Growth Coach

Author: admin

  • The Art of Beginnings

    The Art of Beginnings

    Aren’t these early moments of the year a little hard? I’ve lived through 46 of them so far, and to me, they feel like when you were a kid, running alongside a roundabout to build speed before jumping on to glide. I don’t know how much gliding there will be this year, but I know I need to get on the wheel.

    Yet, in these early moments, parts of me feel like they just don’t want to go. They resist what’s here and what needs to be done, offering an assortment of reasons for their reluctance. One of the most valuable lessons I’ve learned so far is not to fight the resistance. That doesn’t mean going along with it either. It’s about being curious about these parts that may not feel ready yet.

    Take this story from my beginning: I was born early, and back then, it was fine for doctors to schedule deliveries. My mother’s doctor was also an avid golfer, and, as ridiculous as it sounds, the story I was told is that my arrival had to work around his golf schedule. For the longest time—and still, to some extent—I’ve carried this feeling of not being ready, like I’m being rushed out the door without everything I need. You know that sense, like you’ve forgotten something important? Granted, there were likely other experiences that contributed to that feeling, but nonetheless, it was there—something my rational mind could not explain.

    The only way I’ve come to understand my resistance is by listening to those parts, making space for their fears, and, most importantly, finding the “hell no, I won’t go” energy in my body. The body carries that resistance, and trusting it is what has helped me move forward.

    So here we are at the beginning of a new year. The first step, if there’s resistance, is to honour it. Once its grip loosens a little, there’s space for dreaming.

    If this year could be more, what would I want that more to look like? Will I dare to dream, even when so much of the world feels torn apart? Even wealth doesn’t insulate like it once did. Look at the tragic fires in LA. The wealthiest among us aren’t immune to natural forces. Sure, it’s always been that way, but doesn’t the world feel more uncertain than usual?

    So, with all the uncertainty, what is worth dreaming of?

    I don’t have a clear answer to that, but I love the question. I think life is meant to be an art form, even when times are shaky. What’s the point of slogging through this thing without feeling some choice in how we respond to the conditions of our lives?

    This brings me to my second point: don’t take it too seriously. After reflecting on last year, my slogan for this year is to be more playful in the serious business of life. For me, that means taking life seriously enough but also recognising its dream-like quality. The stakes aren’t always as high as I think, and there’s plenty of reason not to treat it as life or death.

    One of my heroines is Suleika Jaouad. What I love about her is how she took an impossible situation—cancer—and turned it on its head. Enduring countless hospital stints that left her isolated for long periods, she responded in the one way she could: creatively.

    She started The Isolation Journals, bringing people together through writing and art. Her story reminds me how to dream in a grounded way. It’s not about ignoring life’s constraints or pretending we’re limitless. She lives with uncertainty, not knowing how long she has, yet she finds a creative response to what life brings.

    In Suleika’s case, she lives with the knowledge of her mortality as an absolute truth. That should not be different for any of us, and yet we are experts at pretending otherwise. For Suleika, the knowledge clearly propels her into her deepest place of creativity. She’s not writing like there will be a string of next days or years, but at the same time, she’s not giving up hope for a long and fruitful life. My favourite words from her are utterly simple: she invites us to “let our survival be a creative act.”

    On the face of it, maybe that doesn’t look like much, but when you really consider what she is saying, it challenges us right to the core. We have hundreds of millions of years behind us of being conditioned for safety. Not much in us wants to risk all that in the name of Art. And it’s certainly not to say don’t take material reality seriously. But is there a way you could loosen up a little more and make more space for what really matters to you?

    No challenge comes risk-free. Failure and loss are inevitable—no one in history has been an all-time winner. More to the point, are you in the game?

    I used to think being in the game meant being entrepreneurial or avoiding corporate life. Not anymore. I’ve realised that you can summon creative energy in any situation. Take Viktor Frankl, for instance, who found meaning even in the most horrific conditions. He showed us that, even there, we have a choice in how to respond.

