Let me tell you my story!

I grew up in the perfect small town family in the Midwest in the '60's. We were a mom, a dad, two boys, one girl and a dog. My brothers and I were all good kids, and my parents were good, church-going folks. My mom was involved in whatever her kids were involved in, volunteering to sew choir robes for the children's church choir, bake for scout meetings and decorate for events. The problem was that we weren't quite as perfect as we appeared. My mother, because of deep woundings and damage done by her own alcoholic mother, became an alcoholic herself. As ideal as our family may have looked in pictures, we knew all about walking on eggshells, being constantly on edge, never knowing what would set Mom off, and then trying not to be the one caught in the cross hairs when she got angry. 

 

I don't know when the alcoholism began, but I don't remember a time when I didn't know that it was a bad idea to "make Mommy mad." Then, when I was 12, my mom passed away. She contracted lung cancer and died over the course of the summer between my elementary and junior high years. I went through my teen years watching my peers and their parents and guessing about how to live and behave. This was terrifying, but I had learned to keep my mask up, and no one knew how frightened and unsure I was. The weird thing, though, is that even back then, I was a "go to" person for my friends. I was the one they confided in, and I understood and had really good insights into what they were going through and what might help. I learned later that this is very common for people who go into coaching. It's part of our wiring, to be empathetic and insightful. Looking back, it would seem ridiculous that anyone was coming to ME for advice, and yet, they were - and I had answers for them. 

 

This was a constant throughout my teen years and into adulthood. I worked with at-risk youth in my church, and the most wounded ones were the ones I took under my wing, because I understood them so well. I tried to help them understand that their pain was not their identity, and that they had worth and value far beyond what they believed they had. Ironically, I was still grappling with trying to believe these things about myself. I married in my early 20's, and my husband and I were both too immature to have a clue. I had learned at my mother's knee to be afraid of explosive anger, and he had learned that the only way to get his point across was to explode. It was a bad combination, but we stayed together for 25 years, and had three sons together. 

 

After my ex and I separated, I learned about life coaching, and I knew it would be a perfect match for my skills, abilities and natural inclinations. I became certified in 2015, but  that was followed by considerable life upheaval - several moves, a number of different jobs, as I was temping for awhile, so my coaching practice never really got going. I continued to coach in unofficial capacities, but never developed my practice as I dreamed of doing. I made my living in accounting, which is the TOTALLY wrong side of my brain, but I have a knack for it and it pays the bills. Even so, I've always wanted to pursue coaching further. 

 

A number of events came together this year, and I've decided to really invest in myself and my dream. One of my foundational beliefs is that everything that's happened to me - the good, the bad, the painful, the beautiful - it all happened for a reason, and that if what I've been through can help someone else get through their own journey, then I want to be available to those people.