My clients often seem startled when I mention my therapist. I suppose deep down they see themselves as inadequate to the task of living and, hell, if their coach needs help, what hope is there for them?
Or something like that.
Tracey pointed out that I’m mess. And of course I felt that little tug of shame: Sheesh, what business do I have of “helping” people when I end up spending so much time saying “I’m sorry,” “I didn’t realize,” and “I didn’t know.”
Breathe. Blow a kiss to that Loyal Soldier telling me I should be good, better, best—perfect even. Breathe. Blow a kiss and let it go.
The thing is, we’re all in this together. We’re a community of helpers, a sangha of fellow travelers, and we’ve got to work together. I mirror you. You mirror me. I hold your heart. You hold mine.
Oh and, of course Floyd could have used a Flowbee but he’d never get it slicked down just right.