My Mom Asked Me What I do For a Living. I froze.

Earlier this week, my mom asked me what I actually do. 

I know she didn't mean it in a judgy way. But that's how I heard it.

C'mon. Really? I thought.

I've been coaching for years now. I run workshops. I launched a podcast. I support clients through some of the biggest shifts in their lives. But as my mom looked at me quizzically, I panicked and word-vomited all this jargony coach-speak about holding space, creating clarity, shifting energy…

My mom smiled politely.

Normally, I'd have made a mental note to tighten up my elevator pitch and moved on. But I had a lot on my mind that day. I was on deadline for a proposal and needed to prepare for a client call later in the day. And on top of that, I suddenly felt like I needed to justify all of my career and life choice. So instead, I snapped, "You know what? I don't know what I do, either. And honestly, it doesn't matter because AI is going to take my job anyway!"

Talk about getting triggered!

In the span of a few minutes, I went from having a delightful conversation with my mom to spiraling. I forgot everything I know, everything I coach my clients around and everything I share here. My heart sank. My shoulders crumpled. A defeated woman, on the verge of tears, hunched over at her mother's kitchen table, feeling like she'd fully lost the thread.

But here's what happened next, and it's the part I most want you to hear.

We just kept talking. About everything and nothing, the way you only can with someone you feel safe around. She's one of the few people in my life I can blather to and feel completely heard.

Somewhere in there she got curious about the somatic centering practices I've been studying and started asking questions. So, I stood up and did a little demonstration. Which acupressure points to press into. How to breathe. What to focus on. She was a little skeptical at first but, to her credit, stayed open and curious as I led her through a simple exercise.

Our conversation meandered.

We refilled our coffee mugs, nibbled on some pound cake and switched our attention to what was on the television.

I didn't notice the spiral leave, or my heart rate slow.

I just noticed I was back. In the room. In my body. In the actual moment, instead of the catastrophe I'd been building in my head.

And that's when it came out, simple and clear:

"I offer a safe, supportive space for you to finally hear yourself say out loud what you truly want, and then I help you build the skills, confidence and plan to make it happen."

She said, "Oh. That makes sense. Thanks. I get it."

So did I.

And here's what I'm sitting with now.

I couldn't find the words when I felt cornered. And my inability to think straight in that moment only made me feel more stressed. It wasn't because I don't know what I do. It was because my whole nervous system was reacting like I was in trouble. 

The words were there the whole time. I just had to come back to myself first to find them.

The truth is, you can't think your way out of a stress spiral from inside the spiral.

When the proverbial shit hits the fan, the very next move isn't a strategy, a plan or – as much as I love 'em – a powerful reframe.

It's a pause. It's your breath. It's feeling safe again – in your body, or at your mom’s kitchen table. 

And from that place, the words find their way back.