Two years ago I attended a weekend spiritual retreat with an absolutely incredible woman called Natalia Baker. (Most definitely an experience.) Right at the end of the weekend after I had been talking to her – searching, full of hope, for words of wisdom that would quiet my then ever-raging inner conflicts. She smiled lovingly at me and said this :

I stared at her in wide-eyed disbelief … and then in absolute awe. She couldn’t have been more right.  (I think that was the first time in my life that I didn’t take something personally!) The continual struggle inside of me has always been to do the “right thing”.

Do the right thing = being a good person = people will like you.

It’s a simple equation really. Of course, the underlying fear in this is that fear of getting things wrong and then being judged – and, yes, ultimately REJECTED….oh my God! (Whatever you do…..please, please don’t reject me.)

I strongly believe that the universe always sends you exactly what you need in order to deal with, and process, your own personal shit. For me, it has most definitely been the challenges of being self-employed. I won’t lie … my first 3 years were hell. I don’t think I ever realised just how much of my value and self-worth came from having a regular pay cheque at the end of every month.

All of a sudden I found myself working my arse off and then having to deal with parents that just wouldn’t pay up.  As much as I tried to “coach” myself that it wasn’t personal, when you are incessantly worried about how you are going to pay your next bill (while repeatedly listening to idle promises as to  when the money owed will be paid – or blatant lies, depending on your interpretation), it feels damn personal. (No doubt anyone that has gone down the self-employed route can relate to these frustrations!) I was an absolute mess. The fact that I work with children made it, for me, that much more confusing.  Essentially, I found myself caught in a vicious cycle, sandwiched between my love for pupils and my love for myself.

I had one little girl in particular that absolutely personified all my struggles and frustrations. Let’s call her Jen. I found out rather early on, in working with Jen, that she had survived a particularly traumatic experience when she was quite young. I found this out because her anxiety levels were absolutely through the roof. When she first started with me she barely smiled, seemed almost devoid of any sense of humour and couldn’t even stay alone in a room. I tried, on numerous occasions, to talk to her parents about her genuine need for actual psychotherapy: If this was how she was feeling and reacting in a relatively safe, one-on-one environment, I could only imagine how debilitated she must have been feeling in a busy classroom.  I had no doubt that the majority of this child’s inability to cope at school was directly linked to her constant, overwhelming anxiety. It’s hard enough for adults to process trauma. No child should ever have to do it alone. Yet, sadly, so many are expected to do just that.  While anxiety is a completely normal and healthy part of our human experience, I have witnessed time and again how detrimental this excess anxiety is to a child’s learning.  Simply put, anxiety causes these children to go into the fight-or-flight response.

The flight –or –fight response, also known as the acute stress response, is essentially the chain of rapidly occurring reactions that happen in our body when we are feeling threatened or fearful.  As a result, the sudden release of adrenaline prepares us to face the perceived challenge or stress. Unfortunately, for quite a few of the children with whom I find myself working, this essentially healthy response is acutely heightened and, sadly, it doesn’t take much for them to feel overly fearful or anxious. (More often than not a simple math problem can do the trick.) 

I have, on numerous occasions, found myself staring into that familiar face of wide-eyed terror when I ask them to do something; something that for other children would be relatively simple.  As a result, these anxious or overwhelmed children will simply just shut down when they feel unequipped to deal with a problem. This is particularly the case with many of the children that suffer from dyscalculia (which I discussed in a previous post). No doubt living in this state, where their bodies frequently interpret normal, everyday experiences as stressful, results in them living in a constant state of ‘distress’.

Without a doubt, Jen was one of these children. Unfortunately, as already mentioned, my suggestions for therapy fell on deaf ears. So I took solace in the fact that I could at least be there for her, and try to help relieve some of her anxiety, as best  I could. She ended up coming for lessons twice a week for about 10 months and, in those early days, her fees made up a substantial part of my income. I absolutely adored Jen. She was a beautiful child who was so eager to please and genuinely loved our lessons. We built up a good rapport and she even started playing jokes on me and teasing me about stuff – which, previously, was something she couldn’t do. I was in awe of her witty, somewhat cheeky sense of humour!  I was grateful for these small changes and felt confident that I was indeed making a difference in her life.

Jen was an absolute joy to teach. Her parents, on the other hand, were a self-employed worst freakin’ nightmare.  They would often be incredibly late or simply not pitch at all – without even so much as a message or a call. It was frustrating, to say the least (especially since I was hiring the room in which I was working with Jen).  Trying to communicate with them meant that, at times, my messages or calls were just left unanswered. Every now and then I would go through periods of not knowing if they were even planning on coming back. They always did.

