Evicting the Critics: Living Rent-Free with Your Inner Coach

I often say that someone, or something, is living ‘rent-free’ in my head.

I rarely (if ever) use it to mean something positive. Quite the opposite.

When I use that phrase I’m always making reference to something that is troubling me – plaguing me even. For me, it’s often some imaginary human who represents judgement, self-criticism and general not-enough-ness.

When my kids were small it was always some imaginary judgey mum in the comments section passing judgement on some flawed way I was responding to my kids needs. These days it has shape shifted into an imaginary commentator who finds my choice to live outside of hustle culture lacking and insubstantial.

We all have them.

They’re often mean and weirdly specific in their judgements.

But as a coach, and someone who has a coach of her own, I have come to discover that it’s possible for someone to live rent-free in your head in a good way.

And by this I’m referring to the way in which we carry our supportive coach/therapist/mentor with us psychologically between sessions.

Because if we’ve had a sufficiently impactful conversation with them, where we’ve felt seen and heard and understood – where we’ve had them lovingly push back on our self-limiting inner narratives, where they’ve reframed our self-recriminations, and helped us make sense of our inner demons - then that person can start to live rent-free in our head on the daily.

That person can be carried with us, like an inner talisman everywhere we go – especially when we go into situations that stretch and unsettle us. We start to imagine their voice, or their response to the situations we find ourselves in. Their outer voice starts to merge with our inner one – perhaps we even start to engage in imaginary conversations with them about what’s going on.

We might notice ourselves wanting to share small moments of growth or progress with them – or moments when we have fallen hard on our metaphorical butt and got back on our feet slightly embarrassed, but also reassured that they would smile encouragingly and stay curious about what this was teaching you about yourself.

When I was training as a coach I remember them saying that what happens between sessions can be as (if not more) powerful for the client that what happens during them.

When you work with a coach, you’re inviting someone else to live lovingly, cheerfully, curiously and absolutely rent-free in your head.

Photo by Radu Florin at Unsplash

Sprouting Curiosity: A Journey into Personal Growth Germination

Sometimes we have an inkling that we have the potential to grow in some way.

We have moments when we can dare to believe that we could, for example, be braver, bolder and more confident than we currently are.

We notice that quality in others.

Perhaps we look at them from a distance, impressed and curious about how it’s possible to be this way in the world.

Perhaps we make up stories about what makes it possible for this person and not us. We make up that it’s a consequence of their schooling, their upbringing, some life circumstance that’s different to ours. And while that might be true, these stories have little significance for our own growth.

However, our focus on this quality – our interest and curiosity about it – speaks to what’s ready to start emerging in us.

Perhaps we are unnerved by this person’s boldness and outspoken ways.

Perhaps we are taken aback by their confidence to speak out in large groups.

Often we find ourselves peering at this version of a human being – unable to look away. Whether we are drawn to them, or repelled by them, matters far less than the fact that they have our attention.

Because on some level, and in some way, they are transmitting a quality or a change that’s ready to emerge in us.

They are an external signal that whatever a seed planted in us some time ago is starting to germinate.

Change is in process.

Not the full shebang.

Not all the roots and branches and blossom.

But the early, below the soil transformation that has to happen in order for anything meaningful to grow.

Our attention signifies the subtle shifts that are occurring deep within us.

And when these moments happen – our job is to pay attention. Our job is to get curious on our own behalf. What impresses us about this person’s expression of this quality? What about it makes us shift uncomfortably in our seats? What is it that makes us bring it up that night over dinner, even when no one was asking us about it?

We have so much to learn from each other outside of the traditional student/teacher dynamic.

We are sending signals all the time – just like trees do.

And if we pay attention, then maybe we can learn more about who we are, and most excitingly, who we are becoming.

From Work Boots to Graduation Gowns: Navigating the Journey of Personal Growth

Personal growth takes work.

It takes commitment.

It takes a willingness to roll up your sleeves, dig in and brave some discomfort and uncertainty.

It requires us to be courageous when we’d really rather not.

It requires us to venture into new and unknown territories that leave us feeling a bit raw and out of sorts.

It often means we need to pull on some work boots, some protective clothing and be willing to get a bit messy.

It is incredibly easy to forget this. And I say that as someone who works with personal growth daily. There is always the option to check out – to fall back into old worn-out patterns or ways of doing things.

There is always the option to let go of the heavy lifting that’s required when we engage in personal growth. To let the weight fall to the floor with a massive thud and walk away shaking our heads.

And sometimes that’s necessary. Sometimes we lift that metaphorical weight until we can’t lift anymore, and we must take a break to let those torn muscles knit together stronger. Sometimes we need to take a rest day or slow the pace while we consolidate some of that growth.

That’s part of the process too.

And the reality is that this process (if we want to participate in it) is ongoing. There isn’t a ‘done’ date. We don’t get one big graduation moment. We don’t get to put a check mark in the personal growth box and move on.

This digging in is for the long haul.

This digging in and breathing deep and focusing and re-focusing is a conscious choice. I consider myself extremely lucky to coach people who are willing to do this work. Who are willing to remain curious, and glance around that unfamiliar door, even when they’re not sure they really want to, or are even ready to do.

This is courageous work.

This is some warrior shit.

This is trudging over some less than favourable terrain.

I am so impressed by all of us who are willing to engage in this work.

I am high fiving us all.

I am making this moment an opportunity to celebrate our collective and individual progress.

Not because we’re all done. Not because there’s not a long slog ahead. But because of how far we’ve come already.

Consider today a micro-graduation moment.

Consider yourself celebrated.

Don a gown and a cap and high five your classmates.

And then dig in for the next part of the journey.

How to Find the Waters that Nourish you

There are times in life when enough is enough. When you reach a line in the sand. When the universe’s NO keeps screaming at you from all directions. When you feel sure, beyond all reasonable doubt, that the waters you are swimming in are not the waters you are suited to – that you are a freshwater fish swimming in the sea. That the very thing you are absorbing as you go about your business is slowly (or not so slowly) poisoning you.

And much like a freshwater fish swimming in the sea, we don’t (and often can’t) simply leap out of the unhealthy waters and into the healthier ones.

Often it is a slower, more insidious process whereby we recognise that we aren’t getting the nutrients we need – that we are slowly losing energy – that the colour is draining out of cheeks, and our vibrancy is reducing with every passing day.

Sometimes the signs are more obvious to others than to us.

Sometimes it takes the feedback from a coach or a loved one who notices that you don’t seem to be thriving in this particular environment.

That there is a darkness to the way you’re talking about this experience.

That you seem to be surrounded by challenge – and not the good kind.

That your most deeply held values are being trampled on every which way.

This process of realisation can be slow. There can be much peering into the metaphorical mirror – wondering whether that feedback is accurate.

