“If you were born a unicorn, you’re not obliged to become a horse,” says Romana Anuradha, who has been through a transition, addiction and a life on the edge
Romana Anuradha’s life defies simple categorisation – and it is precisely against such categorisation that she herself speaks out openly today. She underwent her transition at a young age, at a time when awareness of transgender people in the Czech Republic was incomparably lower than it is today. Later, she moved in the worlds of modelling and nightlife across Europe, where the apparent freedom was gradually accompanied by alcohol, drugs and addiction. The turning point came with a serious car accident, after which she returned to her family, sought professional help and began to rebuild her life.
Today, she works with children, including those with autism and disabilities; she practises meditation and yoga; and she supports people who are searching for their own identity or going through a difficult period in their lives. She has also founded the Beyond Limits project, in which she combines her own experience with peer support and personal development. She herself says that even her own search for identity is not yet over. After years of fully identifying as a trans woman, she is now rediscovering her masculine side and acknowledges that her future path may lead in a direction she would not previously have considered possible.
Let’s start right at the beginning. What made you decide to reach out to LUI magazine and share your personal story?
I believe it is incredibly important that we share our life stories, whatever they may be. And this isn’t limited to the LGBT+ community. It is precisely through sharing that we can appreciate the fragility of humanity and realise the true value of life. Open communication about our experiences naturally brings people closer together. Listening to and truly understanding others helps to break down prejudices and internal barriers. I notice in myself that when I hear an authentic human story, it awakens a deeper sense of empathy and compassion within me. One then comes to understand more clearly that the most fundamental values lie in people and in life itself.
The theme of searching for one’s own identity often resonates in your writing. When did you first begin to realise that you didn’t fit in with conventional social expectations?
As a society, we’ve created a certain norm that most of us try to conform to. However, I’ve observed that people who go through a difficult life ordeal or severe trauma gradually shed a certain superficiality. They let go of the need to prove anything to those around them and to construct external masks or a false ego. Life’s challenges – whether illness, the loss of a loved one or another crisis – provide an opportunity for inner transformation. Of course, there is a risk that a person may succumb to this burden, but at the same time it offers them enormous scope for personal growth.
So can we say that difficult life experiences force a person into deeper self-reflection?
Absolutely. When a person is forced by circumstances to turn inwards, they may discover qualities within themselves that they would probably never have sought out in a state of complete comfort. It is very similar with the question of identity. When a person confronts their true nature whilst also longing for a sense of belonging, they naturally ask themselves questions about their own purpose and uniqueness. The desire to fit in often stems from a fear of rejection and of losing the love of those closest to them.
In my life, however, this experience ultimately served as the best of all filters. Only authentic people have remained by my side – those who truly love me without any pretence or games. Only sincerity remains. I am immensely grateful for this, because this search ultimately led me to a deep sense of inner happiness.
Do you consider this journey of self-discovery to be complete, or is it an ongoing process?
The process is certainly not over, and it’s actually fascinating how my story is constantly evolving. Today, I understand many things in a broader context. Previously, I identified fully as a trans woman. In the 1990s, however, in a post-communist environment, there was a lack of the information and awareness we have today. Today’s generation is far better educated about LGBT+ issues. Back then, I carried within me an enormous, suppressed sense of shame about who I was. I felt that if I strictly fitted into one of the clearly defined roles, everything would be all right. I chose the female role because feminine energy was strongly dominant within me and my psyche was much more inclined towards a feminine perception of the world.
Now, however, you mention that you are rediscovering your masculine side as well. What developments have taken place in this regard?
Looking back, I can see influences that I had previously ignored. I was put off, above all, by harsh, aggressive masculine energy and societal pressure regarding what a ‘proper man’ should look like. I couldn’t identify with that. Nevertheless, there has always been a gentler aspect of masculinity within me, which I completely suppressed during my transition. Although I lived a fulfilling life as a woman – I worked as a model and travelled throughout Europe as a successful dancer – I lacked acceptance of my complete wholeness, that is, of both polarities. Over the last five years, this aspect has begun to return to me naturally. Today, I experience my masculine polarity much more fully, and I do not rule out that, after everything I have been through, I might be ready to function in the role of a man as well.
If you perceive identity as such a fluid matter, do you think it is even necessary for society to constantly try to categorise people?
