Emerging

I've been working with a new coach and she's REALLY pushing me out of my comfort zone. She's given me a couple of challenges that scare the poop out of me, AND I've said yes to them.

The big goal I'm working toward is attracting and enrolling a certain number of new coaching clients. A scary number (to me)!

Truthfully, I've always been fairly lax about attracting new clients...partly because I had a full-time job that paid the bills and allowed me to use my coaching skills at work, and partly because as an most-often-introvert, I like to work deeply with a handful of people at one time, rather than lots and lots. This allows me to manage my energy output effectively so that I can be my best self with my clients.

To preserve that, my current goal is not "lots and lots" of new clients, but rather what feels like a big number, for me. More than I've worked with at one time before. So it feels scary, AND exciting to have coaching as my sole profession and primary focus of my energy. 

And boy, is it making me uncomfortable. 

So why am I agreeing to the challenges my coach is handing me and doing things that make me super uncomfortable? 

Because what I want for the world is for every person to believe in and activate their power of choice. No matter what circumstances we are born into or find ourselves, we all have the power to choose our attitude, to love ourselves, and others, and to honour what's most important to us. 

Because I want everyone to live in a way that aligns with their deepest values and desires. I want people to stop settling and putting up with and compromising and running on auto-pilot. 

Because I want to help people de-program all the negative and wonky expectations that have been placed on them through their upbringings and cultures/societies that no longer serve them.  

Because I want each person to show up as truly and ONLY themselves, with full permission and no apologies for doing things their own way. The world needs each of us to bring our gifts to light to increase the light in the world. There's too much dark right now. We need your goodness. 

Because I want people to create, love and live joyfully more of the time, and build resilience from the hard times. 

Because I'm a powerful, compassionate and courageous coach who creates space for people to be authentically themselves and have the courage to live true. 

Because life is short and we are all meant to shine. Fiercely. Freely. To make things better and brighter for everyone. 

So I've said yes to things that scare me.

What might seem like simple things like talking to strangers (I'm a shy person!), and seeking out social events to meet new people (when I feel much more comfortable in front of my computer). These may not seem like big things to you, but they require an awful lot of energy and mental preparation for me to do effectively. Without a kick in the behind, I just won't do them. Even though the world needs me to. 

In order to help the world through MY gifts, one person at a time, I need to emerge. I can't stay hidden. So I'm stepping past my edge and trusting I'll land right where I need to and the people I am supposed to coach will appear and we'll connect and I'll be able to help THEM emerge and shine more brilliantly, more confidently, more authentically.

And the world will be a better place. 

So, where is the edge of YOUR comfort zone? What might be possible for you if you step over it? I'd love to hear! Share in the comments or on my FB page: https://www.facebook.com/jillycoach/

In love and light, 

Jilly

The Gift of Discomfort

I've been in my new life for almost two weeks. While the beauty and downright pleasantness of the physical environment has been only positive and breathtaking, the welcome of friends and new neighbours has been open and heartfelt, and the local offerings of food and drink have been plentiful and delicious, it has also been...uncomfortable.  

I'm living in someone else's house, temporarily. Only some of my stuff is here, and -- turns out -- some of what I thought I'd need, I don't and some of what I didn't think I'd need (or want), I do. And it's all in suitcases or Rubbermaid containers or giant Ziploc bags. And I can't remember where anything is, or if it's even in the house or did I pack it in the shipping container?

I don't know where anything is, not only in the house, but also in the community.

I'm driving someone else's vehicle -- what feels like a massive, cumbersome truck with unfamiliar sight lines and edges and a sketchy turning radius. And I'm driving on streets (so narrow!) that are unfamiliar, over distances and through traffic patterns that are hard to gauge, relying on a GPS that sometimes knows which streets you can actually turn left onto and which you can't, to try to get Chloe to camp, or to the bank to set up accounts or get a really big bank draft to close our house deal, or to get fuel for the truck, or dog food or people food.

