When I was about 14, I developed a huge crush on a boy I met on a school tennis holiday to Spain. Nothing happened - we were too nervous and shy. But my heart skipped a beat when we timidly exchanged home addresses on the last day. Back in Liverpool, I wrote to him down south, baring my soul, telling him that I liked him. He wrote back, saying he liked me too. My heart did cartwheels. With Mum's agreement, I invited him to stay for the weekend. I could barely contain my excitement. I floated around on a pink cloud until he arrived. Only when I saw him, my heart sank. I didn't fancy him anymore. Worse than that, I could hardly stand to be in the same room as him. I felt repulsed. The poor boy didn't have a clue what had hit him. Why my sudden change of heart? He looked downcast, confused and crushed as he headed home. I felt guilty and ashamed, but I'd simply gone off him, I reasoned. What could I do? Fast forward to my late 20s and I had a similar experience. I fell for a charming and handsome Irish rugby player. We spent a romantic weekend together in Donegal and I fantasised about a future with him. But the next time we met, everything had changed. It was like a switch had flipped inside me. I didn't like him anymore. Again, I felt repelled. There were even times when I was dating my now husband when I blew hot and cold - moments when I found him the most attractive man on earth, followed by times when I felt like I had to get out of the room, get out of the house, get away from him. This must be wrong, I thought. I'm going to have to end it. Fortunately by then, I'd done a huge amount of personal development, healing and therapy, and I'd studied counselling and psychotherapy. I had an awareness of my relationship patterns in my 40s that I didn't have in my teens, 20s or 30s. I understood that I was prone to push-pull, or rather pull-push. I want you, I don't want you One moment, I'd desperately want a guy and I'd do whatever I could to reel him in, to draw him close. The next moment, I'd flip and I'd want to push him away or run for the hills. I'd find reasons why it wouldn't work out. I'd decide I didn't like his nose, his shoes or his approach to life. If we'd had mobile phones when I was young, I'd likely have been guilty of ghosting - of disappearing without word or trace. Pull, push. Pull, push. So what was going on? Well, I was desperate to love and to be loved, so desperate that I craved being with a man. I had a deep deficit of love that had dated back to my childhood and continued into adulthood because I wouldn't let anyone get close. And I had low self-esteem and I wanted to feel attractive to a man and worthy. But as much as I craved love and intimacy, I was also terrified of it. I was petrified of being hurt and abandoned, and of being suffocated. So as soon as I got close to love, I turned on my heels and ran for the hills. Eventually, I saw the light. I understood that my subconscious was in the driving seat of my romantic life - hurling me into relationships because I was desperate for love and affection but yanking me out of them before I got in too deep so that I didn't get hurt, rejected or trapped. My subconscious was trying to keep me safe because it remembered the very first time I'd been in relationship with a man - my dad - and how painful that had been. It remembered that my heart had cracked when my father sat me on his knee and told me he was moving out, and it wanted to protect me from feeling so sad again. It also remembered feeling responsible for my mum's happiness - how heavy that responsibility felt - so I feared being burdened and trapped. My subconscious also led me into relationships with men who were unavailable emotionally, physically or geographically - again to protect me from potential hurt. If he was married to someone else, addicted to drink or living on another continent, I could date him without getting too close. I'd never have to risk my heart because he couldn't commit his. In my inner child's eyes, love and intimacy equalled hurt, pain and loss. Why would I want to go through that again? From a half life to a full life But by avoiding love and intimacy, I only lived a half life. I didn't get to experience true connection. If I'd have carried on that way, I would have allowed my past to rob me of a beautiful present and future. I'm happy to say that by understanding my patterns and the fears that lay at the root of my patterns, I managed to change my patterns, date in a healthy way and find true love. It wasn't easy. I needed support to stay in my relationship and to walk through my fears of intimacy and commitment. But I got there in the end. I committed to my husband when I was 43 and allowed myself to fall in love. I married him in 2019, aged 48. Without a shadow of a doubt, it was worth the risk. If you are stuck in a push-pull routine, if you adore someone one minute and dislike them the next or if you