That is precisely what I see as a huge paradox. I understand that for individuals with a clearly defined identity, this issue does not pose a problem. But why should we limit that part of society which doesn’t fit within such strict boundaries? None of us consciously chose this path; it is our nature, which already brings with it so many internal challenges and pain. The question remains whether we will succumb to the pressure of misunderstanding from those around us, or whether we will allow ourselves inner freedom and accept ourselves as we truly are. In my view, the ideal situation would be to abandon such pigeonholing altogether.
You went through your transition at a very young age. How did that process unfold back then, and how did your family react to it?
I started hormone therapy at around the age of seventeen, and as soon as I came of age, I underwent transition. I was firmly convinced of my decision and my family were a great source of support. Having a supportive home environment made the process much easier. The main problem was the hostile environment outside the family, which also had a severe impact on my loved ones. My father faced complications at work, and my parents had to endure stigmatisation from those around them. At that time, moreover, transgender issues were often mistakenly conflated with drag shows, and the general understanding of queer topics was far less informed than it is today.
In your journey of self-discovery, you also went through some very extreme experiences, such as working for several years in nightclubs in Germany, Austria and Switzerland. How did you actually end up in that environment?
It was a gradual process. I come from a small town where I was lucky enough to have a wonderful and supportive family and friends. However, the wider social environment had a profound effect on me. I faced verbal aggression and homophobic insults, particularly from peers around school. As a teenager and a very sensitive person, that’s hard to bear. Although it wasn’t exactly classic bullying – I can be assertive and I don’t just put up with anything – there were also physical attacks that I was unable to defend myself against. These experiences left a deep mark on me.
What emotions gradually built up within you as a result of these traumatic experiences?
A huge amount of anger, a sense of injustice and deep sadness built up inside me. I asked myself why I was facing such hatred simply for expressing my true self, which I didn’t even fully understand at the time. Although my transition was successful and I became an attractive woman, I didn’t manage to shake off the inner trauma. Instead of dealing with them through therapy, I escaped into alcohol, parties and drugs. At first it seemed like harmless fun in the modelling scene, but by the age of twenty-five I’d developed a severe addiction to cocaine, methamphetamine and alcohol. I went from being a model to a dancer, and eventually a stripper performing in nightclubs across Europe.
Was the main motivation for this work the financial gain needed to fund your drug addiction?
No. I fled into this world primarily because there I didn’t have to face the demands of mainstream society. There was no need to constantly justify myself or face prejudice. In this nightlife scene, you meet people who, for all sorts of reasons, have also been pushed to the margins of society.
Did you, paradoxically, find a greater sense of acceptance in this environment than in everyday life?
Exactly. The customers here were looking for something out of the ordinary; for many of them, my difference was attractive. The main thing, however, was the dynamic between my colleagues themselves. Many of them had been through cruel experiences – domestic violence, abuse, addiction in the family. Nobody judged or lectured anyone. I could finally be myself there; there was a deep understanding between us, and often nobody even realised I was transgender.
A serious car accident became a major turning point for you. Could you tell us what happened on that occasion?
We were travelling back from a performance with some colleagues; I was, of course, under the influence of drugs. A tyre burst on the motorway; the car skidded and crashed into the crash barriers. In a state of utter shock, I even ran straight out into the busy motorway traffic. It was a very intense near-death experience, from which, fortunately, we all emerged alive.
What realisation did this near-death experience bring you?
I realised that I had completely surrendered my life to destruction and inner emptiness. I discovered that bearing the weight of my own authenticity was so exhausting for me that I was subconsciously seeking out risky situations and heading towards self-destruction. It was a huge shock, but it served as a harsh wake-up call and a catalyst for spiritual awakening. I began to believe in the existence of something greater than ourselves, and I started meditating. For me, this experience truly represented the light at the end of the tunnel.
How difficult was your return to normal life after this incident?
I went back home to my parents, told them the whole truth and sought professional medical help. My drug and alcohol addiction was classified as level three out of four, which fortunately still allowed me to undergo the detoxification process on an outpatient basis without the need for hospitalisation. The detox itself, however, was extremely gruelling – it was accompanied by severe tremors, nightmares and states that could be described as a confrontation with my own darkest inner shadows.
Which was the greater challenge for you: the physical or the psychological aspects of withdrawal symptoms?
Definitely the psychological aspect, although the physical withdrawal was also exhausting. My body was completely dependent on methamphetamine and could barely function without it. I had to take sedatives to suppress the hallucinations and help me sleep. During the withdrawal crises, all my repressed traumas and inner demons came to the surface.
What helped you most to make a lasting change to your lifestyle after completing detox?