I'm without a place to go and a thing to do every day -- a team of people to manage and support and champion -- like I did when I had a corporate job. It's oh so freeing, but also a bit...weird? That might be the right word. I've had one or more jobs (working for someone else) since I was about 15. So, yes. This is weird.

I mean, I'm still coaching as a job, but I'm in an in-between space of winding down "old" clients and creating strategies to connect with "new" clients. I'm exploring working with a remote coaching company -- I've been through the first two rounds of the interview process -- and also exploring joining a ground-breaking start-up, so that's all very exciting. I signed on to deliver and receive reciprocal coaching through the ICF for the next three months and am working toward renewing my credential. My coaching practice is very theoretical right now, with many possibilities, nothing for sure. Every day is a little different...and, depending on what materializes or doesn't for coaching contracts, my days may look dramatically different in the coming weeks and months than they do today.

Maybe that's the part that feels weird -- I don't have an established routine yet. 

I like routine. It gives me a structure within which to be creative. I don't like too much structure, otherwise I feel confined and stifled, but enough that I don't just sit on the couch and watch Netflix all day and then feel bad that I didn't "get anything done." 

I'm not in any hurry to create a new routine -- summer should be fluid with lots of room for spontaneity! However, a rough routine is emerging as Chloe goes to one camp or another during weekdays, I do some work, run some errands, walk Morris, then pick Chloe up, followed by dinner, a family outing in the evening and wide open weekends for kayaking, canoeing, hiking or whatever festival is on in the area. Lots of room for spontaneity. I think that may change once school starts in the fall and we'll settle into more of a regular pattern in our new home. For now though, it's all good being unknown and fluid. 

And, as I reflect on the mild discomfort that brings, I acknowledge I've had some wins:

I've manoeuvred the truck into what feel like too-small parking spaces in too-small parking lots without causing any damage.

My stress about driving here is slowly subsiding -- I made it through rush-hour traffic downtown-ish yesterday! And landmarks and routes are starting to feel more familiar day by day. Sometimes I don't even use the GPS! 

I've walked somewhere beautiful every day; some days, more than once. A rocky or sandy beach. Through a forest. Around the neighbourhood.

I've socialized more in the past two weeks than I probably did the last two months in Saskatchewan. Chatting with neighbours and their dogs daily as we walk Morris. Friends from Vancouver hanging out on the Island on a Saturday. Canoeing with a friend on a Sunday morning. Popping over to some other friends' place and playing a cool board game. Cocktail hour with neighbours. Planning play dates for Chloe with the kids next door. 

One of the goals in moving out here was to be more active and therefore more healthy. I'm happy to say my blood sugars have been amazingly and consistently within range AND I've even shed a few extra pounds I've been hauling around. 

This bit of mild discomfort is allowing me to examine how I structure my life. What are the old habits I want to shed? What are the new things I want to put in their place? It's given me to opportunity to try new things -- whether I want to or not! -- which is something I encourage my coaching clients to do all the time. 

What's the saying? A comfort zone is a beautiful place, but nothing ever grows there. We don't change if we aren't at our edge. By seeking out discomfort, it eventually becomes comfortable, and then we need to seek out the next thing. This is how we grow and evolve and become who we might have never thought we'd be.  

So I'm reminding myself, in those moments of extreme discomfort especially, when the GPS is recalculating and I'm forced to dance in the moment of rush-hour traffic, to view it as a gift -- a gift to push myself, to see what I'm made of, what I can find to laugh at and bring lightness to, and to decide how I want this new phase of my life to be. 

Where have you stepped outside your comfort zone recently?

What's waiting for you out there? 

In love and light,

Jilly

My new life starts tomorrow (!)

It's finally here! 

Tomorrow, I get on an airplane (well, actually two airplanes) and travel to my new home on Vancouver Island. Weeks, months and years of plotting, scheming, dreaming and preparation culminate in tomorrow's transition from "old life" to "new life."

Our family will live under one roof again! We can unpack our boxes and crates and suitcases! I can let go of the logistical lists in my brain -- What's packed where? What still needs to be sold/given away? What needs to be shipped when and by what method? What keys need to be returned? Accounts closed? Thank-yous delivered? Good-byes said? Hugs hugged? How will we fit all these end-of-the-school-year items in our suitcases? -- and maybe relax for a day, or thirty, or a hundred-and-sixty-three.