Has something changed in you? Have you started seeing the world through a more pessimistic lens. Has your relationship to hope become tenuous at best? Has your laughter got a bitter edge to it these days?

And these moments can be even more uncomfortable if these ill-fitting waters carry a good dose of social approval with them.

Perhaps it’s the exciting new job that everyone enthused about – a promotion that promised hugely, but under delivered massively. Perhaps the people around you are super excited about this development in your life, and (for all the reasons) want or need you to keep swimming in those waters.

These are the moments when going inward is the only option. When finding a ‘third space’ to speak openly to someone who is invested you as a whole human being really matters.

Someone who has no skin in the game when it comes to the waters you are swimming in.

Someone who is committed to supporting your personal growth, whichever direction it should take you.

These people exist.

I am one of them.

Let me help you navigate the currents of personal growth and find the waters that truly nourish your spirit.

Becoming an Unintentional 'Elder'

Midlife has had me thinking about the notion of being an ‘elder’.

I don’t feel like I want to be an elder per se. It’s just one of those things that simply comes with the territory of doing something for long enough and showing up for life day after day.

You can’t help but accrue some insight – especially if you’re paying attention. Especially if you’re working hard at paying attention and remain curious about the world, the job you’re doing, or the sector you’re a part of.

Then – simply by showing up repeatedly, you can’t help but compound-interest some wisdom.

If what you do, or how you live, deeply interests you, and makes you want to know or learn more, and you do that for a lot of days, weeks and years - then guess what? - you enter the world of ‘elder status’.

You don’t receive an invite or a notification. You just start noticing a subtle shift in the way you relate to others, and they relate to you.

It seems to be a natural consequence of living life with your eyes wide open. A life only as remarkable as the next human’s life. But a life to which you pay close attention. A life that you attend to and work at.

For me it can look like being in the company of a parent with younger kids, being with someone new to coaching or social work – or even someone with one (as opposed to my own two) decades in my profession.

I am no better or worse. I’ve just been here a little longer, and I’ve been paying attention.

Much like the 10-year-old who might have seen a bit more of the world than a 4-year-old sibling or playmate.

It’s not hierarchical.

It just is.

It’s a consequence of a set of circumstances that are largely (but not exclusively) beyond our control.

And, for me, an elder is not about teaching. I am the last person to sit someone down on my figurative knee and start lecturing. I may have many flaws as a parent (I know 3 teenagers who would happily provide some constructive feedback) but a lecturer I am not.

I’m under no illusion that I am any more ‘right’ than the next human. I have been humbled enough times to know, with some certainty, that what appears to me to be the ‘right’ turn of events, may ultimately turn out not to be. And conversely, the thing that seemed so very ‘wrong’ at the time has often turned out to be the prelude to something unimaginably wonderful.

I have lived both those realities and continue to do so.

I have lived through enough apparent ‘disasters’ that have revealed strengths in me I didn’t know existed, and seen enough externally impressive situations evolve into something far less so.

And I’ve only accrued these insights by living enough life.

By showing up for my life day by day, battling through the storms, and celebrating the wins (if they are indeed wins?!) and simply paying attention.

Throw in some learning, processing, coaching, parenting and social work-ing, and there are the ingredients that seem to make me into my own unique version of an elder.

And I’m not special in this respect.

I see it every day in my coaching clients – even those at the start of their adult lives.

When I provide a space for them to process, reflect and learn from the life they have lived so far – they can (and do) easily step into their own inner ‘elder’ status.

Coaching shows me day after day that we are all filled to the brim with insight and wisdom when we are encouraged to stand in our own light.

We become elders, we become leaders, we become mentors.

Not because of a job title, but because of who we are.

It can be a surprising discovery, but it’s always a beautiful one.

How to keep your Life Toolbox well-maintained

Today I’m all about toolboxes.

We need them.

The physical kind and the emotional/spiritual/psychological kind.

I’m only averagely useful with the physical kind, but years of coaching has made me way more aware of how essential it is that we all always carry a metaphysical one around with us.

Because life, in all its unpredictable and uncontrollable glory, will (and can) require us to reach into that toolbox on the regular – and usually when we’re not expecting to need it.

Don’t get me wrong, there are absolutely some situations where you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you’re going to need that toolbox – that you’ll need to have it clutched in your arms, like a comfort blanket or a suit of armour depending on the situation. I’m thinking a hard conversation with a colleague or a loved one, setting a boundary with a recalcitrant teenager – that kind of thing. Tools are essential in these scenarios – before, during and after. And you may well need a good number of them to complete the job in a way that feels manageable.

And then there are those situations that catch you off guard – perhaps someone drops some kind of super-triggering bombshell you didn’t see coming – something a bystander would think was totally innocuous, but it knocks you for six. Perhaps it’s a more obviously dramatic event – an accident, a sudden health event.

And for these moments it is more essential than ever to have that toolbox at the ready. At the very least it needs to be somewhere you can grab it easily.

And I don’t know about you, but when these kinds of moments hit, they can throw me so far off balance I forget there was ever a tool kit in the first place.

However, if you’re someone who occasionally gets their tools out for a polish and a bit of an oiling during the calmer times, maybe on a daily basis – you’re going to be that much more likely to come-to and remember - ah! the tool box! It’s right there on the (psychological) shelf.

You can grab it, and even if you simply stare at its contents for a while not knowing which one to grab and use – it can provide its own special kind of reassurance just knowing that it’s there.

That tools are available.

That other people also need tools when the shit hits the fan.

That you’re highly unlikely to be the first or only person going through what you’re going through – however hideous.

And that might just soften your psyche enough to reach out and pick one of them up…dust it off if you need to, and see how it can help. See if it can offer some relief.

And if it doesn’t – pop it aside. Reach in for the next one.

Keep reaching and eventually, gradually, you’ll find the right tool for this particular job.

Life's Surprise Workouts: Navigating Unexpected Growth with Grace

When change comes uninvited, in a deeply unwelcome form, we are forced into growth that we were neither ready for or wanted.

These moments are moments of crisis.

Sometimes the crisis is in the external realm, but it is always a crisis on the inside.

These moments can feel like a bomb going off in our psyche – they can disrupt what we thought was true about ourselves, our worlds and our relationships. They disrupt in a way that can leave us impotently shaking our fist at the universe, angrily yelling ‘WHY???’ at someone or something.

In my own life when these moments hit, I often inhabit a real ‘for-fuck’s-sake’ mentality. My own personal default mode is indignant frustration, quickly followed by some self-recrimination (imagining that if only I had been more perfect I would have somehow seen this coming and headed it off at the pass) even when it’s to do with someone else’s choices or behaviour.

I never said any of this made sense.

If I’ve learnt anything from years of coaching and personal development work, it’s that the inside of my head (and often the heads of my coaching clients) don’t make a lot of sense once they’re held up to the light and scrutinised a bit.