    Because we are storytellers, whether we like it or not, we’re hardwired to make meaning from experience. So the question is, will we wrestle enough with experience to find a way of telling our story that supports the direction we want to take our life in?

    If point two was to dream, then three is to find the story you want to tell that supports the dream. Not the story on the outside, but to grapple with the stories on the inside. If I’m telling myself a story of not being worth anything and that I have nothing of value to give, no matter how hard I dream, my thoughts and beliefs will keep holding me back from stepping more fully into life.

    That’s part of what allows this creative energy to take hold. When we are telling a story that resists reality, there is no movement. We don’t feel that creative possibility. It’s only when we accept the conditions as they are. And if I imagine that I am living in a universe that wants us to dream, then I naturally open to that “more” I otherwise might not see.

    And finally, point four: energise the dream by remembering that we each will have a dying moment. Memento mori, as the Stoics say.

    Sam Harris offers a great proposal for the year: live it as if it’s your last. It’s a familiar idea, but what if we really brought it closer? None of us knows how long we have. Even as I write this, a part of me thinks death is far away.

    Isn’t that crazy, that we can feel like it’s something abstract, when the reality is that it is very tangible and physical? One moment you’re in a body, and the next moment, you’re not. In my bones, I just don’t see how that’s possible. That you or I could just end in entirety. Surely not. Life can’t die, but it can change, and the end of your body-mind is as significant as it gets.

    We should surely use this knowledge for good—not to take for granted what’s in front of us. To remember that something in us wants to live beyond the confines of our patterns. I call that Dreaming.

    And I wish you a good dream for 2025!

  • The Lost Art of Noticing: Unlocking Creativity and Connection

    The Lost Art of Noticing: Unlocking Creativity and Connection

    Rob Walker poses an interesting question that we all know but often forget: How much of your attention is being directed by others or the outside world?

    If you’re like most of us, it’s a lot. Just think about what happens when you pick up your phone. The algorithms have become incredibly skilled at delivering the kind of content we love to consume.

    We’re in a real battle for attention, often without even realising it. We’re losing without even knowing what we’ve lost.

    But what we’re loosing is our vital life energy. As William James said, “Our life experience will equal what we paid attention to, either by choice or by default.”

    Energy follows attention. What are we giving our life energy to?

    Without sounding dramatic or alarmist, it’s worth taking this seriously—not in a way that makes you feel guilty for scrolling through social media, but in a way that invites curiosity about another approach.

    Rob Walker’s idea isn’t to stop digital distractions altogether, but to re-engage our senses and make time to notice more than we usually do. Creativity relies on this kind of noticing—seeing what’s not obvious or what usually gets overlooked. That’s where the juice is. Can you become a “first-class noticer,” someone open to seeing what usually stays hidden in the shadows?

    Re-engaging our senses is also about reclaiming innocence—being open to seeing and experiencing the world through a child’s eyes. Here are a few key ideas from his book The Art of Noticing:

    1. Attention is a skill that can be cultivated.

    Walker argues that in a world filled with distractions, noticing is an intentional act of reclaiming focus. By training ourselves to observe the world deeply, we can enrich our experiences and uncover new layers of meaning.

    Key Idea: Attention is like a muscle—you can strengthen it through practice.

    2. Curiosity is the foundation of creativity.

    We can approach the world with a sense of wonder and openness (and be less defensive). By asking questions and exploring the unfamiliar, we unlock fresh perspectives that fuel innovation and creative thought.

    Key Idea: Noticing isn’t just about seeing more; it’s about seeing differently.

    3. Notice the overlooked and the ordinary.

    Walker emphasizes that the mundane holds immense potential for insight. Everyday objects, patterns, or moments often go unnoticed, but focusing on them can reveal beauty and provoke reflection.

    Key Idea: Transform the ordinary into the extraordinary through observation.

    4. Playfulness and experimentation lead to discovery.

    The exercises in the book are playful and non-linear, designed to break routine thinking. Walker believes that experimenting with how we engage with the world can spark new insights and make life more interesting.

    Key Idea: Treat noticing as a creative game.

