For a long time I have been interested in self-development. It is at the heart of my work as a coach and facilitator, and I have read numerous books and trained in a variety of self-awareness tools to help me learn as much about myself as possible. Who am I? and What am I capable of? are questions I have held for as long as I can remember.

However, some time ago I realised that my approach to self-awareness was out of balance. I was only ever looking in one direction, the past. What I already knew about myself, and how that compared to what I thought I knew about others.

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I collected a set of information about myself and it felt true and interesting, even funny at times because it seemed so spot on. Many of the tools I used shared similar insights, which only compounded my original ideas. I simply kept adding more ‘paint’ to my metaphorical picture of myself and tried to use this data to figure out my purpose and direction.

My exploration of self-awareness focused only on what was already known, and I didn’t think to balance it with what was unknown.

• What if the data was inaccurate?

• What if it was skewed by my faulty recollections of stories from the past?

• What if the information I was basing my identity on was misleading?

As a result, I misunderstood what it meant to stretch.

My ‘picture’ only told half the story and, in order to develop wisdom and balance, I realised I needed to discover what I didn’t yet know about myself.

I had to practise stretching into the unknown, testing the data and balancing my current shape with my potential.

My friend and colleague Jane Gaukroger and I became interested in the Enneagram many years ago as a tool for self-discovery, finding it to be a very powerful lens for seeing core drivers and patterns of behaviour more clearly. It continues to be the most useful personal development tool I have come across.I think this is because it doesn’t prescribe who we are or create a ‘safe’ box for us to operate within. Instead, it points to the fact that we are constantly on a developmental journey. It helps us understand our starting point and where we might travel towards in order to find our centre and feel more balanced.

The Enneagram describes nine types and suggests that we all hold elements of each type within us. It helps us understand our primary type and, from that place, move towards aspects of the other types that can help us find balance.

It reminds us that the journey of self-development is the point, rather than the destination.

So how has it helped me in particular?

I am a Type 7, known as the enthusiast or adventurer. It is one of the ‘head’types and celebrates the fact that I tend to have many projects on the go. I enjoy lifting people up and seeking possibility. However, it also highlighted for me that FOMO can be an issue. More recently I have realised that this isn’t really about what others might be doing, it is about what I might be doing if only I were capable.

According to the Enneagram, my particular developmental journey is to move from a place of abundance, full of options and possibilities, to a place of focus. To learn to let things go, even if I think they might work, and to make difficult choices about where I direct my energy. It reminds me to keep returning to stillness.

As one of the three ‘head’types, I am also conscious of finding balance by spending more time hanging out in my heart and my gut.

This kind of self-awareness is an invitation to step into the unknown and hold a question that I can keep exploring, rather than an answer that might limit me. I think it encourages me to become more fully myself.

This week, as you try the practice of stretch, perhaps ask yourself:

Who am I becoming — and what part of me hasn’t been discovered yet?

I walk the balance beam every day…

Some days I get all the way to the end
I feel lucky
How did I manage it?
What did I do differently this time?
I retrace my tracks that meant today I made it to the end.
I held on

Other days I stumble as I begin
I fall off
and linger on the ground
Is it possible to get back up?
What will it take to keep going?
Eventually, I muster the energy to rise
I begin again

Today I am wondering which is easier ?
Managing to stay on the beam for as long as possible? Or
Stumbling, falling and repeatedly getting back on?
Should I focus on balancing or on living?

If I focus on living and let go
I will no doubt fall
and need re-find my balance
Will I learn to find it quicker next time?
Will I go further in the stretch?
I pause

Perhaps the key to living might be in not trying too hard
Perhaps it is possible to live a freer, more care free life?
Perhaps in doing so, I will at last learn to fly?

I have been doing Pilates for almost twenty years. It is one of the activities that grounds me, but quietly in the background it has also been teaching me about the nuances of balance.

One of the movements in Pilates involves stretching opposite arms and legs away from each other, strengthening our core as we do so. Often, the slower we move, the more beneficial the exercise becomes. The next level is to stretch the same arm and leg away. We are asked to pause at the height of the stretch and hold it. Our muscles begin to twitch as we wobble around and try to find our balance. The more we push ourselves, the more we temporarily lose that balance. In the first few attempts, I am often all over the place, but if I keep repeating the exercise—and keep pausing and breathing at the height of the movement—my body seems to figure it out, and I find another level.

