Lifeworks Coaching

Me:  What do you wanna do?

Other Person:  I dunno, what do you wanna do?

Me:  I dunno, what do you wanna do?

(Continue until someone’s head explodes.)

This inane and unproductive dialogue marked much of my teenage years. I’m embarrassed to admit that more sophisticated versions persisted well into my adulthood.

Did I really not know what I wanted to do?  Was the other person/BFF/date/boyfriend/partnertruly just as lost and clueless?

The answer is no, and no.

I knew what I wanted to do.  Of course I did.  But I was worried that the other person would think my idea was stupid.  Or, worse, that they would go along with what I wanted to do, but it would turn out to be boring or a disaster and then it would be my fault for suggesting it. It was safer, I concluded, to have no opinions or preferences, to simply drift along in my dull but protective little bubble of indecision, than to actually risk making a choice or taking a specific action.  Apparently I had a lot of friends who felt the same.

Then I met my step-grandmother, Claire.  Claire had about as much patience for indecision and waffling as Tang has real fruit juice.  If she asked me what I wanted to do and I said I didn’t know, she’d simply find something for me to do, whether I liked it or not. Thus I toured the Chicago Stock Exchange (mildly interesting), the water maintenance facility (moderately tedious) and sat for hours in a courtroom while attorneys argued breach of contract over delayed delivery of some kind of industrial equipment (total snore).

I quickly developed the courage to voice preferences of my own.

Some clients tell me they don’t know what they want to do. Perhaps unsurprisingly, I rarely believe them, although I know they think they’re telling me the truth. On the surface of the conscious mind, they may indeed not know what they want to do.  They’re on the fence about whether or not to stay in their marriage.  They think they might hate their job, but they don’t know what they want to do instead. They want something to happen, but they can’t articulate what that might be.

Bullshit, I tell them.  Bull.  Shit.  (I actually say this very nicely, you’d be surprised how charming profanity can be.)

Just as the seven-year-old me knew, deep down, that I wanted to play Barbies instead of Hungry Hungry Hippos, just as the teenage me knew I wanted to go dancing instead of to a football game, just as the adult me knew I didn’t want to live in a small town (but mysteriously bought a house in one anyway), people know what they want, even if they keep it secret from themselves.

So shhhh.  Listen.  Listen hard.  Hear that little voice, the one you keep trying to drown out with have-tos and shoulds, the one you keep trying to smother with fear and what-will-people-think?

What, in your heart of hearts, do you really, truly want to do?  What do you want to have happen next?

You know. And you and I both know you do.

So c’mon.  Do you wanna keep messing around?  Or do you wanna go for it?  Tick tock, baby.  Your whole life is out there, waiting for you to take the reins and live it.  Are you in?

 
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Note:  I have lived with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and Fibromyalgia most of my adult life. Whereas once I struggled, fought, and suffered, now–even though I still work towards partial or full recovery–I live in the present with what is, and I live a darned good life as a result. Here’s how:

1. Your physical condition does not define who you are. As all-consuming as dealing with physical limitations can be, you are more than the things you can or can’t do. You are your ability to give and receive love. You are the unique sculpture that is your soul. You are your interests, your passions, your distinctive point of view. You are also not your societal roles, your bank account, or your stuff. You are simply, beautifully, miraculously you, the only you there will ever be for all time. It really is enough.
2. Any chronic condition waxes and wanes. When we have good days, we can scarcely imagine what it was like to be so sick. Unfortunately, it tends to work in reverse, too-when we have bad days, we can’t imagine feeling otherwise. Do yourself a favor. On a good day, write a letter to your future self, the one who’s having a bad day. Describe in rich detail what a good day feels like. Remind yourself that good days–or at least not-so-crappy days-do come back around. Print it out and tape it or post it somewhere where you can easily find it, no matter how sick or stressed you may feel.
3. There is really nothing in the world that is universally good or bad. Even the best thing in the world has a downside or two. And even the most terrible tragedy imaginable can contain a gift within it. How many good things have come out of your challenges? I guarantee you’ll find more than one.
4. Give people the benefit of the doubt. Operate from the assumption that they are doing the best they can with whatever they have to work with at the time. That guy at the mall who told you he wishes HE could ride the mobility scooter ’cause his feet hurt? He’s just trying to connect with you-hey, at least he didn’t pretend you weren’t there. And about those people who pretend you’re not there. They actually think they’re helping you by not making you feel self-conscious.
5. Listen to and honor your body’s wisdom. It knows what you are capable of on any given day-and that has nothing to do with what’s on your appointment calendar, or on your to-do list, or with anybody’s expectations of what you “should” do (that includes your expectations, too). Your brain is smart enough to come up with all kinds of justifications for plunging ahead (“Everyone will be so disappointed if I don’t show up,” “No one can do this except me,” “It’s not so bad–I just have a small migraine.”) Don’t fall for it. Be still, be quiet, and listen very carefully to what your body has to say.
6. Don’t give up–but do consider giving in. Crucial distinction here. Giving up is abandoning all hope that anything will ever be any different. Giving in, however, is going with the flow. What would a bad day be like if you stopped fighting it and hating it, accepted it for what it is, and allowed things to unfold organically from there? Then pain is simply pain–not a punishment. Energy depletion is simply a cue to rest. A downturn is what it is, not a predictor of what is to come. Allow yourself to simply be, without expectation, without judgment, without fear.
7. Change your focus. If things feel scary and/or overwhelming, tighten your focus and narrow it down, smaller and smaller, until you’re at a scale you can handle. On a bad day, it’s easy to let your mind go spiraling into what-if scenarios and doomsday predictions. But if you can focus on what is okay in each individual moment–the softness of your sheets, the warmth of the sunshine through the window, the tiny bit if ease that comes from taking a deliberate, slow breath–you then ARE okay. One moment at the time. Conversely, zooming out and looking at a bigger picture, outside yourself and your challenges, can be helpful, too. When I’m feeling awful, sometimes it helps to coach a client, play a game with my son, take whatever step I feel capable of to make a difference in the world. Play with changing your focus, back and forth. What feels better?
8. Stay connected to the world in whatever way you can. When I was bedridden, technology was my lifeline, my means of connecting to the world. I kept in touch with friend, family, and even carried on with my coaching practice through Skype, email, Twitter, Facebook, and the phone. Frequently the people to whom I was talking had no idea I was flat on my back in bed. Illness and pain are isolating enough without you pulling up the drawbridge and hunkering down. Reach out in as many ways as you can imagine.
9. Ask for what you need. No one–not even your closest loved ones–are mind readers. Sitting and seething because your spouse “ought” to know by now that you need a fresh glass of water every hour and not saying anything is as insane as going into a restaurant and expecting your dinner to magically appear without ordering. Note that asking for something doesn’t mean you’ll always get it. But not asking is pretty much a guarantee that you won’t.
10. Be gentle, patient, even tender with yourself. You know how. But it’s funny that what comes easily with others–preparing a nourishing meal for them, or being patient with listening to their problems, or giving them time to rest–can be so hard to do for oneself. Ongoing pain and illness can lead to self-neglect and even self-loathing. Ask yourself: how would I treat a dear friend who was struggling? Guess what? That dear friend is you.

For more information on the “Chronic Joy” coaching teleclasses I teach–and my upcoming free Q & A phone call about the classes–find me on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/lifeworkscoaching.

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