Twice this week, I’ve been called a midwife by former coaching clients. Is sharing that the opposite of humility? I don’t think so. Sharing is what I do, it’s what I encourage, it’s why I’m here. To be a midwife to another human being’s own self-discovery and dreams is as great an honor as to help deliver babies.
For a long time, I debated what to call myself professionally. I do not think of myself as a career coach, though I do work with people around professional questions and transitions. I am not trained as a therapist, though I have studied Carl Jung and Alfred Adler and grew up surrounded by books about Freud and trauma, memory and identity. I am not a parenting expert, more like a mama in the trenches messing it up and making it up as I go along with the best of ’em. So, Life Coach has felt like the best catch-all title I can wear comfortably.
But maybe… maybe I could be a midwife instead. Hey, some of my best friends are midwives! Some of my best friends are a lot of things. Gay, straight, trans, black, white, Jewish, Buddhist. Other, all or none of the above. But I digress.
A Life Midwife. How about it? Too crunchy? I kinda like it. OK, it’s getting late, the rest of the family is sleeping, and you can tell I’m punchy.
I never cease to be amazed at the ebb and flow of our days, our capacity to roll with it, to adapt and make space, absorb shocks and find the openings where connection happens. It is humbling to watch people open up to their own lives, their own selves, to what is possible. We go around afraid of cracking, but it is the cracks that create access to so much buried treasure. I broke open this past weekend and realized that I need to keep mining my own riches, too. Bob Dylan said it best: “He not busy being born is busy dying.”
What is being born in your life, in yourself? And who is your midwife?