are drawn to commitment-phobes, people who are married or in partnerships or to other emotionally unavailable types, the first step on the journey to healing is to open your eyes. Explore your relationship history, going right back to your relationships with the people you first loved (your parents or caregivers) or to those early courtships. Did you get hurt? Did you feel pain? Did you feel trapped or suffocated? Did your subconscious decide that you would never feel such heartache again? Has it been trying to keep you safe from hurt or free of commitment all these years? What fears do you carry about relationships and how have those fears driven your self-sabotaging relationship patterns? As you uncover the truth, you might feel grief. But we have to feel the pain to heal it. Don't be afraid. Sit with the feelings. Soothe yourself and find healthy ways to feel safe and supported - try meditation, nature, coaching or counselling, rather than too much chocolate, alcohol, or a phone call to your ex (oh yes, I know all the temptations and I succumbed to them many times). As you heal, you'll begin to accept that love and life involve risk and that if we don't take a chance, we won't reap the rewards. As you grow in awareness and mature emotionally, you'll feel safe enough to be truly vulnerable with someone else. So open your eyes. Understand yourself. Allow yourself to heal. Get support. Then take a leap of faith, embrace uncertainty and let love in. Katherine x *** If you'd like my support, have a look around this website. I have tools to support you to transform, including a book, online programmes, 1:1 and group coaching and incredible retreats.
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On the face of it, I achieved my full potential in my first profession.
As a reporter for the global news agency Reuters, I couldn't have climbed much higher, without moving into management. In my final role as a political correspondent, I worked from a desk in the UK parliament, I travelled on the prime minister's plane (PMs Tony Blair and Gordon Brown), I went to press conferences in the White House and I partied in Downing Street (back when parties were allowed). Pretty successful, at least on the outside. Yet the inside was a dramatically different story. I performed incredibly well but all the while, I carried an intense sense of shame, chronic low self-esteem, a feeling that I didn't belong and a fear that, at any minute, I would be found out. And once found out, I'd be marched right back to my single-parent family in Liverpool and reminded that I'd only gone to my posh, private school thanks to a full financial scholarship and that I'd always be the kid on free school meals, no matter what I achieved. Oh yes, that dreaded imposter syndrome. Fear Hijacked My Potential These feelings and fears meant that I didn't actually fulfill my potential, despite my grand job titles. During the years I reported for Bloomberg in Mexico and for Reuters first in Brazil, then in Britain and on assignment to other parts of the world, I'm sad to say I let many wonderful opportunities pass me by. Yes, there were a few precious moments when I walked through my fears and allowed myself to shine - genius story ideas that I acted on and turned into acclaimed features, pieces of writing about a Brazilian prison or the fallout of the Haitian earthquake on the most vulnerable that I still cherish today. But most of the time, I was too scared to act. Instead, I reacted. I took what I was given. I did the job I'd been told to do. So instead of proposing a trip to the Amazon to follow up on a cracking story, I wrote about the Central Bank and its latest policy on interest rates. I crushed my own creativity. I kept myself small and safe. Multiple Acts of Self-Harm That's not the only way I sabotaged myself. I was so stressed and scared about getting it wrong and being told off (a legacy that dates back to some turbulent experiences in childhood) and I had so many feelings I didn't know how to process, that I looked for ways to numb my feelings, escape my pain and block out my fears by getting high on sugar, alcohol and adrenaline. My coping mechanisms, all of which I'd learned as a young girl, included binge eating, binge drinking, compulsively exercising, over-working, adrenaline-cycling and pursuing unhealthy relationships that hurt me and others. I continued to use these behaviours, to lean on these crutches, into my late 30s, right up to and beyond the moment I burnt out, broke down and got signed off my fancy job in parliament. I remember, sitting on my bed in my one-bedroom North London flat, tears streaming down my face as I tried to explain to the kind person on the other end of the phone (Reuters' Employee Assistance Programme) how desolate I was feeling and how desperately I needed a quick fix. Looking back, I must have been in shock. I'd worked so hard for this life, this career, this