This dream of moving to BC started with Marc's first motorcycle trip out there, and grew during our first family vacation to Nelson. The climate, the lushness, the opportunities to be outdoors without our faces hurting or being bitten by a bazillion bugs, the slow and gentle pace of life, the lack of harshness, of mere survival through several months of the year...it all called to us.

The whole drive home from the Kootenays that summer, we planned how we could move...what would need to sell/unload/downsize, what kind of work we could do, where Chloe would go to school...and by the time we got home to the farm two days later, practicalities set in and we stayed put. We had good jobs. We just built our forever farm house. Our families are close by. Our friends and doctors and vet and massage therapists and hair stylists and favourite restaurants are here. We have a good life. 

Then the next summer, it started again. And the next. Until we decided this was really a thing we wanted to do. So, Marc aggressively pursued employment, turned down a few offers that didn't quite get us where we wanted to be, until the perfect opportunity landed in his lap. He moved and started his new gig mid-September, while Chloe, Morris and I listed the house and farm for sale, purged the stuff, kept the house clean for showings and potential showings, and carried on with school and work and normal life stuff.

Then the farm sold (huzzah!) and things got real. Marc and our awesome, patient, knowledgeable realtor looked at many, many houses in Victoria, and once the cash cleared from the sale, we started putting in offers. We were disappointed when our "aggressive" offer on a great place in a great neighbourhood was outbid. That house went for $101,500 over asking. Yikes. Then, a place that worked for us appeared. Marc looked at it and Facetimed me through it. Then he drove back to the farm to help pack the house up. Through the magic of the interwebs and our awesome, patient, knowledgeable realtor, we put in an offer and had the winning bid. Huzzah again! 

I gave notice at my corporate gig. We had a big house-cooling party. We packed. We purged. We sold. We shipped. Morris and Marc returned to the Island. Chloe and I and four suitcases moved in with family to finish out the school year.

And that brings us to today. Last day of school. Last (full) day of Saskatchewan. It's fitting our move comes on a full moon, the Strawberry Moon. Full moons are times of release and cleansing; times of acknowledging what was with gratitude and then letting go to make way for the new; times of completion and creative closure. 

And so I reflect on my many years living on the Prairies, and how they've made me who I am.

Wide open spaces and endless skies ripe with possibility informed my sense of wonder, of I-can-do-and-be-anything-ness.

The strength of community coming together in times of sorrow, struggle and celebration is a given -- I know I will be caught if I fall or falter, and will create the community I need.

Practicality, hard work and perseverance engrained traits that will serve me well in figuring out a new city and province and what's next.

Connection to and respect for the land and the weather and all nature has to offer will provide me a lovely contrast for learning a new topography and climate and appreciation for the differences. 

This will always be the place I am from. It will remain my definition of home. Its beauty will fill my memories. Its people, MY people, will continue to fill my heart. I hope to be a proud and honourable representative of this place and people in my new chosen community and province. 

And I promise to visit. But probably not during winter. I don't like it when my face hurts. 

How to Feel Joy

Something I've noticed with some of my clients, and in my own life, is that some of us struggle to feel joy when it shows up in our lives. We tend to glance over it without even acknowledging it because we are on to the next thing on the to do list.

It's like we don't know how to be with good feelings. Weird, huh?

You'd think that people would LOVE to feel happy, excited, even blissful and ecstatic, but many of us skip right through it, over it, around it without actually spending any time revelling in it. 

With all the sadness, injustice and other bad shit happening in the world, I thought I'd write a little how-to on feeling joy. That way, when something good happens to us, we can squeeze all the goodness out of that occasion, which will serve to bolster us for the sad/bad/scary/unfair stuff that is bound to show up later. 

