They’re called stories of impact for a reason…

I can’t explain exactly what it is with certain stories that stay in my mind amongst the thousands of others that float away. They simply leave an imprint I can’t shake. 

This next client crossed my path within the first 2 years I was in business. At the time I had had very few skeptics and most of my sessions were filled with people eager to hear my words and change their story. 

This one was different. Her tone was standoffish from the start. When I asked her why she chose to book a session she simply said it sounded interesting and left it at that. Her words were monotone, reserved, and lacked any emotion. She was fully assessing me, my abilities and my credentials. She had zero intention to believe anything I said, I could tell. 

I got my mind in the correct headspace. I knew that everything depended on the initial 15 min of the call. Her timeline had to wow her, she had to be shocked at the dates I asked and caught off guard enough to give me any details of her life. I began.

Her first date gave everything away. She didn’t know this of course but I did. This was the gold I needed. She had shown me where the pattern and conditioning in her lineage had begun and walked me straight into the snake pit. To any other person, her words were simple. 

“These were not great times in my life. My mom and I don’t have the easiest relationship. This is when her behaviors started to finally impact my life. This is when my eating disorder hit an all time high.”

I softly probed, “Does your mom struggle with food?”

“She has had an eating disorder of some kind or another for the entirety of her life. I have never known her without one.”

“Wow” I reply. “And when did you start noticing similar behaviors in yourself?”

“I was 8.”

I don’t pry anymore. I got what I needed. I move onto the next date. 

She begins. Still reserved, still monotone, and still very much separate from these details she is sharing. Like she is reciting them and there is zero connection to her own life.

“This year was much the same. I was in college, getting ready to graduate, not really sure what I was going to do with my life. You know, partying, drinking, and just young.”

Her voice trails off this time. I know there is more. 

I pause. Allowing a moment to see if she will naturally resume. I doubt it, but it’s worth a shot. I interjected, “and were you still struggling with your relationship with food and how your mom had taught you to cope?”

“Oh yeah, but at this point it was just there. But you know, the following year I met my ex husband.”

Clearly she is glad to move to a topic that is farther away from her and her vulnerabilities.

I move on. 

I ask the final date and in short she informs me that she had gotten pregnant, had a daughter and she is now raising her as a single mom. Then she stops mid sentence and takes a breath.

“Oh and at the end of the year my mom died. I remember distinctly on her deathbed she literally asked me if she looked okay, as in, was she skinny enough, was the outfit she wore flattering. I never got the severity of her condition until that moment.”

Now I stop on purpose. This is treacherous waters.

I know this is her wound, her trauma and I know this is how she changes the story, not just for her life, but for her daughter’s. The safe move would have been to move on, but if you know me at all, you know I cannot bullshit and safe is not how I ever navigate. I took the risk.

I say, “That’s huge. Have you since faced your eating issues, sought help and changed it for your daughter? Such a generational thing that has moved from her to you and now you get the chance to stop it.”

“Well, it actually goes back to my grandmother, my mom's mom. So even further. Yeah I have worked on it tremendously and I have broken it.”

Her answer is too fast. I need to try a backdoor approach. “Does your daughter love food and cook or prepare meals with you?”

“She would if I let her. I hate food, and wish I could live without it. At this point I have figured out what I have to eat for nutrients and otherwise I simply avoid food and the kitchen.”

I am done holding back, “So, she wants to cook and be in the kitchen with you, but you have made it off limits?”

“Yeah.”

Zero hesitation. She stands behind her words whole heartedly and I can see that she believes this is her doing good.

“And I have worked extensively with other professionals in the past, this trauma is healed, let's move onto something else.”

That’s it. The door is closed.

Now, at this point in my career I wouldn't have moved on as quickly, but back then that was the most confidence I could muster. I did add one last hoorah at the end and challenged her with homework to let her daughter cook in the kitchen, even if she didn’t want to eat it, could she do it for her daughter. The suggestion was brushed aside. Curt thank yous were said and she hung up the call just as quickly as it began. I felt defeated, she was my first non-receptive client, so stuck in her story that she refused to see beyond it. 

I don't think this story stuck because of her though, the part that impacted me was the kid, the innocent daughter who without a doubt was taking on the lineage of karma and trauma through food. This is when I began to live by the belief that we are never handed anything we can’t handle. If her mom, grandmother and great grandmother couldn't break it, then I knew and trusted that she had the tools to do it herself.