I am learning that it is the stretch that helps us feel more centred, and in particular, our capacity to pause in the stretch.

I think it’s the same when we choose to stretch in other areas of our lives. As we stretch, we instinctively try to speed up, as if to return to our comfort zone as quickly as possible. Perhaps we associate the comfort zone with a ‘nice’ feeling, and the stretch zone with something we know is good for us but feels uncomfortable. In the stretch zone, we rarely think about pausing, and we are reluctant to invite the mental version of twitching.

What if we could enjoy the feeling of the stretch zone and allow ourselves to stay in it a little longer?

What would it be like to pause in the stretch?

An example for me is when I am working on a challenging project. I tend to begin with a lightness of spirit, full of ideas and possibilities. But as I get deeper into the project and move out of my comfort zone into the ‘doing’, I become more serious, and I can forget to step back and pause. I get caught up in the detail and plough ahead to completion as quickly as possible. If I had the foresight to pause at the height of the stretch—even just for a moment—I might see more of what is possible and choose a different approach. I might be able to go further than I thought. I might even enjoy the stretch itself?

Back to Pilates: the stretch feels great afterwards. If we stretch one side before the other, we can physically see that the stretched side has become longer. It feels looser and has more freedom of movement.

What areas of your life and work might benefit from a pause in the stretch this week?

As my youngest starts university I have been grappling again, as I have done on many occasions, with the art of letting go.

It’s something my head knows is needed but my heart doesn’t feel ready. So on the outside I let it play out and pretend all is well but on the inside I am clinging to the past, desperate for more time, just a little bit longer, before I have to confront the inevitable ‘painful’ reality of change.

As a result, my sense of balance is off and I feel a general uncomfortableness. Why is it so hard to move on? I am learning that if we feel scared, we struggle to let go. Perhaps the fear of the unknown, and not knowing what the next chapter will look like, persuades me to keep holding on?

Why do we need encouragement to let go?

Up until this point in my life, I have understood that letting go is essentially about accepting loss. It’s about having to change from one phase of life to another and although I understand the theory, most of the time I don’t feel ready and I certainly don’t welcome it. I view letting go as another ‘challenge’ I have to overcome because it’s the right thing to do. But it still feels hard!

Of course nature seems to let go effortlessly at this time of year and we all accept it, knowing that in the spring the new growth will return.

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Perhaps letting go is not about loss, it’s about growth..

I am learning this year that the art of letting go, similar to the art of finding our balance, is not about one off events or sudden movements, it is about being in motion.

In our Flying Stone Stack, the ‘Let Go’ stone is in the middle, it acts as a link between what we imagine and believe is possible with what we can create and how able we are to make a change and develop trust.

As the middle stone, it needs to be light and flexible because it moves the most as it works to counteract the balance of the others.

Letting go is pivotal to us finding our balance but it is not the full story, it is part of a cycle of change that is a constant dance whether across the seasons or as an unseen daily rhythm in our lives where we are; moving in and out, stepping up and stepping back, being hands on and being hands off..

It somehow feels easier to let go if we can see it is a temporary shift and part of an evolving dance rather than a permanent loss.

I know I need to ‘let go’ of my children so they can grow, but there will also be times when I need to step back in, that phase of my life isn’t over, it’s just different. And if I knew it was all part of a bigger dance, I think I would focus less on the thing I am letting go of and choose instead to become more malleable. I think learning to let go requires us to practise:

being an observer,

being patient,

being curious,

being trusting,

being wise..

The lighter and more flexible we become, the more we will naturally find the rhythm of letting go and ultimately our sense of balance.

What is your experience and wisdom around letting go?

When my dad died a number of years ago, I met with my sisters and brother for a weekend to clear the house - the first day was exhausting as we tried not to get too caught up in memories and mementoes and tried to make all kinds of decisions on what to keep, what to pass on to others and what to let go of. .

As the evening drew in, we came across a red A4 note book with the label on the cover “Roads Not Taken” and we gathered together to take a deep breath before opening..

