The Joy of being Left Alone

close up of author’s wrist with small scar

See that small mark?

It’s almost nothing.

I’d miss it if I wasn’t looking.

Two days ago it was the focus of everything. Through that small hole, a tube was inserted. Through the tube, dye was injected into my heart. I lay beneath a huge camera which revealed the deepest workings of my physical being. My attention continually came back to that small point.

A point of focus.

Fear of an accident. Fear of sudden bleeding. General, unspecified fear that might best be called anxiety.

Now, it’s fading. Soon it will have no reality. It will just be a memory.

What was the journey from then to now?

While my angiogram was happening, my wrist was a focus of attention.

Immediately afterwards, it needed precise and focused care: a pressure bandage because it’s a blood vessel and, uncared for, would bleed dangerously.

Supported, but left alone, protected, it healed itself.

The body does that. It heals itself.

Once it was healed, the layers of tissue and skin regrowing over the wound, the pressure bandage was removed.

Gradually the memory will fade.

The body has done its work.

And what did this small wound reveal?

That my heart, too, has an intelligence.

The stents that went in after a heart attack some years ago, are working fine. My heart had a problem and the support I received has done its job.

Now I find a third artery is blocked — but it seems as if it’s been that way for a while, and my heart has found some work-arounds. A blocked artery means blood is not getting where it needs to go, but, like traffic responding to a road-closure, the blood is getting there anyway. It’s using alternative routes.

My heart is healing where it can, adapting where it must.

This feels like a miracle.

It is.

Life is a miracle.

When some part of the physical or mental body needs attention, it must have that attention.

When it requires support, give it that support.

When it needs to be protected and left to heal itself, let that happen.

We are resilient and the best healing of all is to create protected space to heal ourselves.

It reminds me of my role as a coach, mentor and teacher. I do not mend people. I do not claim to mend people. It would (to me) be an unforgivable arrogance to claim that I can mend people.

I hold the space, and offer the support through which people change and mend themselves.

Each person who works with me needs something different. All of them need the same — the space and confidence to trust themselves through the process of growth.

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I coach and mentor Artists, Performers, Educators, and anyone who believes things can be better. I’ll hold a space for you if you’re ready, and together we’ll move from holding back to stepping forward.

Be in touch if you’d like to talk.


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