    5. Slow down to see more.

    Walker advocates for slowing down and being present. When we rush, we skim the surface of experience. By pausing and giving our full attention, we can uncover the richness hidden in our environment.

    Key Idea: Depth of attention is more valuable than breadth.

    6. Build a personal practice of noticing.

    Develop a regular practice of observation. A range of things, from looking at shadows or listening to ambient sounds, to more abstract tasks like identifying patterns in strangers’ clothing.

    Key Idea: Make noticing part of your routine, like journaling or meditation.

    7. Noticing strengthens connections.

    By paying attention to our surroundings, we also deepen our connections to others, our communities, and ourselves. This creates a richer, more meaningful experience of the world.

    Key Idea: Attention fosters empathy and understanding.

    8. Attention shapes identity.

    What we choose to notice defines who we are. Walker suggests that by consciously deciding what to pay attention to, we craft our identities and our narratives.

    Key Idea: You are what you notice.

    Practice Idea: Seeing and the Visual Field

    The Edges of Vision

    Consider the story of the artist Georgia O’Keeffe. O’Keeffe famously focused on the “edges” of natural forms, painting the world not as it was typically seen, but as she experienced it—up close, magnified, and with heightened attention to subtle transitions of colour and shape. This is exactly the point: all that we miss can become a source of fascination, as simple and ordinary as it may initially seem.

    To expand your awareness of the visual field, focus on the peripheral and unnoticed aspects of what you see daily. This practice encourages observation beyond the obvious, cultivating a richer sense of presence and attention.

    Step 1: Orientation

    Begin by choosing a place to sit or stand quietly for 5-10 minutes. Ideally, this is a place you frequent but may not have explored visually with intention—a corner of your home, a favourite café, or a park bench.

    Take a deep breath and relax your focus. Let your gaze soften as you allow your eyes to take in the scene. Resist the urge to “look” for something; instead, let the scene come to you.

    Step 2: Periphery Play

    With your gaze fixed on a single point (like a distant tree or a spot on the floor), become aware of what’s at the edges of your vision. Ask yourself:

    • What colors or shapes do I notice at the edges?
    • Are there movements—subtle or obvious?
    • What textures or patterns emerge when I stop seeking and simply receive?

    Write down a few words or phrases that describe the sensations of observing the periphery, even if they feel abstract.

    Step 3: Subtle Transitions

    Shift your gaze slightly and notice what changes. For example:

    • How does the quality of light differ between the center and the edges?
    • What details come into view when you scan the space slowly?
    • Are there objects or elements that blend into their surroundings?

    Focus on the spaces “in between”—shadows, reflections, or places where colors merge.

    Step 4: Mapping the Overlooked

    Take a piece of paper or use your phone to create a quick sketch or description of what you noticed in the periphery. Don’t aim for accuracy; instead, aim to capture the feeling or impression of what was at the edges of your attention.

    Add notes about what surprised you or felt unexpected.

    Reflection

    After completing the practice, spend a few moments journaling:

    • How did this exercise shift your perception of the space?
    • Did you notice any emotions or thoughts arise as you focused on the periphery?
    • What might this say about how you navigate the world beyond your visual field?

    Remember, noticing is an act of curiosity and care. By exploring the edges of your vision, you open yourself to seeing the overlooked beauty that surrounds you.

  • Remembering

    Remembering

    Looking back to see forward

    To remember implies that there’s something we’ve forgotten—and this is often true. Being alive is synonymous with forgetting. In fact, you might say we’re born not just to remember, but also to forget.

    In moments that are too overwhelming, forgetting can become a refuge. It’s a survival mechanism—a way of pushing out what we cannot process in the moment. This ability, in many ways, keeps us sane.

    Aldous Huxley described this beautifully after taking an experimental dose of mescaline. He recounted how life-changing it was to see how much of reality the mind filters out. It’s easy to believe we see the whole picture, but this is never the case. As Anaïs Nin said, “We see reality as we are.”

    Yet, there are moments when we experience a sacred pause—moments that allow us to take in more than we ordinarily would.