Once we spend a bit of time peering at our thought processes with another person, or by writing down our thoughts, they inevitably change shape.

They lose some muscle tone.

They cease to be quite as compelling as they were in the privacy and darkness of our own minds.

I digress.

Uninvited change can feel like someone coming and grabbing our arms and legs and swinging them around without our consent. It can feel like we’re being forced to engage in exercise and growth against our will.

And just as we would if someone came and grabbed our arms and legs and forced them to move, we resist.

We do not willingly participate in this startling development.

We tense up our muscles.

We yell at the (imaginary) person manhandling our limbs to get the hell off us.

We try and push them away from us, and escape.

Which in the case of uninvited change can ultimately turn out to be pointless.

Because the thing has happened.

And once we are done resisting and yelling and tensing and pushing it away – it will still have happened.

And all that bloody personal growth will still be waiting patiently to happen whether we want it to or not.

Shining a Light on the Critic Inside: Taming Your Inner Gremlins

Ah gremlins! Our miserable, aggressive little friends who live rent-free in our heads – hidden from view but exerting so much power over our day to day experience.

Those little buggers are never too far away – especially at times of transition and doubt in our lives. These moments are their power source. THIS is what they feed on and live for.

When we are slightly (or a LOT) off balance.

When we are unsure, lost or confused.

THIS is their moment to shine. THIS is their moment to crawl out of their murky hiding places in our minds, and start their relentless narratives, about what we should be doing, thinking, eating, wearing, pursuing – you name it, they’ve got a stick to beat you with about it.

Rarely is there ever a coaching session where there’s not a gremlin (or seven) lurking around in the shadows.

Rarely do any of us get to grow personally or professionally, or consider new ways of doing things, or contemplate change without their chorus of misery starting up.

If feeling lost or confused is their nourishment, then growth, change and progress are their kryptonite.

When we start to take action – to change an established way of thinking, being or doing – or god forbid, when we dare to shine a spotlight on the miserable little buggers - they start to shriek. Their messages of doom (for a while at least) can get louder, and if you listen closely there’s a hint of panic or desperation in those messages. They have to work a little harder because they’re under threat, and they know it.

This dynamic plays out all the time in my work as a coach, and in my own life.

I’m pressing publish on my writing again – I’m flexing a muscle that’s a little out of shape and has been losing tone since the pandemic hit in 2020. And starting to write again – starting to consider sharing my thoughts with some imaginary audience is setting off an alarm in the gremlin den of misery.

It’s waking them up – alerting them to the possibility of growth and change.

And they’re getting jumpy – they’re having me imagine ‘people’ reading my words and rolling their eyes at them. They are absolutely questioning whether there’s any point – questioning my methods, the platforms I’m using, the way I’m doing it.

I have an especially busy gremlin that takes the form of a know-it-all marketing ‘guru’ who is super embarrassed forme at how clueless and naïve I am about the 2023 content creation landscape.

They disparagingly tell me I am SO 2020 in my approach. How I’m out of touch and wasting my time and energy.

This marketing-guru-gremlin is a massive pain in my arse, and on my worst days and in my most vulnerable moments they set up camp in my head and settle in for the long haul.

But guess what? By taking the time to write this and describing the monster in my head out loud, something has shifted. The volume of the scornful messaging of my inner marketing-guru-gremlin has reduced. They have retreated into the shadows leaving me with the space I need to consider other, more hopeful perspectives, and re-connect with why I want to write again.

And while they’re lurking back in their den, weakened by the light this post has turned on them, I’ll go ahead and press publish…

Life's Plot Twists and U-Turns: Unraveling the 'Not for Me' Moments

If you try something out, and find it’s not for you - NOTHING has gone wrong.

That is a hard truth to believe – a tough pill to swallow.

All the messages around us scream that NO this cannot be the case. Marriages must last forever, jobs must be ‘just’ right, holidays must be perfect.

And yet sometimes they don’t, and they aren’t.

And sometimes that is every bit as valuable and important as something turning out exactly as you hoped it would.

The value of being in a situation that gives you a deep sense of knowing ‘this is not for me’ is high.

It’s so tempting to make up that something has gone wrong, that you’ve taken a ‘wrong’ turn you ‘shouldn’t’ have taken – the idea that *gasp* you’ve made a mistake. When actually, we learn so much if we’re prepared to pay deep and close attention.

Especially if we’re willing to move through the initial discomfort and regret that will inevitably rear its head and tempt us down an unhelpful road of self-flagellation and torment.

That’s a big piece of work, but not an insurmountable one.

And beyond that big piece of work is learning upon learning, and clarity upon clarity.

Because in every situation we don’t want, there is, by extension a deeper clarity about what we do want.

The new job that looked great in theory turns out to be a horrible fit for you. The holiday that ‘should’ have been relaxing turns into debacle after debacle.

And we can absolutely stay chewing over what went ‘wrong’. That is available to us every time.

There is the also the opportunity to lament and feel sad and all the other feelings that arise when thing don’t go to plan.

AND there is another space you can access with time, space and some processing where you can explore the ‘yes’ embedded in your ‘no’ – where you can start to name what comes into focus precisely because things didn’t go to plan.

Each detour or misstep inches us closer to understanding what truly matters to us. Each disorienting U-turn forces us to alter our perspective whether we want to or not.  

Yes, these moments start by hurling us out of our comfort zone. Yes, they then dunk us in a pool of uncertainty we’d rather not be in.

But next they can lead us toward true-er truths about ourselves. Toward certainties that have some real substance to them.

Leaving us more sure footed than we were before we took that ‘wrong turn’ in the first place.

The Hubris of Certainty: Why Change Is the Ultimate Constant

The absolute joy of being a coach is when you get to sit back and witness something new emerging in the person you are coaching.

And then, getting the privilege to share what you’re witnessing out loud with that person.

And give them an opportunity to recognise what is happening.

Often, I’ll invite a client to think about the old story, and the new one that’s emerging.

Perhaps what was once “I do as I’m told” becomes “I have some questions” which then becomes “I have some thoughts I’d like to share” which becomes “I am a leader”.

It’s a delicious process, to help someone notice how the stories they are telling about who they are, or what they do are evolving – to help them to connect with the reality that they are in no way a fixed entity – that who they were this morning isn’t necessarily who they are this afternoon - that they are a dynamic and evolving being, who is always in some state of becoming.

It’s such a fun process to walk with people. It’s a fun journey to be on yourself.

There is so much relief in recognising that change will keep on coming – that not a one of us is ‘done’. Outside of your physical death, there is not a moment when you graduate from life. But if we’re paying any kind of attention, our lives and our work and our relationships are going to keep inviting us to shift and change and become something new.

Our spouses, friends, and children shape shift continually, and so do we.