How to Feel Joy in 5 Easy-ish Steps

1. Notice it.

Some of us don't even notice when we are happy. We don't pay attention to our bodies, which send us information ALL THE TIME. Your body won't lie to you -- when you feel joyful, happy or any other flavour on the joy continuum, your body will give you signals. For me, everything rises: my eyebrows and eyelids, the corners of my mouth, my chest as my lungs fill, the tone and volume of my voice, my hands to wildly animate what I'm saying.

Your body may do something different -- tingles in your fingers and toes, flippity-flopping in your tummy, rapid breathing, giddy laughter. You get the idea. So, start noticing the messages your body is sending your mind. Notice your posture, temperature, pace of breathing, your energy level, and begin to recognize where joy lives in your body. You might begin to name the level or degree or type of joy you are experiencing: is it calm contentedness, or absolute ecstasy, or something in between? 

2. Be with it. 

Put down your device. Turn off other distractions. Be with the joy. Even if it feels uncomfortable at first. Joy is an emotion. Emotions are energy in motion. They bring us information that we can turn into thoughts, then actions, then behaviours. Joy asks us, "What wants to be celebrated or appreciated?" Let yourself sit in the emotion of joy as you listen for the answer.  

3. Stay in it.

Many of us have the next three (or 15) things to do lined up in our minds while we're doing the current thing. Allow yourself to put the to do's or other future thoughts (including worries about the joy disappearing) aside. Don't talk yourself out of feeling joy! Invite it in. Let it fill you up, or wash over you, or take up all your field of vision, or close your eyes and feel it surge through your body. Ask it to stay. And savour it for as long as it lasts. 

4. Thank it.

Offer your appreciation for the experience of feeling joy. You may want to thank the cause of the joy -- the event, person or other situation that allowed the joy to show up. Cultivating gratitude for what is will prime your body and mind to experience more joy in the future. You'll be better able to notice small moments of joy when you practice gratitude regularly.

5. Share it.

After you've lived your joy fully, tell someone else about your experience. This action will help the joy carry forward in your life, and it will spread to someone else's. Telling stories expands our experiences and helps embed them in our memories. We get to relive the joy -- in our bodies and minds -- each time we tell the story of it. So do! Imagine the awesome conversations we'd have if we all shared our most joyful moments with each other!

That's it. I'm hoping you find something to be joyful about today, and give yourself the gift of experiencing it fully. Then notice how things might shift in your life, and let me know how it goes. 

In love and light,

Jilly

Boundaries and Spaciousness

Winter is my least favourite time of year. I feel my shoulders rise, my face tighten and the rest of my body clench in preparation for the harshest and most unforgiving Saskatchewan season. Each fall, I mentally and physically prepare for the worst -- minus 40 degree Celsius temperatures; strong northerly winds that freeze your skin in seconds; cars that don't start with windows that won't defrost; drifts and ridges of snow and ice that make driving treacherous; and everything takes longer, more effort and requires an emergency kit at the ready, just in case.

It means getting up in the dark, earlier than normal, just to get the kid to school and myself to work on time. And hoping the heating system and sewer system and generator will all keep working on the very coldest days so I don't have to call the neighbours to come out of their warm houses to troubleshoot. It means watching the weather throughout the day to determine if I need to leave work early to make it through a snowstorm to the sitter's before closing. It means going to work and leaving work in the dark. And then repeat, day after day after long, well actually short, winter day.

And this year, I'm facing it all without a back-up -- no extra vehicle in case mine doesn't start; no extra parent in case I'm running late; no one else to clear the yard and deck and steps of snow, to grab groceries on the way home from the too-peopley places, to help with homework, to remember the December birthdays on top of the holiday festivities, to help choose the Christmas concert outfit, to do the hair, to watch and applaud in the audience, to calm and soothe an over-excited six-and-three-quarters-year-old child's mind well past her bedtime on a school night.

I know that there are lone parents all over the world who juggle the demands of parenting, often of multiple kids, and work, family, friends and all kinds of other stuff all the time. And, I know this living arrangement is our conscious choice, and that it may take many more months until we are reunited permanently. I am not complaining. I am stating the fact that it is hard. Especially during winter in Saskatchewan (even though this one has been pretty easy so far). And I am acknowledging that I wasn't handling it all very effectively or gracefully.

