My coaching niche is depth.
One coach I know works with entrepreneurs whose businesses are designed to make an impact, either socially, or with climate, or both.
Another works with high-level executive leaders.
Perhaps there is something necessary and even soulful about defining a niche.
The word “soul” carries with it a nearly infinite river of attempted definitions. One of my favorites comes from Bill Plotkin, who says that soul is “our unique ecological niche.”
An ecological niche might be easier to approach if you think about non-human nature. The way plankton constitutes a critical link in the ocean’s food chain, or the way mangrove trees in the Everglades help stabilize the coastline, offering habitat for wildlife as they also diminish flooding and erosion.
My coaching niche is depth.
I’ve worked with executives and the unemployed. Those who’ve endured massive, prolonged trauma, and those who consider themselves to have lived a charmed life, yet find themselves swallowed by suffering nonetheless.
The characteristic that will make our coaching relationship either a smashing success, or an acquired taste you feel repelled by, is your willingness to honestly explore your depths.
The amount of joy I derive from coaching, and the amount of benefit you will receive, is directly proportional to your willingness to be real: to reveal rather than to conceal.
To be sure, armor and boundaries are necessary in certain contexts. And no one comes to coaching in a pristine, perfectly evolved state of open-heartedness. That’s perfectly ok.
It’s about the willingness to explore and be real, not about being good at it.
Often that willingness only arises when we’ve had our heart broken by life. Often repeatedly.
What makes it safe for you to hang with me in the depths?
It’s how I approach our relationship. My role is to facilitate your process at your pace. I follow, I witness your psyche in a loving way. This brings you into contact with your one true teacher: your own inner knowing.
No flavor is for everyone. Not even chocolate: my 12-year old son loathes the stuff.
If life has broken your heart, and you sit on the edge, ready to be a real, messy, fully-expressed human, I’d love to connect.