Tuesday, June 14, 2016

My Life as a LIFE COACH and the Meaning it Gave

I feel the desire to account for my time as a Life Coach, as there is little written on this subject relating to working with persons who suffer from severe mental illness. I was a Life Coach for nearly a year, a paid Life Coach that is. I got my initiation into Life Coaching when I befriended another client in a mental health program.

I never paid close attention to this client, as she was fairly non-communicative. But one day she spoke to me, and she spoke clearly to me. I was getting off the bench to leave her presence and she said, "Don't you know it's rude to get up and leave without excusing yourself?" I looked at her dumbfounded. She continued in her eloquence by adding, "People don't think I need attention, but I do need attention." Well, then and there, she had caught mine And a tale of a sisterhood, and later as I befriended men, a brotherhood, formed among us.

Getting involved in the lives of others brought further healing to my own. Dominika's friendship and desire to succeed warmed my heart like nothing I had ever experienced as an adult, except the unconditional love of a child. After I left the mental health program where we met, I visited Dominika and she asked me if I was still a teacher. I replied that what I did for her for free, I now did for money. She astutely got me to see myself as she saw me; she answered by saying, "Oh, so you are a Tutor." And I guess that is what I was as a Life Coach--a tutor.

Without being pompous, I was a "miracle worker" of sorts. Ernest, a 52 year-old man with a flat affect and without so much as a hint of a smile in his tired, worn-out face, was my first client as a paid "tutor." One day I asked him what he was doing sitting on a chair in the Deli day after day, and he bluntly told me he was "growing old." Working with him, that Deli chair became much emptier than before, and when I left him at 53, Ernest was active, content with  his life, and felt "like a new man," And having purchased dentures for his toothless mouth, his face constantly brimmed with a broad, toothy smile.

How did I make a difference in the lives of these individuals, I really couldn't figure out. What was it that I did to bring out the best in them? I really didn't know. This maybe I did know, I believed wholeheartedly in them. I believed in their ability to change. I believed in their ability to be accountable. And, I believed in their ability to start feeling again. Particularly for them to experience tenuous bonds of trust, and to see themselves as I saw them--as human-beings worthy of being treated with dignity and respect. And beyond that, to experience the unconditional love and compassion that welled up in me from my own struggle with a bitter symptoms of an illness that could so arbitrarily and randomly robe me of my sanity, and that was truly an insane experience,

I was one of them, but I don't think they perceived that very often. To them, I was their Life Coach and friend. I cannot think that I could work so deeply within the core of an individual to discount the bond I was forming with my clients, who let's never forget are people, would not be lifelong. Yet, this longitude, I would find out, as my life moved away from theirs would only be made of memories. Yet, while Life Coaching, I became entrenched in a quandary. The quandary was this--how much miracle can a miracle worker work?

Another paid client was David. David had struggled with Schizophrenia for 29 years. When I first met him, he was extremely agitated, short-tempered, demonized with voices which he himself called "demons," and he had a slight air of entitlement. (I imagine that if I had also gone to Harvard like he had don, I might think of myself as somewhat entitled, too). It proved to be important to our bonding to acknowledge his accomplishment and to give him the credit he was due, as very few high-school graduates make it into Harvard.

But, herein lied my dilemma where David was concerned. I questioned to what extent he was capable. And I questioned the morality of how far I could push him to find out. Oh, to have had a reference point, to have had some textbook set of rules to figure this one out. But clinical case studies do not always prove fruitful in working with a complexly unique individual, and a person with great mental capacity. Scary though it was, it seemed the best interventions came instinctively, transported from the beginning of time through the collective wisdom of the Spirit to the spirit in each one of us. How far I could push, I realized, was in how far David would let me push him.

David was eager to please me, I learned in my discussions with him. Yet, getting him to better himself was not for my pleasure but for his, and this was a lesson I somehow needed to impart to him. When I finished working with David, he was different. He was not so demonized by his voices, he worked part-time, he smiled, he was calmer, and he even had a sense of humility. But if this was all done to please me, I failed as his Life Coach. I was indeed perplexed. I needed coaching in the art of coaching, so I put my dilemma out into the Universe, as I needed to heed wise Counsel.

I learned that the mind needs to rest, to settle, to still itself into silence, so it can heed the input of others. My life as a Life Coach was a very rewarding experience. My job was to work my way out of a job, and to instill in my clients confidence and independence. I saw fear on their faces when I said I had to leave. My hope for them, as I moved on with life's callings, was that they would soar on wings like eagles My role simply was to carry them when their wings forgot how to fly, and to safely and securely get them to remember.

Monday, February 17, 2014

Why Do I Cry At HAPPY Endings?

Here I go again...the movie has 10 minutes left, and I'm all choked up and tears are running down my cheeks. My eyes turn red, I'm searching for a Kleenex because my nose needs blown...why, why, why do I cry at HAPPY endings? Never did I shed a tear at all the drama and heartache in the other hour and fifty minutes of the very same movie, but at the end, it's always the same...me, my tears,...and my pain. Yes, I said it ~ my pain. But the movies have all had HAPPY endings, so why am I so sad? In romances, when the lovers are off to plan their weddings; in dramas, when all is righted, I'm left crying into tissues...with puffy eyes and a stuffy nose! Somehow, this just doesn't seem right...does it to you?

I remember back when my nephew was my best buddy. He had gone to see Beauty and the Beast, but I had missed it, so I asked him to go with me and see it again. He firmly told me NO! I begged and begged him to go see the movie with me, and he kept putting his foot firmly down. I really couldn't understand this: I wasn't asking him to see a horror film; I was just asking him to see an animated Disney film for a second time, yet he was so firmly against it. Because he loved me, he told me he would go see the movie with me (he was about 4 years old). I didn't know the story of Beauty and the Beast, so when I discovered at the end of the movie that the Beast was indeed a cursed Prince, I cried. Yes, I cried and I cried and I cried. Left without a tissue, the tears streamed down my face like a river. I was glued to my seat until the theater was empty. My nephew looked at me in astonishment and said, "Debbie, you cried more than I did!" You see, he cried at a HAPPY ending, too. And because he had been so moved by emotion to shed those kind of tears, he had not wanted to go back and see the movie again. Though he didn't cry the second time, somehow my tears sanctified his.

Although he was not abused, he did see the chaos in our family, and I think this brought a deep sensitivity to him, a sensitivity he still has today toward me and others. Maybe this is why he cried at a HAPPY ending. Maybe I cry at HAPPY endings because I am happy for them too; happy that they do have a HAPPY ending, unlike many of the endings in my life. But it still surprises me when I don't cry when all the drama in their lives is taking place ~ just at the HAPPY ending.

I am going to have to look into whether those of us who've been abused actually can become desensitized to the dramatic chaos and save those findings for another post...because right now, I still have eyes to be dried and a nose to be blown...yes, I just finished another movie with a HAPPY ending. And before the night is out, I will probably be in the same condition, because I like movies and, for the most part, they always seem to end on a happy note. So I'll just keep the Kleenex box close and shed the tears so desperately in need of their release. And so as movies go, so will I...THE END!