There is a kind of hubris when we trick ourselves into believing we know with some kind of imaginary certainty exactly what someone will say, do or think – because like us, they too are becoming something new.

And coaching is a really special space for noticing those shifts and changes.

Sometimes they are glaringly obvious – we start a new job or move to a new country and everything around us is different. Other times, we show up in the same job, commute from the same house and greet the same colleagues, and yet we at our very core are different beings – we have shifted radically even when externally everything else is exactly the same.

Apparently (so google tells me) it was the ancient Greek Heraclitus who said “everything flows, nothing stands still”.

Look out your window. I bet there’s some natural phenomena proving Heraclitus right – a cloud, a weed, the wind – there’s evidence everywhere.

And we humans are no different.

Stuck-ness feels real when it’s happening. Certainty can feel delicious if it’s the ‘right’ kind. But change (the only constant) is always just around the corner, ready to remind us that we, too, are part of this flowing tapestry of existence.

Cracking the Window of Stuckness: The Healing Power of Imaginative Exploration

 Sometimes I coach people who feel stuck.

Like super stuck.

Like we all do sometimes.

Like the ways forward, backwards and side to side are blocked by something rigid and huge. When the landscape we’re looking at feels like the thickest of fogs. When the space behind us feels like an expanse of nothingness.

These moments are a lot to be with. But can be marginally improved by having another human stand with you in your stuck-ness.

I’ve been the coach and I’ve been coached in these moments. And I know the relief that comes when you are invited to explain your current reality. Not the real-life version. That can become a well-practiced story. But the emotional and psychological experience of feeling so stuck in a relationship or a dilemma that the way forward is simply obscured.

I have led, and been led, through many an imagined landscape – forests, mountains, impenetrable steel walls so high you can’t reach the top. I’ve had to think about the tools I need for the adventure ahead – what my protective clothing might look like, what power tool might help me create a hole in the wall I can peer through, what the ground feels like beneath my feet, what is the weather like in this place.

And while in no way do these imaginary explorations solve the dilemma, or resolve the relationship issue, they absolutely do shift the energy.

There is some kind of alchemy that happens when you speak it out loud to another human. Something akin to cracking a window in a stuffy room, and feeling the cool breeze come in.

The atmosphere shifts because it has to.

It has no choice.

By virtue of inviting someone else into your internal world, it simply has to change.

It cannot stay the same – and neither can you.

And if the person you’ve invited in is super curious about the space you’re in, then it gets really interesting!

The real beauty of these shared imaginative adventures is that there are no limits. They are being co-created in the moment.

Metaphors can be mixed, landscapes can shift, items can defy the laws of gravity.

In my own coaching sessions I have explored rooms where the walls feel like they are closing in on me and are sticky with burning tar. And as I spent time exploring this (frankly hideous) space with my coach, I started to notice the walls retreating – I started to realise that I was becoming different in this space, and the space was responding in kind.

It's wildly creative.

It takes some bravery (and trust) to enter in.

But boy oh boy, can it start some healing.

The stories we tell about ourselves

I used to share more of myself with the online world . When my kids were smaller it was easier to construct a narrative that I liked, and showed an angle of my life that pleased me. If I’m honest, it was also easier to construct a narrative that looked pleasing to the people I was sharing it with.

I don’t judge myself harshly for that. 

My Instagram and Facebook feeds from that time are a testament to feelings of gratitude. The pictures are lovely. They’re well lit. It doesn’t seem like it rained much back then, or that we went places that were average, or beaches that were a bit meh. Of course, in reality, all those things were part of our experience – I just chose not to share them with the world. I shared the shiny bits – the bits that were cute, that made me feel love and gratitude for my lot in life – the bits that lifted me up and made me feel hopeful about the world - the bits that spoke to parts of myself that I liked and valued. 

But these days I feel less assured about what I want to share. This uncertainty is of course influenced by having older children who have their own online personas, and have strong feelings about what, if anything, gets shared about them in public. 

And I respect that. 

And struggle with that. 

And everything in between. 

I also feel more cognizant of my reasons for sharing. I think about that a lot more than I used to. I second guess more, and share a lot less. I’m more aware of the impact my sharing might have on others. 

And while there is good reason for this (see above), and some solid values behind these choices, it also means I’m less open, and I definitely hold back from taking creative risks.  

I get that ‘sharing’ is a ridiculously broad term that encompasses the innocuous and the profound, the boastful and the beautiful. 

Without sharing we wouldn’t have novels, art, and music. The world would undoubtedly be worse without this kind of sharing. There is magnificent power in the audacity of sharing your creative vision with the world. Something so exquisitely vulnerable about putting your shit out there, maybe to acclaim, but simultaneously risking criticism, or worst of all, radio silence. 

However, the social media age has also opened up a whole new democratised paradigm of sharing, where motivations can be complex, and the creative rubs alongside the transactional. Self-expression becomes hard to unpick from that which is self-serving. 

But fundamentally, if we’re sharing in online spaces, we’re in the creative process. We’re (more or less consciously) creating a narrative about who we are, or more often, how we’d like to be seen. 

And if that’s the case, then I’m a bit creatively blocked. When my kids were little, and my life looked a certain way, there was a narrative I felt comfortable sharing. There were these three cute little boys, often on beaches, making adorable (yet insightful) comments about the world -  unconcerned about their online identity, happy to allow me to curate whatever story I wanted about their existence. 

Appropriately, they are evolving, and so am I. We’re collectively getting older. We’re collectively asking more nuanced and complex questions about who we are becoming, and how we want the world to see us. Admittedly they’re approaching this shift with more teen/tween angst, and I am flailing around in the no-man’s land of my early 40’s. But none of us seems to have landed anywhere. 

In our family life in 2020, independence abounds - denying me any sense of a linear narrative that I can share with the world. Experimentation (wise and otherwise) is always in the air – life is unpredictably vibrant – each day a new opportunity to be humbled by some new parenting challenge, but also to grow.  

Life probably felt every bit as messy when the kids were small. In fact, I have a whole back catalogue of blog posts that can attest to this fact. The key difference is that it no longer feels as easy, or as appropriate, to share in the way I used to. 

Just as they have done every day since they showed up in my life, they are requiring me to keep transforming. They stretch my emotional reserves, and they demand that what I share with the world alters and expands to make way for them. 

This started as a post about sharing, and the stories we tell about ourselves. It’s become a post about parenting. Or perhaps its just about growth. 

Like I said, I don’t have a linear narrative these days. 

Watching for whales in the new year

I doubt I’m alone in having engaged in a little new year rumination about the state of My Life. Its definitely been intensified by a decade ending, and broadened my usual end of year musings to include the past 10 years. Which frankly, is a bit much, and possibly requires a bit more emotional resilience than I typically have at this point in the post-Christmas period. 

But muse I have. 

