Captain's Log, 4.21.17

Last night at a party with a bunch of beloved fellow shaman/healer/coach types, I confessed that I recognize that at some point if I’m going to become the coach I aspire to be, I’m going to have to ease up a little bit on being so stringent about enforcing my personal boundaries on social media. I recognize that a lot of people are well-intentioned in their responses but are just clumsy in their expression. And I can’t expect people to be experts at holding space before even receiving coaching. That’d be like being a doctor who only treats patients who are already healthy.

Here’s the thing, however: right now, the person I’m holding space for is me.

For the past year, I have prioritized my own healing journey over the growth of my business. That’s going to change in the next year, but right now, in order to become the best healer I can be for my students, I need to prioritize myself. Every lightworker worth their salt knows the importance of a clean vessel. And if there is one thing you can be assured of, it is that I am fucking serious about walking this path for myself so that when you yourself need a guide, I will be able to show you the way, and I will empathize with every single step you take and hold your hand the entire time.

And when we take that journey together, the person I’ll be holding space for is you. And I won’t let anyone else fuck with you, make you feel small, or try to tell you they know your path better than you do – just as I’m doing for myself now. If I can succeed in vulnerably doing the work in public AND holding a container for myself at the same time, then I will definitely be able to hold space for you when you need your hair held back as you spiritually vomit your guts up.

Right now it feels like I’m directing a movie I’m starring in, and I continually have to stop the action in order to get the production team on the same page, all while passersby are stopping to gawk and take selfies. It’s a big endeavor to be in charge of by myself. So when I reach the point where I can merely sit back in the director’s chair and be in charge of the process of someone else’s story, that’s going to feel like a piece of cake.

And at that point, when I no longer need a container held for myself because I’ve reached the other side of it, I’ll be much more forgiving of how people respond to my public shares. Because the work won’t be about me anymore. It’ll be about you. And I’ll be holding space for you instead of myself.

(PS, the more everyone cooperates the sooner I’ll get there.)

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