Our heart’s were full of questions we might never get the answers to:

What had he wanted to do that he hadn’t been able to?

What dreams did he have that would never be attempted?

How had his life eluded him?

What or who might have stopped him from living as fully as he wanted to?

When I have thought about what a successful life might look like for me, it has never been about riches or accolades, instead it has been about whether I have had the courage to try things and have a go.

I dream of living a life that is fearless, where I have left no stone unturned and lived life to the fullest. I want to know that I have put two feet in to everything I do and grasped the nettle - I want to be an inspiration to others, especially my children.

A life where I have challenged the status quo of how things should be and fully embraced the art of possibility. I have always been fascinated by stories of people who have achieved greatness, I want to know how they did it so I can hone these skills and share them with others. And I want to be someone who has felt it in the bones rather than simply read about it.

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BUT at the same time I don’t want to miss the important stuff, I don’t want to be so busy taking care of my dreams that I miss what’s really important - being there for the people I love.

How to get this balance right is at the heart of the work I do in the world as a coach, as a founder, as a friend, and as a mum.

From the outside looking in, I thought my dad had got the balance right, he was a wonderful teacher and head teacher, and he played a big role in his local community.

He was always there for the people he loved.

But what had been the cost of this, by the end of his life, had he achieved everything he wanted to?

With trepidation, we opened the book and then in unison, we collapsed on the floor in laughter!

Every page was blank.

Imagine deciding to capture all the roads not taken in your life and realising you couldn’t think of any?

Or

Imagine realising that the roads you took in life were the only ones you needed to take?

What a wonderful life!

Whether this was in fact the case for my dad or not, we will never know, but this small ‘red book’ continues to be an inspiring legacy for us all.

I grew up in a small village, everyone knew everyone and at times, in my teenage years, it felt suffocating - I constantly complained and I wanted to live in a big city where I could make mistakes without people judging me!

But what I didn’t understand then was that these people helped shaped me.

They picked me up from school when my mum was working,

They joined in on birthday celebrations,

They showed up as a cleaning team after our house was flooded,

They rallied us together to raise money for all sorts of needs in the world,

They created a driving rota to take my dad to numerous hospital appointments,

They cooked lasagne and left it on the doorstep after mum had died.

They were an extension to our family and we knew they had our backs.

Since growing up and leaving this village, I have been trying to find one ever since.

What I hadn’t appreciated at the time was that while they were doing these things for our family, my mum and dad were doing the same for theirs.

I am learning that our sense of community is two way.

It isn’t about finding the right mix of people, I think it’s about putting in the right mix of effort.

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If we knew the extent to which we feel part of a community is up to us, what would we do differently?

I think we would put two feet in to our friendships and choose to build our community around us, wherever we are,

We would decide to become uncomfortable and knock on neighbours doors,just to say hello,

We would take a risk and make the first move - a friend of mine decided to have a BBQ on the corner of her street and said ‘everyone welcome’ - people showed up,

We would ask for help in order to give others permission to do the same,

We would be willing to invite others into our lives,

We would let go of our preconceptions and show up,

We would join in,

We would Trust.

I think our sense of community relies on us balancing the scales of trust.

We can only trust others to the extent that we trust ourselves;

The more uncertain we feel, the more likely others will feel uncertain in our presence,

The more we judge others, the more they will judge us,

The more we hold back in order to keep ourselves safe, the more they will do the same,

The more we lean in, the more they will come and meet us.

Here are 5 questions from the Stone Stack metaphor to help you think about how to build your sense of community.

1. What does your ideal community look and feel like, the one that you can only imagine creating? (IMAGINE)

2. What do you already know about yourself that will help you build more of a community? (BELIEVE)

3. What is the main thing you will need to let go of in order to build your community? (LET GO)

4. What is one idea you could try that would be a first step towards it? (CREATE)

5. What is one leap of faith you could make? (TRUST)

Please share your thoughts and ideas from your experience on what works and what doesn’t when building a community.

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Are you afraid to be yourself she asked?

I gasped,

I have always assumed that I am not,

But sitting here in the pause with that question,

I feel a little queasy,

I think I might be..

