When you come to my office, at some point before you get on my table I usually ask: “how would you like to feel when you leave here today?“
And then you proceed, pretty much every time, to blow me away.
You are so insightful.
You tell me you want to experience the quality of fortitude. I ask what that would be like, how you’d know that you have it, and you tell me that fortitude means feeling flexible, yet strong.
Sometimes you tell me you want to feel centered. And then you point to the place in your body where “centered” lives, when it’s there. You even show me, with your arms, the motion that becoming centered involves.
Other times you tell me you want to feel relaxed, that your mind has been crowded. And then, 15 minutes into your session you tell me you’re doing what I taught you. “What’s that?” I ask, not remembering. And you tell me that you are simply watching the screen of your mind, letting the thoughts ticker tape across the bottom, neither trying to stop them, nor grabbing onto them, but just letting them scroll on by.
You want soothing. The last couple weeks have been hard, you say, and your stomach has been knotted up. You want to feel calm.
You’d like to be able to turn your head with ease again. You just recently became a new dad and how lucky are you that your baby pretty much sleeps through the night, but oh my, you’d like to be doing the same but you’ve been waking up at 4 in the morning.
Your body teaches me what trust looks like. And that trust can never be forced or hurried along, and that everything changes when it’s ready. And then I get to observe, again and again, that readiness is much more likely to happen when a thing, a person, a shoulder, neck or back has been heard, understood, and met exactly as it is. Sometimes I can almost hear your shoulder saying, “Ahhh, you get it, yes. You really get it! Thank you.” And then, more times than not, it changes. Because now it’s ready. Its need to be knotted up is no longer.
Every time I hold your head, I remember that support is always there for you, for me, for everyone, whether we notice or not. And I notice the kindness of gravity, always pulling us back toward ground, and yes, darkness and rest.
I look forward to every Thursday, Friday and Saturday, the days I get to see you. I can’t tell you how often, at the end of one of those days, I think, “Wow! How lucky am I to do something I love and get to help people like you. “
I suppose the short version of all the above would be, simply, “thank you.”
So much love,
Heidi
P.S. Oh and too? You may not know this but yesterday you helped me play mood detective with my insomnia! And last night I slept much better. Thanks!
Do you know someone that would love my work? My practice is open for several more clients. I’d love it if you forwarded this letter to people you love. [And, mwah!]
I feel like this with my own clients. In writing for them, or with them, or just reading their stuff, or talking to them about their work, it’s like I’m THEIR client and they’re coaching me. They change the way I think. And somehow I’m the one getting paid.
I just wish I lived in Boston so I could be your client!
Yes, Kelly. Interesting point. We *are* changed. All the time. By everyone. But it does seem that our clients have more power than others to do so. Maybe it’s to do with the quality of our attention when we are with them. I know that I am much more in presence and centered with my clients than in other places/areas of my life. I imagine that just that would make me much more receptive and perceptive. It’s a sweet sweet thing.
You’re so beautifully wise.
Love your blog, and even more, love you. Wish we lived closer and could hang out and drink hot chocolate more often!
Ah, Grace, yes, we’d have hot chocolate often. Burdicks! (And thanks 😉