I really haven't been myself these last couple of months.

I needed to make some changes to make it more manageable and get back to being me. 

I knew something needed to change about a month ago -- I was short with my kid, short with my colleagues, disconnected from my spouse and near tears almost all the time. I felt completely overwhelmed and like I was failing at everything in my life -- with my team at work, on the big project at work, as a parent, as a partner, and as a coach -- I sure wasn't feeling very resilient or positive or able to support others in their own journeys of self-realization. I felt like a hypocrite. I had lost touch with nature -- I can't remember the last time I spent any time outside or took the dog for a walk. And I felt like I didn't have any friends, outside of work and Facebook. (Not that I don't LOVE my co-workers! I so do!) I remember the moment my parents offered to have C spend the night at their place on an upcoming Friday, and I could go out with adults for an evening. I couldn't think of anyone to make plans with. Who were my friends? It had been so long since I'd gotten together with people in a social setting, I couldn't remember who to contact. Or maybe more importantly, who I could be un-peppy, maybe a bit snarky, and mildly lethargic around. Cue the self pity.

I got the confirmation (aka slap upside the head) I needed while attending two days of mental health first aid training through my organization. I checked all the boxes for depression and anxiety, both in full bloom. I had suspected as much, based on my history with these two diseases, but I don't think I wanted to admit it.

I was too busy to be sick. 

But I knew too much was at stake to avoid the truth, and I'm a vocal advocate for mental health awareness, so I figured I needed to walk the talk. 

So I named my depression and anxiety and asked for help. 

I have super-supportive and understanding managers at work, so I created some strong work boundaries with their help. I switched from working full-time leading a branch AND managing a huge organizational change project AND coaching clients in and outside of work, to cutting back to three days a week, and when possible,  at my manager's insistence, working one of them from home, and removing myself from the big project.

After two weeks, my shoulders have STARTED to drop slightly. I still have multiple moments of panic throughout the day -- What am I forgetting? Where am I supposed to be? Where's the kid? What time is it? Where's the dog? What deadline must I meet? Have I missed it? Do we need milk? Is it time to FaceTime C's dad? WHO ELSE NEEDS SOMETHING FROM ME??? -- and add to that the busy-ness of this time of year (and we don't even make a big deal out of it) -- but I'm getting better at breathing through those moments and reminding myself that I have space and time.

My main focus right now is on being a present parent. I'm trying to keep the holiday magic alive for C -- she's in love with holiday movies right now, and making gifts for people. I'm trying to help her plan her seventh birthday party -- one here, one in BC. And manage her expectations about what Santa will or will not bring her. And feed her and bathe her and make sure she hasn't outgrown all her pants and get her homework done and make sure she's at the appropriate reading level. And work through her emotions with all the changes going on in our lives, and the impact living apart from her dad has on her. I'm trying to keep her healthy and happy and learning and curious and believing in magic.

Honestly, I'm just trying to keep it all together. 

I'm trying to make healthy choices to support movement out of depression. Some days I'm successful, and others I give myself permission to just be however I am. Some days only the smallest of actions are celebrated -- getting dressed, drinking water, eating something healthy, getting C to the sitter's on time to get to school. I'm trying to let the judgement this disease screams inside my head go, or to at least quiet it. To treat myself gently, kindly. And some days, binge-watching Outlander feels like the right choice. Until it isn't. And then I try something else. With forgiveness and compassion.

I'm trying to slow down. Sit with, be with, be present. Breathe. Quiet my mind. Nourish my body. Keep things simple. Seek what I need to feel strong and healthy and resilient again. Give myself the space and time to listen and hear. Take guidance from the upcoming solstice, the shortest day of the year, and hope for light after the longest night. And not expect too much of myself.

That one's the hardest for me. 

As a coach, it's easy to fall into believing that you should have your poop in a group all the time. I'm here to tell you that's not realistic. Coaches are people too -- yes, people with good understanding of self, access to many resources, and connection to a community of caring, compassionate people. AND we don't always have it together (whatever that means)!

