Whispers: Chapter 8
| October 22, 2020BUR (British Unspoken Rule) 1: Emotions are for pillows, not for public
I
Israel. I clung onto this land that gave me independence, spiritual energy, and anonymity. As seminary ended, I found an apartment with other girls, and purchased a new wardrobe that 
We sat in a random classroom, five Brits, fifteen Americans — a strange collection of people — ready to learn. “Why do you want to become a life coach?” our teacher asked.
Most of the Brits responded with a version of, “It’s less mushy than traditional talk therapy, but still helps people.” The Americans didn’t get what mushy meant. We paired up and happily began stepping on each other’s toes as we practiced out new skills.
I coached a 40-year-old classmate, the topic being her fear of closed spaces. I was out of my depth, but following the LC guide book, I helped her through it.
But then it was my turn. BUR (British Unspoken Rule) 1: Emotions are for pillows, not for public. “How do you feel about that?” my American student-coach asked me, in a practice session. “I don’t have emotions,” I responded, while my stomach churned with all the locked-in feelings.
In session 5, I let my fellow coach peek inside my walls. BUR 2: Walls are a vital structure of the soul. I felt naked as I shared my bus saga: “I love that I can get around this country, but my eyesight is so bad, I have problems identifying the bus number.”
“What would happen if you got on the wrong bus?” she asked.
Two weeks later, I answered that question when I found myself in an Arab village.
We were just students, but it felt so good not to guard every small detail of my life. Yet I kept bumping into my nationality — and, as my eyesight worsened, the occasional glass door or wall as well. BUR 3: It’s preferable to talk about the weather for an hour rather than risk sharing possibly private information. Could it really be time to abandon my nationality and face a lifetime of emotions?
My pillow got its nightly share of tears as I took down barriers I never knew existed. Each day I gained more courage as I identified and faced some of the dark emotions of my past. I would never have gone for therapy — “we don’t do that” — but under the guise of studying coaching I got the therapy I desperately needed.
With my goal being confidence, I learned to march towards my destination with confidence — even if five minutes later I had to march back the other way. Mistakes are okay, I learnt; the only true failure is being too afraid to try.
With my new attitude, I thrust my way into a journalistic internship. I wasn’t ready to risk rejection and tell them anything medical, although I occasionally wondered what they thought when they saw my face two inches from my computer screen. Emotional freedom was awesome, but actually telling people my story was pushing my new growth too far. All the people in my life knew me by my act; letting go now would be very shocking to them.
Still, I learned to share in a different way. Through writing, whether news or stories, I discovered a way of connecting with the world around me. Writing was the window in my walls — it allowed me to test the temperature of the world around me.
I knew one day in the future, I would be strong enough to use this tool to completely break free from my secrecy jail.
To be continued…
(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 508)
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