And inevitably, I’ve gone down some rabbit holes of doom. There have been uncomfortable periods of self-recrimination and doubt. Frustration that I’m not as ‘successful’ as I ‘should’ be at my age/stage of life. Financial anxiety has reared its ugly and unwelcome head: a not entirely uncommon experience for anyone walking the tightrope of self-employment. I’ve pondered if I’m being foolish pursuing this lifestyle. ‘Should’ I be more steady/responsible/mainstream in the way I live this one and precious life. And yes, the tension in that last sentence is entirely deliberate. 

In my less confident moments, I can go to town on myself for my life choices – really berate myself for choosing a lifestyle that doesn’t prioritise financial security in the ways society tells me I ‘should’. And I can enter into some cracking internal dialogue where I argue with myself about my rationale for living the way I do. I stamp my foot and tell my inner critic that I value my sanity over everything else. That I want time and space in my life to think a thought and occasionally take a beat that isn’t about taking care of anybody else. That I want my children to have a mother who is more peaceful and less frazzled. Who smiles more than she frowns. 

And all of those things are true.

I want all of those things. 

And they’re at the heart of much of the decision making I did during the last decade. 

But when my fear has gained control, and has got a hold of my heart and soul, that rationale sounds little more than a petulant child trying to argue back to an adult who holds all the power. The petulant child might be making an excellent point, but the point evaporates in the power imbalance. My heartfelt truths about my life choices sound (and feel) weak in the face of the abundant ‘shoulds’, and my imagined notions of what ‘success’ looks like for a 42 year old mother of 3 school aged children.

It’s a mess while it lasts. 

But mercifully, it’s not a permanent state of affairs. 

As my online yoga teacher says: “no feeling is final”. So true, and such a bleeding relief to be reminded of that. And once the fear-based angsting has played itself out, and I have exercised enough self-care to stop feeding it morsels of self-doubt and despair, a tiny sliver of light pokes through the clouds. This time, in the form of an apparently innocuous Instagram post which reminded me that not everything that happens can be seen. 

And that statement was the balm my soul needed. 

I have soothed myself with this truth many times before. If I was minded to, I could probably uncover a blog post (or two) where I’ve loved on that message in years gone by.

And because I am flawed and human and always evolving and never done, I forgot. I forgot that I don’t have to make everything happen myself. I forgot that I can’t actually find the answer to Life through a series of google searches. I forgot that so much of the good in my life has come when I’ve been able to let go, and allow things to unfold as they need to. That so much of the time, magic happens in spite of my planning and efforts. 

Don’t get me wrong, planning and effort enable me to function in society, get myself and my kids places and have a roof over our heads. I’m not throwing it out the window. But apparently I need reminding this new year that that’s only part of the picture. That there’s also a less tangible, more mysterious kind of activity happening below the surface. 

If you’ve ever gone whale watching, it can seem like nothing is going on out at sea – and that you’ve possibly wasted time and money on a boat trip. You gaze out at the surface of the water and start doubting that anything’s going on under there at all. 

Until it is. 

The surface of the water breaks. A whale, or even better whales, are revealed. Huge. Breath taking. 

Suddenly the world looks different. 

You’re completely awestruck. Amazed by the enormous, graceful sea creatures that were invisible for so long.

You get the point I’m making. 

If, like me, you find yourself staring at an apparently empty sea this new year - know that you’re not alone. 

You’re welcome to join me on my boat - gazing out at the water, unsure when we’re going to be wowed by something magnificent emerging from the deep. We can chat while we wait. We can remind each other that the moment will and does (eventually) come.

We can remind ourselves that when it does come, it is always worth the wait. 

The Long Book with the Small Font

These days reading a book feels like an act of will – rebellious even. There are screens everywhere tempting me in a million different directions, and tapping into my low level addiction to them - promising me immediate, if empty, gratification at the slightest tap of a finger. 

And yet, last week I read a long book. 

With a small font. 

And it took some focus. 

The book was amazing in ways that would take a whole series of posts to explain. It immersed me in a world I knew next to nothing about. It offered me insights into brutality and scarcity that my gently privileged mind could barely comprehend. It offered me a window into political unrest that puts our present, very British chaos into a kind of perspective that is lacking in all the frenzied reporting and tweeting that underpins every moment (if you choose to look in that direction). It offered me a chance to lean into perspectives that are confronting, but which make abundant sense when offered up by a narrator whose life experience in no way mirrors my own. 

Like I said: Amazing. Expansive. All of that. 

But that’s a side issue. 

For today anyway.

It took some real discipline reading that book. There were a hundred and one easier activities I could have done. Screen based entertainment is so much more immediate. It asks so much less of me. I mean, the font was SMALL. And I’m a little resistant to wearing my glasses, so I had to move around to ensure the light was good enough to be able to read the words. And it was neither funny nor light nor easy. It was confronting, and violent – unsettling, raw and uncomfortably human. 

And yet, it was a mountain I wanted to climb. And because I live a freelance kind of a life, I actually had the time to invest. I had also listened to a podcast interview with the author (yet another more immediate, less demanding form of entertainment) and was intrigued by what I heard. I loved that as a black author he was unconcerned by the needs of white readers as they navigate the stories he told about Jamaica. I wanted a window into a world that in no way reflected my own. And boy did he deliver. 

But again, that’s not the issue. Not today anyway. 

What has left me reeling in a good way, is the audacity of writing a novel. The audacity of creating something so remarkable, long and expansive from nothing other than your own creative impulse. To trust that there are people out there who will choose to turn away from the fast-food diet of attention-grabbing media and toward something more demanding of your own making. 

To someone like me whose writing output is typically brief and perhaps more aligned with the fast-paced, scan-it-and-move-on world we live in, I was left in awe. It made me more aware of my own almost apologetic approach to writing, and so deeply curious about the sense of conviction that surely accompanies the decision to write in such depth and at such length, especially in a day and age that feels so at odds with reading a book. To extend an invitation to an invisible readership to invest hours of their lives engaging with a creative vision that isn’t even designed to make you feel good.

And no doubt to the novelist, it’s not remotely audacious. 

It’s what they are here to do. 

But to me, an occasional blogger, it’s mind blowing. It’s bold and authentic and unapologetic. It’s open and vulnerable and wildly creative. It allows the world to see something of you, and your experience of the world, that may never be seen were it not for this creative act. And undoubtedly, I have just listed all the values that are important to me. Undoubtedly, they are values I’d like to express more in my own life – probably through my own writing…

Recently, I’ve had the privilege of witnessing close friends share their own creative visions with the wider world. The impact on me has been profound. Their willingness to take up creative space, and invite others to interact with it, creates a ripple effect. 

We are all changed, emotionally and psychologically, by their inclination and drive to do it. 

In their different ways, they (and the author of The Very Long Book with the Small Font) have inspired me to write this. 