    Huxley called this expanded awareness the “Mind at Large.” In that state, the mind operates without filters or preconceptions. It’s wide open to life as it is, revealing beauty in the simplest of things. During his experience, he noticed details—the colours, shapes, sensations, and sounds—that would ordinarily be lost in everyday consciousness.

    He said he would have been more than happy not to be anywhere else for a very long time. And that’s the practice: learning to rest in this place of being and be more in the remembering than forgetting.

    Just as we can open to what is here in the present, we can also turn this curiosity toward the past. And as we do, just like Huxley, we might see things in our past that were previously invisible to us.

    The Ghanaian symbol Sankofa depicts a bird flying forward while looking backward. It means “to go back and fetch it,” reminding us of the power in reclaiming lessons from the past. It invites us to honour our history, carry its wisdom forward, and create a future rooted in self-awareness and connection to our origins.

    Our most creative and empowered responses to life come from acknowledging and digesting what lies behind us—the difficulties and despair, as well as the joys, connections, and gratitude. To have a healthy relationship with the past is to come to a place where we can say, “I accept it as it was.” And it’s a continuous process—always beginning, never ending—just like any other relationship. Past doesn’t change but our relationship to it can.

    Part of this process is recognising how much we’ve pushed out—how much we’ve forgotten that might do us good to remember. This faculty of remembering is just as essential as the one of forgetting.

    If we don’t acknowledge what we carry from the past, we can’t fully access our creativity or live in meaningful connection with the present. The act of remembering allows us to reclaim these pieces of ourselves and weave them into a fuller, richer experience of life.

  • The Healing Power of Writing About Traumatic Experiences

    The Healing Power of Writing About Traumatic Experiences

    Trauma is an unfortunate part of life that touches everyone in some way. Whether it’s the loss of a loved one, a painful relationship, or childhood events that left a lasting impact, the weight of these experiences can feel overwhelming. What’s surprising is that one of the most powerful tools for healing might already be within our reach—writing.

    Writing about traumatic experiences is not just an emotional outlet; it’s a scientifically backed method of improving both mental and physical health. Numerous studies in the field of psychoneuroimmunology have shown that expressive writing can positively impact our immune system, reduce stress, and even change the way we think and feel about past events.

    Why Keeping Secrets Can Harm Us

    When we experience trauma, many of us feel the urge to keep it hidden. We might not want to burden others, or we might fear judgment. But holding in secrets comes at a cost. Psychologically, suppressing emotions can lead to increased anxiety, disturbing dreams, and even cognitive disruptions. Physically, keeping secrets is a form of chronic stress that can raise our heart rate, increase perspiration, and over time, weaken our immune system.

    It’s like a pressure valve—keeping trauma locked inside means our mind and body are constantly working to contain it. This internal work takes energy and resources that could otherwise be used to maintain our health and well-being.

    The Benefits of Expressive Writing

    On the flip side, expressing those emotions—whether through writing or talking—can relieve that pressure. Studies have shown that people who write about their deepest thoughts and feelings regarding traumatic experiences experience measurable health improvements, both immediately and over time. Their immune systems function better, they visit doctors less frequently, and they report feeling more emotionally grounded.

    But it’s not just about venting. In fact, simply “blowing off steam” without reflecting on what happened can sometimes make things worse. What makes expressive writing so effective is the opportunity to process, understand, and organize our thoughts and emotions. When we write, we translate our experiences into language, which helps us make sense of them. We can begin to see the event from different perspectives, reframe it, and eventually assimilate it into our broader life story.

    Scientific Evidence Supporting Writing

    A groundbreaking study involving college students revealed the profound impact of expressive writing on the immune system. Students who wrote about their deepest emotions related to a trauma showed enhanced immune function compared to those who wrote about superficial topics. These students’ health center visits also decreased, indicating that writing about traumas can promote physical health.

    The long-term benefits of this process can be even more impressive. People who engage in expressive writing often report increased self-understanding, emotional clarity, and even a sense of peace about the events they wrote about. As one study participant said, “It helped me think about what I felt during those times. I never realized how it affected me before. I had to think and resolve past experiences.”

