had children. Then Long Covid. I won’t go into detail here—only this: I decided to make a radical change. I still enjoy programming. But right now, it doesn’t fit.
Gifted, but Not a High-Flyer?
Did my giftedness help me? Yes. I needed it. Used it. But it didn’t give me a soaring life. Intellectual talent alone doesn’t make you a high-flyer. I have massive imposter syndrome—though these days, I think that’s actually a sign of intelligence.
My husband and I often say: we believed the wrong things. “Collect degrees, then you’ll be safe.” Nope. That kind of safety does not exist—at least not in the form of a lifelong job.
And anyway, four years ago, I quit a stable job—partly because I was bored. I thought, there has to be more. I wanted a challenge. Life delivered- and then some: startup. Long Covid. Reinvention. The pieces of my exploded life are still falling around me.
Conclusion: I’m Here for the Experience
I’ve come to believe I’m here to have experiences. Sometimes they’re beautiful. Sometimes they nearly break you.
And there’s another shadow side to giftedness: the internal pressure to make something of the talent you’ve been “given.” I tried to live up to that for a long time—but the past year gave me space to gently rebel. Which brings us quickly to the question: what actually makes life meaningful and worth living?
My rational mind and my intuition (represented in my inner imagery as a little squirrel) now agree: we are all inherently valuable—just as we are. We don’t have to earn our worth. Because—as Alan Watts put it—we are “the eyes of the universe.”
Areion, for his part, is galloping again. That’s his nature, and he needs it to be happy.
So all that’s left for me to do is to rise into the light seat—and enjoy the ride.