Because they all remind me that it matters that we’re all a little less apologetic about sharing our creativity and our thoughts with the world. 

It matters that we’re all a little bit more audacious in our self expression. 

The world benefits from our collective willingness to take up a little bit more space – to trust that someone out there can be moved or expanded or altered by something you’ve got to say. 

This post is my offering. What’s yours?

The wisdom of thinking less

Recently I’ve been re-evaluating thinking as an activity. I always thought it was where all the good stuff happened. I assumed that it was a Good Thing to be a deep thinker. That people who thought a lot were the people getting stuff done, and coming up with Big Ideas about Important Things. 

But I’m not so sure anymore. 

My own mind fluctuates wildly, depending on the moment, and the day - from being a fairly peaceful, chilled environment to a tangled mess of wild and competing thoughts, that fight with one another for dominance - and if it's a particularly bad day or moment, the ability to terrify me with their imaginings of doom, gloom and despair.  In moments such as these, the unhelpful thoughts arise, as if from nowhere - triggering all manner of physical sensations - a sinking stomach, a jolt of terror, a fast being heart to mention a few. 

And then my thoughts fight with one another - I start critiquing my thoughts, knowing they’re unhelpful but not knowing how to stop them. So instead, what ensues, is a pointless, circular thought-argument. 

Basically, I feel bad, and then I feel bad that I’m feeling bad. 

It’s a hot mess, and not much fun to experience. 

Even when I’m feeling pretty cheerful my head can be a busy place. Sometimes I’m able to stop and observe the chatter. And it never ceases to amaze me how much there can be. My thoughts leap from the past to the future. From remembering an event, to imagining how this or that person may be thinking about this or that situation. 

It leaps all over the shop. Trying to predict, plan, and generally work things out. It’s exhausting to experience, and my brain ends up feeling a bit like a greyhound that doesn’t know when to stop. 

And this is coming from someone who has integrated a yoga and meditation practice into their life. Who has a good working knowledge of mindfulness practices, and has a pretty good toolbox of tricks to work with in this field. 

Such is the compulsion to think, think and think some more. 

Over the years I’ve played with reframing. I’ve used positive affirmations, and made wholehearted attempts to change my internal narrative for the better. And what I’ve discovered on the journey so far, is that nothing (and I mean nothing) can really make an impact until you can calm those thoughts down. Until you can catch the greyhound, reassure him that it’s ok to stop, and lead him lovingly to his cosy bed. 

Until your mind is at rest, it’s extraordinarily hard for any messages, however positive, hopeful and uplifting to penetrate in a meaningful way. 

First, your mind has to quieten down. 

It needs to get still. 

The thoughts need to stop for a bit, and you need to be able to find a space - however momentary - for your brain to take a beat. To unfurl itself. Like an overused muscle it needs to rest in order to develop. 

It needs you to pause your thoughts. To listen to the wind in the trees, or the ticking clock or the purring cat. It needs you to focus on something steady and consistent and neutral to allow it to unclench. 

If you’ve ever had a massage or got into your bed at the end of a long day, or sat down after being on your feet for a long time, you’ll know the sensation that I mean. It’s a sensation that’s often accompanied by a noisy exhale. A release of energy that’s been pent up. 

Resting your thoughts is no different than placing your tired feet on a comfy stool and leaning back into your sofa cushions. It’s a delicious relief, and it needs to happen more often. For all of us. 

Because when we do stop in this way - that’s when we’re able to access the flow of life. That’s when we’re able to receive flashes of intuition and inspiration - when that flicker of joy can grow into something bigger and more fulfilling. 

That’s when we can sit back and appreciate everything that’s working out for us. Everything that is falling into place in the most beautiful and satisfying way. 

That’s when we can finally work out our next step, and feel good about it.

Living in the moment

I’ve been reading The Power of Now again. I return to it time and time again. It’s jam packed with wisdom, and every time I read it I gain some life altering insight. To bottom-line its message for anyone who’s not read it, it’s basically: think less, and you’ll be happier and saner than you thought possible. The past has gone, the future is yet to come, and when it does, it can only happen in the present moment anyway. 

This recent return to the book highlighted how much of my thought space of late has been focussed on moving away from the present moment. Either planning, or imagining, or remembering. And not much ‘being’ at all. 

To be honest, it’s not been that much fun. 

There aren’t many moments of joy when you get fully into that monkey mindset. There aren’t any gaps for the sun to shine in. In fact it starts to feel a bit relentless and overwhelming. 

So the quietness I’ve remembered as I’ve re-read Eckhart’s words is a delightful relief. I feel unburdened from trying to think it all out in advance. Or reflect on what has passed, or what might be about to happen. 

I feel more present than I have in a long time. 

I needed that reminder. I needed to be told, once again, that now is where it’s at. That being present, right in this very moment, fleeting and brief as it is - is actually all there is. 

Everything that has passed is over, the rest is yet to come, and will come in the present moment, and no where else. 

All my imaginings about what’s going to happen, or how this or that will be received by others, is only actually happening right here and now. Not anywhere else. 

My thinking does not change the outcome. 

My planning does not control how things ultimately unfold. Bracing myself for this or that disaster makes not a jot of difference to the actual event that will come and go as briefly as this moment has. 

It’s a crazy trick of the mind. In fact, it’s a cruel kind of lie that we can somehow control things through our thoughts. On reflection, my thoughts have caused me more angst and suffering than any individual life event ever has. It’s absolutely not what has happened to me that causes suffering, it’s been my thinking about it. My processing and ruminating, and then dealing with the ensuing emotions, that come less as a result of the event itself, but more as a result of my thoughts about the event. 

How bonkers is that? 

The thing, the life event, the circumstance, is not the thing that upsets me. Or maybe it upsets me momentarily. Maybe I’m thrown off balance temporarily. But actually, what turns me upside down and inside out is all the blessed thinking. 

The inside of my head can become inordinately busy. Sometimes there are multiple narratives going at a fast pace. They tumble over each other, trying to gain prominence and get my attention. They argue with one another and with themselves. 

It’s a ridiculous situation in there sometimes. 

Messy and noisy and unsettling. 

When the internal nattering is at its worst, there’s literally no opportunity to rest. However still my body may be, the infernal chatter in my brain never seems to let up. It rambles and ruminates, and searches for answers that can never come.

So when the peace comes, and I am reminded that it’s background noise and very little else - oh the bliss! Oh the magic of my tired mind finally coming to rest. Pausing, exhausted, to take a moment, and wonder what an earth that was all about. 

It is a sweet relief like no other. 

It’s a release from my own self induced torment. 

This is the place where inspiration lies in wait. This is the place where my best ideas are founded. This is the realest of all my realities. 

I think I’m going to rest here a while…..