BUT

I am not ‘allowed’ to be,

I must be the strong one,

I must be the one who keeps it altogether,

I must know what I am doing at all times,

I must…

I must…

I must…

It’s exhausting!

WHY oh WHY after all this time, am I still afraid?

Why was it easier to be myself when I was younger?

When I knew less,

When I hadn’t really lived?

Perhaps I didn’t overthink it then?

Can I dare to show people the side that is afraid?

That is scared of driving on the motorway,

Scared of the wind when it blows too fiercely,

And scared of being misunderstood,

Of being wrong,

Of not being good enough,

Of being judged,

And of not ever making a difference,

Scared of flying…

I don’t want to be afraid anymore,

I want to feel braver,

And try stuff that feels sticky,

I want to hurt out loud,

And know that people won’t treat me any differently,

I want to say the first thing that comes out of my mouth,

And change my mind later,

I want to say what I think

And not worry how it

might be received,

I want other people to show up as themselves when they are with me,

And feel that same sense of freedom,

I want to truly believe it is ok to be me,

And no longer need to dilute the parts that might not fit,

I want to feel free

to just be me,

And show up that way

every day!

I don’t want to feel afraid,

But maybe I always will?

Because isn’t that the only way to live,

And to fly?

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“Here is your wild card present.”he said as he handed me an envelope on my 43rd birthday.

I loved surprises but this one took my breath away, it wasn’t expensive or indulgent, it was quiet and heartfelt - A ballet lesson at the Northern Ballet studios.

A warm feeling of nostalgia swept over me.

Between the ages of 5 and 16 I dreamt of being a ballerina - I read all the fiction (that are still on my book shelves today) I kept all my ballet shoes and it seemed to consume all my day dreams.

It was my thing - my identity, the core theme of all my presents growing up.

In my teens when all my friends had given up and dropped away, I kept showing up,

It was still my thing.

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Eventually I out grew the classes in my small village. I literally remember feeling too tall compared to the other girls, which is hilarious, as even now I am only 5 foot! So although ballet was firmly in my heart, my head had a different idea - I wasn’t good enough and I needed to move on.

Now, sitting here, envelope in hand, I wondered what I needed to be good enough for? Sure I hadn’t progressed to a point where I could audition for a ballet school - I realised in that moment that even though it was ‘my thing’ I don’t think I really believed in myself enough to trust it as a possible reality.

My voice wasn’t loud enough to push beyond the normal expectations of going to ballet classes once a week - I didn’t ask for anything more, I didn’t research what I needed to do to become a dancer - I didn’t imagine that my dream was possible so I kept it in a secret box in my head that I hung out in now and again, without any true appreciation of what it might take to actually become a ballerina and without ever asking anyone for help.

Over the following years, it remained my thing.

But it started to get buried underneath the chaos and busyness of life. Saturday jobs, university, career, marriage, children and perhaps, if it wasn’t for the annual trips to see a ballet - first with my grandad, then my mum and latterly with my dad, - I might have forgotten it was my thing altogether.

And now here I was over 20 years later, holding the envelope with the daring gift inside.

Was it still my thing?

My heart was full of excitement and nervous energy. I LOVED the sense of adventure of this wonderful present. Perhaps I was on to something?

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My head was full of questions…Was I brave enough to have a go? What would it be like walking into a proper ballet studio? Would I look ridiculous? yadda yadda yadda…

This time I chose to listen to my heart.

I bravely arrived at the door of the studio and peered through the window - what I saw gave me butterflies. There were about twenty five people inside, leaning on the barres and chatting. The youngest person looked about eighteen, hair beautifully swept back in a bun and wearing all the ballet gear, but there was also a guy in his sixties with a beer belly and an older lady well into her seventies and what appeared to be all walks of society in between.

This was a place where you showed up to do your thing and not worry what people thought - this was a place where you could be fully yourself.

I loved how different it was to the stereotype and to what anyone would expect. I walked up to the barre and when the pianist started, I found I could remember the steps.

Yes!!!! It was still my thing and I felt alive!

I am a dancer at heart - I want to dance in possibility, twirling scooping and leaping - not knowing if I am capable, but daring to dance anyway and do my thing.