    How Does Writing Help Us Heal?

    So, what exactly happens when we write about our traumatic experiences?

    1. Reduced Biological Stress: Holding back emotions requires mental and physical energy, which adds to our stress levels. When we express those emotions, the immediate stress response is reduced.
    2. Improved Cognitive Processing: Writing helps us organize our thoughts. When we put an emotional experience into words, we can process it more effectively. This allows us to understand it better, and, in turn, heal from it.
    3. Long-Term Emotional Insight: Writing forces us to confront the trauma in a constructive way. We gain insights into how the event affected us, helping us to process it and move forward.
    4. Integration of Experience: By making sense of the event through writing, we can integrate the trauma into our life story, reducing its hold over us. This doesn’t erase the pain, but it gives us control over how we think and feel about it.

    A Practical Exercise in Expressive Writing

    Now that you understand the value of writing about traumatic experiences, here’s a practical exercise to help you get started. You don’t need any special tools—just a quiet space, some paper, and a pen, or even your laptop. Follow the steps below:

    Step 1: Create a Safe Space
    Find a quiet place where you won’t be interrupted for about 20 to 30 minutes. It’s important to feel safe and relaxed when diving into emotional work.

    Step 2: Choose a Topic
    Think of a distressing or traumatic experience that has weighed heavily on your mind. This could be something recent or a long-buried memory. It’s essential to choose something you feel ready to explore emotionally.

    Step 3: Start Writing
    Set a timer for 20 minutes and write continuously. Don’t worry about grammar, spelling, or how well-written it is. The goal is to express your deepest emotions and thoughts about the event. Let the words flow, and allow yourself to be completely honest. Dive into the emotions—what did you feel? How did this event shape you? What were your thoughts during and after it happened?

    Step 4: Let Yourself Feel
    After writing, it’s normal to feel a bit emotionally drained. You may feel sadness or relief, depending on the topic. Remember, this is part of the healing process. If the writing becomes too overwhelming at any point, stop, take a few deep breaths, and return when you feel ready. You can also change the topic if needed.

    Step 5: Reflect
    After finishing the exercise, take a few moments to reflect. How do you feel now compared to before you started writing? Are there new insights about the event or your emotions that surfaced during the process? These reflections can help deepen the benefits of the writing exercise.

    Step 6: Repeat
    If you found this exercise helpful, consider repeating it over the next few days or weeks. Writing about the same event multiple times can often lead to deeper insights and emotional resolution.

    Final Thoughts

    Expressive writing is a powerful tool that can help us process trauma, understand our emotions, and promote both mental and physical health. The key is to approach the process with openness and honesty. While the initial experience of writing about difficult events may stir up emotions, the long-term benefits—including insight, healing, and peace of mind—are well worth the effort.

    Start small, be gentle with yourself, and trust in the power of your own words. You might be surprised at just how transformative writing can be.

    This post was inspired by: Pennebaker, James W.; Smyth, Joshua M.. Opening Up by Writing It Down: How Expressive Writing Improves Health and Eases Emotional Pain

  • Exiles and their burdens

    Exiles and their burdens

    When we think of exiles, they can feel distant and hard to grasp—and that’s exactly the point. The defining feature of exiles is that we are out of touch with them.

    However, I want you to see it from the perspective of everything being connected. It’s not as if, by contacting a protective part, we aren’t also touching an exiled part. Whether they know it or not, all our parts are deeply interconnected, even when they seem opposed to each other. They are part of the same system, and it’s our job to bring Self energy to remind them of that connection.

    This week, try to make your exiles more tangible. They don’t need to be extreme for you to notice them. Just be willing to meet what’s there a little more, as your protectors step back. This might look like spending an extra minute with a sensation, feeling, or thought you would usually try to avoid. The Enneagram can help point us in the right direction, but once you arrive, the task is to stay present with the raw data of experience—without getting caught up in the story you’re telling about it.