How to take a compliment

Over the years, I’ve stumbled upon some remarkable teachers. Not because I’ve consciously gone looking for them - but at the right moment in my personal development, the right teacher has always appeared, and opened up a new perspective or deepened my understanding about something meaningful . As Buddha rightly said, “when the student is ready, the teacher will appear”. And appear they do. Over and over. 

My current teacher has come in the delightful form of Jonathan Van Ness of Queer Eye fame. As well as loving him on the show, and revelling in his effusive enthusiasm for the people he transforms, I’m also having a great time exploring his podcast, in which he ‘gets curious’ about all manner of topics - going way beyond his focus on hair and beauty in the tv show. It is a complete treat to listen to, and I’ve found myself engaging with topics I’d never given much thought to. 

His curiosity is contagious. It’s bright and alive and open, and witnessing his desire to know more makes me want to know more. His guests come alive as he digs deep into their knowledge and peppers the conversation with positive acknowledgements that are sincere and heart felt. It’s a beautiful thing to witness. 

He is, in short, the ultimate life coach, and he reminds me why I love what I do, and why it works. 

He demonstrates how transformative connection and recognition are, and highlights how out of practice we adults are at showering one another with praise, and naming the beauty we witness in one another. Doing this generously and wholeheartedly can be viewed almost suspiciously, and so often we’re much more comfortable naming the weaknesses we perceive in ourselves and others than we are speaking to and celebrating our unique magnificence. 

But as Queer Eye and JVN’s podcast demonstrate beautifully, when we are seen and acknowledged, we bloom. Like a plant being watered at the end of a hot and sunny day, our metaphorical petals open up to receive the sustenance we’ve been longing for. Our posture improves, we breathe differently, and most significantly of all, the way we see ourselves evolves. It’s as if a light’s been switched on, and we suddenly see ourselves in full colour again. We come into sharper focus, and we realise, even just for a moment, what we’re capable of. Being witnessed in this way is a game changer.

However, as I so often see in my coaching work, receiving and (more significantly) believing  compliments is a skill set we often lack - an under used muscle that feels awkward at first. I often encourage clients to practice saying the words “thank you” and nothing else after I give them an acknowledgement. Because, so often, our instinct is to brush off the compliment as unnecessary, or misplaced. To laugh, or try and explain why the person complimenting you is wrong to think you’re awesome. 

Somewhere along the line, we’ve collectively decided that this is the ‘correct’ response to a compliment - probably an attempt at being humble, or avoiding egotism. And as a result, we miss out on absorbing the nutrients offered to our parched souls when someone offers an acknowledgement and names something they love about us. 

When we simply say the words “thank you”, and nothing else, we buy ourselves a moment to let it sink in. It gives us a valuable opportunity to pause and reflect on the gift that has been offered. You wouldn’t dream of throwing a birthday present in the bin in front of the person who gave it to you, yet we do it all the time in the face of a spoken positive affirmation. 

My encouragement to you: next time someone compliments you, JVN-style, drink it in. Allow your very being to absorb all the goodness it represents. Say “thank you” and zip it. Give yourself a moment to consider that they might just be right. Put down your self-deprecating armour, and let the love in. Allow yourself that moment. And then do it again. And again. I promise, you won’t turn into an ego-maniacal monster. But you might start believing what you hear, and enjoying some precious moments of self appreciation.

How to begin again

I recently read a ‘yoga book’ for the first time. I wouldn’t have were it not for a yoga forum I love dearly, that has its own book group. And every now and again, the book that’s chosen is a ‘yoga book’. Even as someone who has a daily yoga practice, I had all sorts of stories in my head about what a ‘yoga book’ would be. And concluded it wasn’t for me. Too airy-fairy. Too spiritual. All things I guess I think I’m not.

And were it not for the title ‘Perfectly Imperfect’, I don’t think I would have given it a go. That title piqued my curiosity. I love the notion of imperfection and all that it conjures up. I love the permission that single word grants me to be my own imperfect self. It reminds me that not a one of us is ‘perfect’. That we are all buzzing about imagining the perfection of one another’s lives, and comparing our own unfavourably to them. It reminds me of the BS illusion that is perfection.

I digress.

I got curious. I read the book. And of course, it felt neither airy-fairy, nor did it feel ‘too’ spiritual (whatever the heck that is!). It did, in fact, make the most beautiful connection between my yoga practice, and my daily life off the mat. It drew my attention to the way I show up on the yoga mat, when poses are demanding or beyond my reach. When my muscles shake, and I want to give up. When I feel resistant to even getting on the mat in the first place. The author Baptiste made those links for me. Made me reflect on the way I show up in my day to day experience. How all this relates to the way I behave when things are hard and uncomfortable in my life. How I respond to the inevitable daily fluctuations in my moods, thoughts and emotions.

I learnt loads from that short book. I highlighted wildly as I read. I breathed deeply and slowly as I absorbed its message (always a sign for me that I’m learning something meaningful). And I came across a message that has served me every day since I read it. Something that made me feel a deep sense of relief. That helped me to re-embrace my profoundly imperfect self.

And it was, quite simply, the permission to begin again. Always. In any situation. On and off the yoga mat.

In yoga terms, if you fall out of a pose, because it’s difficult for your body, or because your focus is 'off', you can always begin again. Have another go. Fall out of it again if that's what needs to happen.

And of course, it’s as true off the mat as it is on it.

I fall out of ‘poses’ multiple times, every single day. Perhaps I’m snappy with one of my kids or frustrated with my husband. Perhaps I eat badly, or indulge in some deeply unhelpful thought processes that make me feel bad about myself and my choices. Perhaps I stop writing blog posts for a long time, even though I really love doing it, and it benefits me personally and professionally!

But if I give myself permission to begin again, then I’m never done. It’s never my last opportunity to try something again or differently. I am not defined by that misstep. I can, in the simplest, and most beautiful terms, begin again. I can reconnect with a loved one. I can write a long overdue post. I can eat better the next day. I can find more empowering perspectives.

It feels wonderful to know that’s an option. That beginning again is always an option. That failure, or missteps, or whatever you want to call them, are part of life - on and off the yoga mat. That this is, and will always be, part of the messy, changeable journey of life. That starting and stopping, that nailing a yoga pose then falling out of it is as important (if not more important) than committing to something 100%, being brilliant at it, and sticking to it religiously.

So here I am, beginning again. Back at the keyboard that’s been quietly calling me, while I’ve been busy focussing elsewhere. Back on the blog that has been patiently awaiting my return. And without a doubt, I’ll need to begin again in 15 different ways before this day ends. I may even fall out of a few yoga poses while I’m at it.

And begin again I shall. Shame and regret free. In the full and certain knowledge that this is, and will always be part of my experience.