It is my hope by sharing my real self, modelling vulnerability and honesty, exposing my challenges and imperfections, you will be inspired to be your true self, and to ask for help, should you need it.  

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If you or someone you know is struggling with mental health challenges this time of year, there is help. 211 Saskatchewan is a one-stop-shop for community resources across Saskatchewan including crisis support lines. 

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In love and light,

Jilly

Living in limboland

The winds of change are blowing across southern Saskatchewan and knocking all the dehydrated leaves off our trees. Because it has been so dry, they barely had a chance to change colour and they're tumbling across my yard and over the horizon. Fall is all but here, and today I felt the first hints of winter: single digit temperatures and an icy wind. AND IT IS STILL TECHNICALLY SUMMER. But this will be my last prairie fall, or Second Season of the Wind, so I'll take it. 

Our family is relocating.

It's a big change for us: hopping two provinces westward, embracing a different climate (huzzah!), creating new routines, forming new community and shifting our lifestyle. It's exciting and it fell into place after almost four years of tentative dreaming (after each summer vacation: wouldn't it be nice to stay here forever?), dedicated planning (husband working the network to get a new job; purging the house; number-crunching; letting go of our dream farm-future) and starry and planetary alignment (the job offer came on the eclipse!). 

But I'm living in limboland right now, and will be for the foreseeable future.

My husband left yesterday to relocate to our new life. 

I get to stay here in our "old" life, job, house and routines until our home/farm sells.

Then we'll all be reunited on a dreamy island off the west coast of Canada.  

Limboland is a weird place. I'm super duper excited about what's next -- after all, I'm a what's next kind of person (great starter, not such a strong finisher, because LOOK OVER THERE AT THAT NEW THING! I want to go there!), but I have to contain my excitement and not live too far into future, because the current/old life could continue for months, or maybe a year a more. And I will run out of enthusiasm/energy/optimism mid-way. 

So, I'm trying to keep smaller milestones in sight: Get the house listed. Get the man-friend packed up and off on his travels. Get the child settled into another school year. Get the projects done at work. Coach the amazing clients. Make the bed. Empty the dishwasher. Walk the dog. Sell the stuff. Sell the house. And still keep the dream alive. 

It's interesting to notice how I'm NOT COMPLETELY FREAKING OUT, ahem, how I'm embracing the un-planned-ness of my future -- once the house sells and I quit my full-time gig here, I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S NEXT. There is no plan, other than a vague idea of ramping up my coaching practice and then... who knows? There is something totally scary AND freeing in the not knowing. 

I'm revelling in the idea of being a full-er-time coach, being able to walk my kiddo to and from school and kung fu and go kayaking some morning JUST BECAUSE I WANT TO. Maybe I'll host art-based coaching workshops from our new garage-turned-studio space...and teach meditation classes at the local rec centre....and write those other books I've been meaning to write.

Ditching the 8-5 office job seems a critical next and permanent step.

I'm especially looking forward to embracing a more minimal lifestyle. Being a single-car family, living in a smaller home with a smaller (non-farm) yard, enjoying more experiences and time with each other and less stuff. It means I won't need to be tied to that 8-5 grind because we won't be reliant on it. More freedom. 

I'm torn between starting new things here and now, and waiting until I've moved. So, I've tested out a few things to see if they shift the universe (i.e., send a buyer for our place), including:

• Getting new photos with the fabulously talented Michael Bell. The sprucing up of this site will follow soon. 
• Signing up for a kung fu class (my kid is attending one, and there's an adult class at the same time, so there really didn't seem to be a reason NOT to...)
• Collaborating to co-lead a women's retreat next spring in a forest near Vancouver (!!!)
• Buying an ungodly amount of delicious fancy-pants cheese from my pal Aleana at Takeaway Gourmet
• Committing to a new workout routine (Did you see the note about the cheese? Ugh.)

I'll keep you posted on the imminent move, and what it's like in between now and then, and then some. 

In love and light,

Jilly