    Think of it like velcro: our stories and thoughts are often stuck to the sensations or energies in the body. For example, “Oh no, it’s that terrible tiredness again, I can’t take it anymore” is a story attached to a sensation. What we want to do is relax the story, come into the body, and, little by little, experience the energy of whatever is there—without interference. Simply notice it, and, if possible, stay curious. If you find it hard to do this, it likely means there’s a part you need to unblend from first. Half the job of unblending is recognising the part that doesn’t want to let you in. We might ask that part what its afraid of, and see if it will give you space.

    These are a few impressions of exiles by Alicia Larsen Dabney. Take a look through them and see if any move. You also may want to experiment with sketching/ drawing some of your own.

    What are Exiles in IFS terms ?

    In IFS, exiles develop as a result of painful or overwhelming experiences, especially when others around us couldn’t handle our vulnerability, vitality, or emotional outbursts. These parts are hidden away as a survival strategy to protect us from further rejection or shame.

    Exiles are parts of the self that carry vulnerable or traumatic memories, often linked to times when we were unable to express ourselves without consequences. They hold onto painful emotions like fear, shame, or sadness that weren’t accepted by others.

    Reasons for Exiling:

    • Vulnerability Rejected: Sometimes, when we showed vulnerability—such as sadness, fear, or neediness—caretakers or peers might have been uncomfortable or bothered by it. As a result, we learned to exile these vulnerable parts, fearing that showing our true emotions would lead to rejection or discomfort in others.
    • Vitality Suppressed: Other times, our natural vitality—expressing joy, energy, or enthusiasm—might have disturbed or overwhelmed those around us. Caretakers or peers might have seen our aliveness as too much, leading us to exile those vibrant parts in order to fit in and avoid being a source of discomfort.
    • Hurting & Rejected for Behaviour: When we were hurt and didn’t know how to manage our emotions, we might have displayed behaviours that triggered or disturbed others—or even ourselves. These behaviours, like lashing out or withdrawing, became further sources of shame, reinforcing the exile of the underlying hurt part.

    Burdens

    Burdens are the negative beliefs and emotions carried by exiles, shaped by early experiences of rejection or discomfort from others. These burdens are not inherent, but are taken on because the exile had to cope with the environment’s inability to accept their true feelings or expressions.

    • Common Burdens:
      • After being dismissed for showing vulnerability, the exile might carry the belief: “My emotions are too much for others” or “If I show how I feel, I will be abandoned.”
      • When vitality was suppressed, the burden might be: “I need to dim my light to be accepted” or “My excitement is a problem for others.”
      • If behaviours from emotional pain triggered others, the burden might be: “There’s something wrong with me because I upset others” or “I’m dangerous when I express myself.”

    Witnessing

    Witnessing is the process by which the Self—a compassionate, non-judgmental core within each of us—acknowledges and listens to the exiled parts’ pain. This step is essential for healing because it allows exiles to express their suppressed emotions without fear of rejection or shame.

    • Witnessing the Exile’s Pain:
      • When an exile feels witnessed, they can express how they were dismissed or shamed for showing their vulnerability. This is a chance for the Self to acknowledge that their vulnerability was valid, and that it wasn’t their fault others couldn’t handle it.
      • For those who exiled their vitality, the Self can witness their energy and enthusiasm, showing them that their aliveness is not too much—that it was simply the environment that couldn’t hold it.
      • For exiles burdened with shame from triggering others, witnessing allows them to release the guilt for behaviours that emerged from deep pain. The Self offers compassion for the fact that these behaviours were survival mechanisms, not flaws.

    Through this process:

    • Exiles that carry rejected vulnerability, vitality, or shameful behaviours can be witnessed with compassion.
    • Burdens like “I’m too much” or “I’m dangerous” can be released, freeing the exiles from the weight of past experiences.
    • Witnessing by the Self creates a space where these exiled parts no longer have to hide, allowing for healing and integration of those essential, authentic parts of the self.

    This approach helps to reclaim those aspects of ourselves that were previously hidden or rejected, allowing for greater wholeness and emotional freedom.