The heart of social work

This is not a post I ever thought I’d write. These are not words I ever expected to express with genuine conviction. These are not feelings I ever expected to feel. But by a long, circuitous route, I find myself having the best time I’ve ever had as a social worker, and ready to write about a part of my working life that until now, I’ve always kept under wraps.

Yes, I’m off the front line of statutory practice. I have been for a few years now. Some years back I realised that staying where I was, doing what I was doing was no longer serving me (or anyone else for that matter). 

I realised that I had to make a change. 

I wanted to feel differently about the work I was doing. I wanted to have fun again. I wanted to laugh easily, not darkly. I wanted to wake up in the morning and look forward to what I was about to do. I wanted to be free from the sense of dread that followed me everywhere I went. 

And so, I made that change. I gradually, and sometimes fearfully moved away from social work as I knew it. I stepped away from the relentless assessments, the sad stories, the stretched-thin colleagues into a new, unfamiliar, unstructured world. The only aspects of social work that accompanied me into this new dimension were my professional title and some social work students. I was a qualified Practice Educator, which offered me a way of continuing to make a contribution to the profession that had shaped almost all my adult life, while I took some longed-for time tending to my family, and working out what on earth I was going to do with all this freedom. 

Fast forward a few years, a complete shift to a self directed, self-employed lifestyle and here I am in 2017, having found the freedom I craved, the self development that was so sorely needed, a blog and a coaching accreditation under my belt - still a social worker and still Practice Educating social work students every chance I get. 

My perspectives have broadened. I am in the enviable position of moving from student to student,  placement to placement. Seeing social work in its many different forms, with its many different service users. I get to witness the overwhelm and energy of the statutory environments. The freedoms and challenges of the voluntary sector. 

I get reminded daily how various and multifaceted social workers are. How the role changes and adapts to its environment and the needs of its service users. How social workers undertake a complex dance between authority and compassion. The professional and the human. Between courtrooms and living rooms. Limiting freedoms and encouraging autonomy. 

There are tensions and contradictions at every turn. Nothing is linear, little is simple. Social workers specialise in the ‘grey’, murky areas of the human experience. They hold perspectives that render the unacceptable simultaneously understandable. Social work seems to bring us closer to our fellow human beings, and isolate us from mainstream society all at once. 

It is curious, rich and frankly, remarkable. 

My heart is lifted time and time again, as I see commitment, creativity and reflection in action. As I see students, their supervisors and their colleagues empathise, puzzle, encourage and empower. As I see them want more for service users, find hope in dark places, discover strengths that appear hidden beneath layers of delusion, aggression and resistance. It’s a beautiful process I'm lucky to be a part of.

The mainstream narrative suggests that the heart has been squeezed out of social work. That the workforce is weary, depleted, defensive and overwhelmed. Ideals of creating a fairer, more equal society have been quashed by timescales, targets and budget cuts. 

And there is absolutely truth in that story. 

But it’s not everything.

I get to witness another reality that exists at the same time. 

I get to encounter the fresh new recruits social work continues to attract. Each with their own story. Each with their own powerful reasons for choosing a much maligned profession. Each with a beautiful, emerging idea about the impact they want to make in the lives of others. Each with qualities that are as unique as they are important, and that will shape the practitioner they will eventually become. 

And I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is as true of the students as it is of those of us who have been qualified for much longer - who may have moved sideways, upwards or who remain resolutely on the front line, and who continue to keep showing up and wholeheartedly playing our part. 

The heart is still beating in social work. My work these days allows me to witness this again and again in all its glory. I get to ask over and over - “what’s important about this to you?”. 

The answers are inspiring, moving and bursting with compassionate conviction. They’ve led me to conclude that social work, while professional, skilled, boundaried and knowledgeable is also, at its core, an act of love.

How to feel good more of the time

In recent years I’ve discovered a love for singing and listening to gospel music. For me, it creates a perfect storm of music, dance, performance, spirituality, connection, uplift and a ton of other meaningful goodies. 

It touches something deep in my soul. It has a physical, emotional and spiritual impact. It excites and uplifts me. Makes me dance in the kitchen, and sing like a diva in the car. It inspires me to perform more openly and expressively than I ever felt able to as a classical musician. To lose myself in the moment. To be moved to tears, laughter, or often both. 

It’s visceral stuff. The juice of life. It gives me goosebumps. It makes me tingle. I smile even thinking about it. It helps me think about things I don’t want to think about. It offers me perspectives which my non gospel music infused mind can struggle to access. 

It unleashes something in me. It gives me access to a sense of freedom and abandon that I don’t find everywhere in my day to day life. It gives me permission to be more effusive than I might sometimes be. To express my inner diva. To raise my hands up in abandon. To surrender to the moment and the music. 

Gospel music is my door into a whole other way of being. I have plenty of others, but in this moment, the day after a spine tingling choir rehearsal, gospel singing is front and centre of my mind. 

And the great news about this? We all have these doors. 

No one doesn't have one. 

Not a single person out there is devoid of doors like mine. 

Yours may look, sound and feel completely different. Yours may have nothing whatsoever to do with gospel music or indeed anything I’ve described here. Your external response may appear to have nothing at all in common with mine.

But the internal feeling: the uplift, the excitement, the sense of hope and perspective is something we all share. 

The physical sensations that tells us we’re going through that door. The goosebumps. The surge of adrenalin. The total absorption in the moment. The feeling that tells us we’re in the right place, doing the right thing at the right time.

These moments are golden. This is the elixir of life. This is the good stuff that raises us up. Expands and evolves us. Allows us to let go, momentarily, of the stuff that doesn’t serve us. The thing that connects us with others - powerfully and meaningfully. 

And if we don’t make space for these moments in our lives, we forget what it’s like to feel that good. We forget that it’s possible to feel on top of the world. We forget we can tingle with joy. We start to think that feeling this way is just for kids, or people without our heavy, adult, responsibilities. 

Feeling this good becomes a faded memory of experiences that have passed, never to return. 

I’m blessed to have a job that reacquaints people with this feeling. To draw their attention to the places in their lives where these feelings show up. To spend time exploring what it’s like for them as the tingle spreads through their bodies. To notice the way their eyes light up - how they stand a little taller and breathe a little deeper when they’re resonating in this way. 

And what I get to witness is how connected they are, in these moments, to what really matters to them. I get to glimpse a more expanded version of who they are. 

And I can tell you, the view is always magnificent. 

And the more my clients remember how good it feels to feel this way, the more they notice when it shows up in their lives. And the more they notice it showing up, the better they feel. 

It’s a beautiful, virtuous cycle. 

It’s a beautiful, virtuous cycle that’s available to all of us. No matter our circumstance. There are absolutely times when we have to dig a little (or a lot) deeper to access these feelings - but I’m telling you, they’ve never left the building. 

They’re always lying in wait, powerful and uplifting as they ever were. Waiting for you to knock on the door, and breathe life back into them.