Beth’s invitation to write with generosity arrived on my mum’s birthday. She would have been 84 today but she will forever be 67.

I have been thinking a lot about being the best mum I can be at every age and stage and I realise in this moment I had the most generous role model.

She wasn’t the perfect mum in the traditional sense - our house was not the cleanest; the washing wasn’t done for me and folded neatly on my bed and, because she was a primary school teacher, she was rarely at the school gates to meet us after school.

Of course none of these “logistics” of parenting are important. She must have known this because she somehow managed to quieten the society pulls and give her time to what was:

Being loving and Being authentic

She effortlessly pointed out what she saw in me. Here is a story I shared recently in my book, Raising Thinkers:

When I was nine years old, we had a family gathering with my cousins. I remember it felt really  awkward – we hadn’t seen each other for over a year and we didn't know what to say or how to interact. We all just sat there and stared at the floor (there were no phones in those days!) I decided to get everyone to play a board game and it broke the ice. Suddenly we forgot our awkwardness and started having lots of fun together for the rest of the day. I’d have easily forgotten the day except that on the drive home my mum shared an appreciation.  She told me how good I was at encouraging people to join in. Looking back, I can see that sincere  appreciation was like a seed she planted in me that day and it started to grow inside me. It’s a seed I have continued to water and cultivate ever since. I just needed to hear those words for me to notice that quality in myself. 

Her fears stopped her in her tracks and yet we learnt more about how to overcome fear by watching her battle every day to keep showing up as our mum, in spite of a Parkinsons diagnosis when she was 40.

I was never in doubt that I was loved to the moon and back - in fact I used to say when I was very small - ‘This is my mummy and she loves me to distractions!’ Which always made her smile!

She trusted me with her worries - especially as I got older, she would tell me what she was worrying about and how she was feeling. Her trust in me gently encouraged me to trust in myself.

She taught me how to listen by staying quiet, to live by showing up even when you are scared and to giggle (at the most stupidest of things!)

She was an observer of life and she shared her observations so we could learn through her eyes.

She whispered kindness, gentleness and love into our lives and it turns out that’s all we ever needed.

She continues to be my guide even in death, I can still hear her thoughts and musings, and because she was a writer, I can still get close to her whenever I need to. Even now, 17 years later, I can ask her anything and her answer always comes to me.

Thank you mum for teaching me how to fly.

Raising Thinkers is available here

(With special gratitude to for the inspiration on GENEROSITY this week. )

I love being by the sea, there is something so uplifting about the wind in my hair, the taste of salt on my lips and the smell of possibility as I look out to the vast expanse… into the unknown.

I feel free and I feel daunted.

The only barriers or constraints that exist are interwoven into my own psyche and as I start to swim, there is a question that occupies all my thoughts and stops me from fully experiencing the wonder of the activity I have chosen to do:

How far will I go before I need to turn back?

My heart whispers - go on I dare you… embrace it.. go further… take bigger strokes, don’t worry it will all be ok.

But I can’t hear it…

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I am consumed by this first over powering, question which is loaded with all the stories I have heard from my past.. It is this fearful thought that takes over, I can openly rationalise that it’s in my head but I can’t shake it, after all it is trying to keep me safe, but at the same time I know it is stopping me from really living…

I am once again fascinated by how to get this balance right… how to be both safe and daring in the life that I lead?

How to fly?

Across the beach there are numerous stone stacks built by people from all walks of life, all are unique - some are small with 2-3 stones stacked in a linear fashion - the biggest at the bottom and the smaller ones placed evenly on top - and some are audacious with jagged edges, precariously balanced with large stones on the top of tiny ones. These are more fragile and yet they are daring to go to the edges of what is possible for their shape and size.

(Image: - GravityGlue.com)

Sure it might not be long before they lose their balance, but they are willing to try anyway, perhaps they know that if they lose it, they will find it again, perhaps they know that this is part of the joy of living?

And so there they are inspiring us all as we walk past.

They are not conforming or watching from the sidelines on how it should be done, they are not relying on their previous knowledge and experiences, instead they are dancing in possibility, they are reaching beyond expectations and showing us all how to be courageously ourselves.

Who do you know that is living this way…., inspiring us all as we walk past?

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