freedom, this independence, this flat and here I was, approaching 40, signed off sick, single with no kids, entirely, one hundred percent alone. How on earth had I got it so wrong? Letting Go of Survival Skills I now know that I didn't get anything wrong - I had simply learned certain survival behaviours in childhood that had carried me far and wide, propelling me up the career ladder and landing me on the London property ladder, but those behaviours had stopped working and I was now seeing the light, seeing the truth: that I didn't want to be like this anymore; I didn't want to work like this anymore; I wanted a different life. I have a very different life now although it took me a huge investment of time, energy and money to get here. I write this post from my home with my husband by the beach in Dorset. I swam in the sea this morning, walked the dog and then wrote some of my novel after that. Later, I'll coach other women who've hit a similar wall to me: women who are in or approaching midlife, who have fallen out of love with the high-flying careers that have kept them so busy that they haven't had time to find a partner or have kids and who are looking for someone to fall in love with. Yes, I have found purpose in my pain and a way to use my hard-won life experience and professional expertise (having studied counselling, psychotherapy and coaching and having recovered from an eating disorder and other addictions) to be able to impact the lives of those who are still suffering. When I coach one-to-one, hold space for groups of women or speak to audiences about how to avoid burnout, breakdown and self-harm, I am in my element, doing what I feel I am meant to do, working to my potential, combining a lifetime of skills and experience, being entirely, authentically me, rather than the false self I created to try and stay safe. And this me, the authentic me, produces incredible results: I have clients who were single and who are now engaged, married, happily co-habiting or in exciting new relationships; clients who were heading for burnout and who have stepped back from the brink; clients who felt soul dead in their careers and who are now pursuing their passion and purpose. This is all wonderful but there's an important question I have to ask myself every day: How well am I? Am I Walking the Walk? Do I have both those elements I speak of: full potential and wellbeing? Many days, yes. I start the day with meditation and a beautiful sea swim and I work in a balanced, boundaried and healthy way, taking regular breaks, holding everything lightly, letting things go, feeling good enough. Some days, no, because I still carry that wounded child inside me - the little girl who knows she must be good, do the right thing, impress and please others in order to stay safe, in order to survive; the little girl who felt there was something wrong with her, that she was somehow deeply flawed, and if she could just be perfect, if she could just work hard enough, maybe she would be acceptable and lovable; the little girl who became Head Girl at school but was embarrassed to claim her free lunch (is there any such thing?); the little girl who walked along the corridors of parliament, feeling like the odd one out, like she didn't belong, despite having the same Oxbridge education of many of her journalist peers and the politicians she interviewed. On those days, anxiety propells me out of bed and I do nothing to calm my nerves. I work at a frantic pace with a furrowed brow and snap at anyone or anything that interrupts me. I stare at the screen until my eyes hurt and work well beyond the time I said I would stop. Thankfully, there are many more healthy days than unhealthy days but I remain a work in progress and I have to remember where I've come from, how far I fell, how badly I broke down. I have to remember to treat myself with love, compassion and kindness and trust that everything I deliver is good enough and that my health and wellbeing absolutely come first. If I don't do this, I'll merely be talking the talk. I'll be giving from an empty cup. But if I do this, I will be walking the walk, giving from a full cup, from an attitude of service and surrender, and therefore in the best place to inspire, empower and support others to reach their full potential in work, life and love while staying happy, healthy and well. *** Comment below if this blog spoke to you, and if you'd like to read more of my writing, check out my book, How to Fall in Love. You can download the first chapter for free by signing up at the bottom of this page. You'll also see a button to book a free discovery call with me. Book a call with me if you are ready to change your approach to life, work, love or all three. I'd be delighted to support you. Take a look around this site to explore my coaching offerings, courses, retreats and free resources. |
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