I'm done with the healing illusion.
There, I said it. And I can't even claim the phrase. Another coach said it somewhere, I heard it, and something in me went: yes. That. I'm done with this healing illusion rubbish.
Here's what I mean.
As long as you have someone to blame, or something you still need to heal, you've got an umbilical cord to the excuses. There's always one more wound, one more pattern, one more layer between you and the thing you say you want. Any justification for not doing the thing.
And the thing never gets done.
It's your state, darling
A while back I was working with a coach I genuinely rated. I told her straight: I don't think I need more healing. I think I just don't have the execution set up. I get blocked, yes. But I've got the pieces.
She kept coming back with the same answer. It's your energy. It's your state, darling. Again and again and again. If it's not showing up, it's your state. You don't want to hear it, but it is.
Do you know what? She's dead wrong.
Not about everything. About me, in that conversation. Because look at what that framing does. It moves the finish line every time you get near it. Did the work and it's still not showing up? There's a deeper layer. Still not showing up? You don't want to hear it. There's no result you could ever produce that would prove you're ready, because "not ready" can't be disproved. That's not coaching. That's a waiting room with nice candles.
The waiting room is full of us
You know the script. Before you're allowed to begin, you have to be fixed. Heal the money wound. Clear the visibility block. Forgive your mother. Regulate your nervous system. One more course, one more journal prompt, one more modality. Seventeen more books and then you're allowed to live. Apparently.
And look. Healing has its place. I've done the work for years and I'm not taking a minute of it back. Some things genuinely need tending.
But somewhere along the way, "I'm still healing" stopped being a description and became a delay. A very respectable delay. Nobody at a dinner party questions it. It sounds humble. It sounds deep. What it often is, is fear wearing a cashmere cardigan.
I should know. Even earlier this year, if I said no to somebody and genuinely meant the no, I'd feel scared about how they'd react and what they'd think of me. How ridiculous is that. Actually scared. I've woken up from it now though.
Not because I healed the fear. Because I got tired of organising my life around it.
Maybe you're not broken
Here's what I see now, and I wish somebody had said it to me plainly. I kept waiting to feel ready. And while I was waiting, everything I needed was already sitting there. The skills. The experience. The body of work. The pieces.
What I didn't have was the execution set up.
That's not a wound. That's a to-do list.
So let me ask you what I had to ask myself. What if nothing else needs healing? What if you're not broken, just not building yet?
Those aren't the same problem, and they don't have the same cure. One keeps you looking backwards. The other one asks you to start.
Your next era is not waiting for you to be fixed
After twenty years of saying yes when I meant no, and one very long detour through fixing myself, here's what I actually believe:
Your next era doesn't start when you're finished healing. It starts when you decide.
The woman you keep waiting to become isn't waiting for you to be perfect. She's waiting for you to begin. And honestly? She's a lot less interested in your wounds than in what you do on an ordinary Tuesday.
Stop shrinking to fit a life you've already outgrown.
If you want somewhere to start, I've made something for exactly this moment. It's a free personalised report, built from your birth details, and it shows you how you're actually built to lead your next era. Not who you're supposed to become. How you already work.
Want yours? Comment REPORT and I'll send it to you personally.
No healing required. Bring yourself exactly as you are. That's rather the point.
Do the thing. Heal later, if you still need to.
I suspect you'll be too busy living.