While it was a mammoth lesson in faith, trust, and actually learning to speak up about my
frustrations, nothing ever changed. It was soul destroying being so financially dependant on such unreliable people. I was left feeling continually angry, frustrated and disrespected.  But what annoyed me even more than this was that I found this behaviour hugely disrespectful to their daughter.  On those ‘late days’ Jen was always more anxious and visibly stressed than ever.  Quite simply, children need consistency in their lives.  Children need to be able to rely on their parents and to trust that their needs will be met.  Of course, life is unpredictable, things happen (sometimes unavoidable things)  but, when these ‘things’ are happening on a continual basis,  children feel less stable and, ultimately, they learn not to trust their parents. Even sadder is the fact that these children learn not to trust themselves. Inconsistency of this kind creates emotional anxiety, the exact thing with which I was trying so desperately to help Jen.

So, yes, I was frustrated. But I continued to do the work because I was just starting out and, quite frankly, I needed the money. More importantly, I genuinely cared about Jen and rationalised that whatever was happening had absolutely nothing to do with her, and everything to do with her parents. I couldn’t bear the fact that she might think I had abandoned her or rejected her. For me, working with her felt like the absolute ‘right’ thing to do, for her. So I sucked it up. But inside I was 110 % conflicted: if I was doing the right thing for her … why did I feel so awful all the time? I spent many an hour, on the couch, moaning to Konrad about my complete inability to make a decision … or maybe it was just my inability to make the right decision? The lines are so blurred sometimes.

The breaking point came last year, after a particularly stressful week, when I was burgled. One of the first books I ever read during my self-help-book-junkie days, was by Barbara de Angelis. An analogy that she used has always stuck in my head: So often in life, we find ourselves teetering on a cliff ledge, knowing we need to make a decision.  Knowing we need to just close our eyes and jump to the other side … and yet we are frozen, completely overcome by fear and unable to move.  Eventually what happens is the universe, in its infinite wisdom of what we need in life, answers our prayers and sends a cosmic boot to kick us off that ledge. I have always loved that analogy. (Of course, life is about striving to get to that place where you don’t continually need a kick up the arse to do stuff but, alas, it appears I’m not quite there yet.)

So yes, being burgled was my very own huge, cosmic boot. (It’s funny how when you are at
your lowest point sometimes you are you’re absolute strongest, most authentic self.)  During that same week, I had yet another two sessions, back-to-back, of Jen not pitching – without so much as a word from her parents. Not an inch of me could continue with the indecision any more. I just knew I had to end the sessions. I was undeniably heartbroken for Jen and I stressed about what her parents might say to her but, ultimately, I had to make a choice that was best for me and my business.  I finally got to that point where I was ready to start answering questions and making some real choices about my life. Like, who is genuinely qualified to make those judgment calls about what is right or wrong for me? Who am I going to look after first in this life? Me … or everyone else? Finally, my resounding answer was ME.  Only once I’m the healthiest, strongest and ultimately happiest person I can be, then will I truly be able to help my students.  Only once I learn to stand up for myself and my needs, will I be able to give with a generous and gracious heart, from a place of abundance – not from a place of constant lack.

Incidentally, this year has been my year of difficult decision making on both a professional and a personal level.  (I have learnt, from experience, that for some of us, certain lessons need to be learned … and relearned … at least 20 times before they actually sink in. ) At the beginning of this year, I made the choice to leave a school at which most of my non-paying parents were. It was an incredibly scary choice to have to make, especially since I literally had to cut my salary in half.  I also had to leave behind a lot of children with whom I had built beautiful relationships over the last 2 years. But I had to do it.

Aristotle said it well: ‘Nature abhors a vacuum.’ In life, I can’t have faith in what  I want and

deserve, while still clinging to that which doesn’t serve me. I had to take the risk that, once I opened that space for new, consistently paying clients … they would come.  It’s been a bloody stressful year if I am honest – but, hell, have they come! I currently have over 40 kids with whom I work … and I have had about 5% of the payment stresses that I have had in the previous three years.  Most of the parents that I have on my books are wonderfully supportive and genuinely value and respect the service I provide. It’s a great place to be in, finally.

So, in summary, these are a few things that I have learnt about choices in these last few years:

Sometimes they are incredibly hard to make. But they still need to be made.
Fact: To avoid making decisions means you might consistently be left with a sore arse. (Avoid the boot at all costs.)
Sometimes, making decisions that are right for you means you run the risk of angering and upsetting other people. Learn to live with it. No, you will not always be popular and you will not always be liked. You will, however, start to like yourself a hell of a lot more- guaranteed!  ( always a huge bonus)
When you keep answering a question with the same answer and the question just doesn’t seem to go away … It’s probably the wrong answer. Simply try again and make another choice.
And, finally, speaking up for what you need in your life is absolutely not being selfish. It’s called self-love of the highest form. Aim for that and the rest, I believe, will flow naturally.