The key was a firm decision to take my life into my own hands. Alongside conventional medicine, I also opted for an alternative and holistic approach. I began meditating intensively, practising yoga and working on my personal development. During the first phase of my recovery, which lasted about four years, I began to educate myself systematically. I studied the basics of psychology, completed accredited courses in therapeutic work and a course to become a teaching assistant. I have permanently cut myself off from alcohol and drugs.
Did you struggle with the temptation to return to your previous way of life in the years that followed?
At first, of course, there were moments when I felt the urge for alcohol or thoughts of drugs would resurface, but I overcame them and gradually gave up smoking as well. My new motivation was simply much stronger. I’ve completely disconnected from my former life. The turning point came when I focused on helping others. As soon as you stop worrying solely about yourself, your ego, pride and unhealthy self-centredness begin to fade. I found immense fulfilment in working with children, including those with disabilities and autism.
Spirituality is now an important part of your personal and professional life. In what specific ways does it enrich you?
I see it as an essential element linking our material and immaterial existence. Human beings are complex organisms – we have a physical body, but we also have thoughts and emotions which, whilst not tangible, entirely shape our reality. Everything is in a state of constant change; life is not a static straight line. To reduce our existence merely to a biological shell or a separate psyche strikes me as oversimplifying. If a person fully recognises their wholeness, they are able to relate to themselves and those around them in a much more authentic and healthy way.
Your own journey ultimately gave rise to the Beyond Limits project. What was the main impetus for setting it up?
It all began when I was approached to get involved in what’s known as ‘peer support’. A peer is someone who has gone through a personal crisis and, drawing on that authentic experience, helps others as a guide, even though they are not a clinical psychologist. I discovered that it is not only LGBT+ people who are interested in this type of support, but also their families and teachers. Professional support grounded in direct personal experience is of immense value to society.
Where, specifically, do you see the greatest benefit of your approach when consulting with LGBT+ and queer clients?
It allows us to get straight to the heart of the matter. We don’t dwell on superficial topics such as physical appearance or hormone therapy. We focus on a deeper level – on calming the mind, accepting one’s own emotions and living in the present moment. I teach them to be authentic in the here and now, without waiting to see who they’ll be in a few years’ time.
What issues do clients most often come to you with?
People seek me out at times of deep inner conflict, when they are struggling with their own sense of self. I help them make sense of their own fears, uncover feelings of shame, and provide them with stability and a safe space to work through their current issues.
How does this kind of collaboration with a client work in practice?
The cornerstone of my practice is an introductory programme called ‘tailored meditation’, which I offer for a voluntary contribution. Based on the client’s specific difficulties, I create a guided active practice focused on working with the breath and emotions. The aim is to achieve a certain inner ‘aha moment’, when a person becomes aware of what they had previously suppressed.
So your aim isn’t to give direct advice, but rather to guide the client towards their own insight?
Exactly. One-size-fits-all approaches don’t work. Self-awareness is key. My role is to support the client in discovering their authentic self and separating it from the social norms and beliefs they have merely passively adopted over the course of their life.
So would it be fair to describe you as a guide through these challenging stages of life?
Definitely. I provide support during transition or coming out, but also during spiritual crises or when processing trauma linked to addictions. My clients often include mothers dealing with relationship problems or men whose situations have nothing to do with queer issues at all.
Where can anyone interested in these services contact you?
The best way is via my website, beyondlimit.org, or my original Anuradha blog. I’m also currently working hard on setting up a YouTube channel to bring my work together, although this still requires securing the necessary funding.
You mentioned at the start that your own story is still unfolding. Where would you like to see yourself in your personal life a few years from now?
My greatest personal wish is to become a responsible parent and build a stable home life alongside an understanding partner. Deep down, I feel a strong need to devote myself to my family and provide care. I’m currently in a relationship, though the whole situation is still evolving.
I’d also like to build an inspiring community around me. I plan to travel more, organise comprehensive retreats and lead workshops focused on self-discovery, meditation and yoga. I’m very drawn to the idea of creating inclusive LGBT+ circles – a safe space for people to come together, regardless of restrictive divisions into exclusively male or female groups.
I really like to use one particular metaphor in this context. Imagine a meadow with horses walking across it. Suddenly, a unicorn approaches them. The horses eye it suspiciously and object: ‘What’s that on your forehead? If you want to belong with us, you’ll have to cut it off. It doesn’t belong to us horses.’ At that moment, however, the unicorn must fully realise its own uniqueness and value. Put simply, if you were born a unicorn, it is not your duty to become a horse.
