The funny thing about being a heartbreak coach is that although I believe my approach to healing hearts is the best out there, the thought of getting my heart broken again still terrifies me, even though I know the pain I endured in past relationships is beyond worth where I am now: The most in love in the healthiest and happiest partnership that exceeds my wildest dreams, and running a thriving business mending hundreds of women’s hearts over Mr./Ms. Wrong.
The coach in me, of course, knows that if my dream guy were to leave me tomorrow, lucky me—I have a proven formula that works—but the human in me would still have the urge to run from one of the most crucial steps I offer my clients navigating their heartbreak:
ALLOWING YOUR PAIN.
No one wants to allow their pain, especially when heartbroken.
It’s way more enticing to numb out on Netflix, pizza, and margaritas.
That sinking feeling in your stomach. The loss of appetite. The pang in your chest every time you think about him moving on with someone else. The desire to go to bed early and wake up late, so that your days of hurting will be shorter.
It’s the worst.
And it shocked me when I recently started experiencing these symptoms of heartbreak, considering my boyfriend hadn’t done a freakin’ THING.
At first, I thought it must be the pandemic wearing on me.
Then I heavily felt the effects of the Black Lives Matter movement, which I’m grateful for, as it was beyond time that my privileged self woke up to the harsh reality of systemic racism existing prevalently in our society today.
But there was something else gnawing at me, amid the world falling apart around me …
Let me rewind for a second.
I was inspired to become a heartbreak coach because of an emotionally abusive relationship I found myself in nine years ago, at 30 years old, with a narcissistic sociopath, followed by dating multiple Mr. Unavailable’s.
After tons of soul-searching, trying EVERY healing modality, and reading every self-help book under the sun, life-coaching was the game-changer that catapulted me onto a path that I never could have written better myself.
Although I’ve been coaching for five years, my life began to drastically change for the better, just over two years ago, when I finally invested in the RIGHT coach for me.
Stacey took what I thought was finally a decent level of self-worth as a single, 37-year-old personal assistant who was used to side-hustle jobs to support artistic and entrepreneurial endeavors, and transformed my mind to create a multiple six-figure business and call in the love of my life.
Just typing this out makes my brain break a little bit, as I stare out the window from my living room in Santa Barbara, where I recently moved for love, overlooking the Pacific Ocean.
Gay Hendricks, author of The Big Leap, describes this difficulty in fully grasping all the goodness you create, an upper-limit problem.
My brain was so used to lack, struggle, burning the candle at both ends to make ends meet, all the while doing it alone, that when my love life and career started to skyrocket simultaneously, I couldn’t fully believe it, let alone enjoy it.
So I did what I’d once been known to do best:
I self-sabotaged.
I looked for problems. I acted like a child to my boyfriend about things that normally wouldn’t have been a big deal. And instead of celebrating being on track to double my business for a third year in a row, I focused on the belief that this is as good as it would get.
Given that I’m a coach, and if I say so myself, a badass one, the good news is, I was able to recognize that the only thing creating my suffering was my mind.
My coaching approach involves managing your thoughts to create whatever result you want, whether that’s healing your heart or creating your ideal partner.
But because I felt so viscerally heartbroken in my body, I knew reaching for better-feeling thoughts in my head to shift out of my pain wasn’t the answer—at least not yet.
The answer was, you guessed it—ALLOW my freakin’ pain.
And so I did.
I sobbed regularly on and off for a good eight weeks.
I watched my brain tell me all the old stories I thought I’d shed.
You don’t deserve him.
This won’t last.
The other shoe will drop like it always has—wait for it.
I was so mad at my brain.
I was so ashamed to call myself a coach.
How could a GOOD coach think such DARK thoughts, especially when she has everything she’s ever dreamed of, and clients who are kicking ass?!
As I continued to allow the judgmental thoughts, there was a softening—as there always is when you grieve an old part of you that’s just looking for protection when the new, up-leveled version of you emerges.
That softening invited Coach Claire back to her own driver’s seat.
Coach Claire gently but firmly reminded me to recommit to my regular yoga and meditation practice that I’d pretty much abandoned since I’d left LA.
Coach Claire encouraged me to authentically celebrate and appreciate all that I’d created over the last two years.
And she had me renew my vows with myself and who I wanted to become by the end of 2020.
Claire at the end of 2020 fully embraces this life she created, as her new normal.
She observes the sneaky “not enough” thoughts with more amusement and ease, because after all, they’re just thoughts.
And she welcomes her next bout of self-induced heartbreak that will inevitably creep up when she blows her own damn mind yet again.
