Cultivating Self-Trust

Camille I were in the middle of our session when she causally said, "When something feels off in my body, I now know that it's because I'm believing something that just isn't true."

We looked at each other and laughed. Because Camille and her body weren’t always humming to the same tune. 

Earlier on in our coaching, her body was like a racehorse designed for efficiency, duty and productivity.

It had the potential to sense and intuit, to switch lanes and directions when it felt the need, but its blinders were so thick and tight that it was on a toxic auto-pilot track headed for imminent burnout. 

I love a good visual metaphor. So what could the blinders represent in this story you think?

What prevents a woman from being able to trust the signals that her body sends her about what feels good or bad?

So many of my clients come to me because they’re trying to get to a place that feels better for them professionally, but they’re terrified by what they might discover in themselves with their blinders off. 

Why? Because they've been taught to believe that those blinders provide control and security. 

Control and security over what? 

Our careers? 

Our social status? 

Our families? 

All of those make sense.

But when you realize that it’s impossible to control anything outside of ourselves 100%, we get to something a bit more complex. 

As women in a patriarcal society, we’ve been brilliantly taught to mistrust what happens inside of us. We’ve been taught to mistrust:
 

• Our emotions. 

• Our resilience.

• Our power.

• Our opinions. 

• Our needs. 

How did we get to a place where we are so distrusting of ourselves? 

How did we get to a place where we’re better at controlling and numbing our needs and desires than becoming curious about what they might be telling us?

And, more importantly, how can we build a bridge into ourselves, into our self trust that doesn’t also freak us out and halt us in our tracks?

That goal, the one above, is what my clients and I strive to achieve in our journey together. 

To get them to a place, like Camille, where they can gradually loosen the blinders, see what they're falsely protecting us from, and learn to listen to and trust the power and potential deep within in order to guide them forward. 

PS.If you want to learn how to build self trust and self knowing so you can feel your way to your next career move, book a call with me here.

The hidden cost of under-valuing creativity

When I was a trend reporter the rule was "one is chance, two is coincidence and three is a trend." 

And right now I have three different clients connected in a strikingly, trend-specific way.

Their common connection? As kids, they were discouraged from nurturing their creative sensibilities because their families were scared about what would happen if they decided to pursue those paths professionally.

It sounds counter-intuitive, right? You've got a kid who devours four books a week, a kid who's exceptionally gifted at music, a kid who has a passion for collecting and transforming objects, but instead of feeling excited as a parent, you feel dread.

You see when you come from a family where science, math, law, etc are the gold standards, where they're held high above anything else, it's hard as a parent to get behind the idea of developing your child's creative side. 

The discouragements, for the most part, come from fear.  "What if she become an artist? How will she support herself? Ahh, scary, no!"

But let's play a game of "Fast Forward A Few Decades," shall we? 

Your kid has the degrees, the fancy title, the safe job, but then she starts to feel completely and totally out of whack and wonder "How did I get here?" "Who was calling the shots?" "Why did I decide to climb this ladder?" 

What's the most obvious risk of being discouraged from nurturing your creative sensibilities most of your life?

The number one I've seen is the deep sadness in silencing that special spark inside of you that's the source of so much joy. That deep rift creates a hole in the heart that looks to be filled elsewhere. 

Which can lead to some other consequences I've discovered when people search for value in ways unrelated to what flows naturally:

• They lose their confidence in themselves and their ability to trust their intuition because they believe that their natural talents are worthless (literally worth-less) than other pursuits that were (and continue to be) much harder for them to excel at.
   

• They latch on to a system of reward and recognition that's outside of themselves, detached from their inner compass and emotional foundation. That system's usually about extreme effort and external signs of value that can easily lead to over-exertion, emotional exhaustion and a feeling of complete misalignment. 
   

• They forget that they already know what they like, what they're good at, what comes naturally to them, and that there are untapped possibilities for them within those worlds.

So what happens next? How do we unravel that onion and find our way back to the creative joy?

The number one stop is identifying the thoughts in your head that are telling you you're not doing it right. That you're not disciplined enough. Responsible enough. Hard-working enough. That's a telltale sign there's something stinky going on under the surface that's creating the misalignment.

Because when you peel the onion back you're bound to find that when it comes to doing the things that flow naturally, that give you pleasure, that you're innately good at, the responsibility, discipline, and effort aren't an issue. 

Do you ever feel irresponsible, undisciplined, not-good-enough?

What are you doing, or not-doing, when you say that about yourself?

When did those thoughts first appear in your mind?

And on the flip-side, what do you do naturally and without struggle without any voices telling you you're not doing it right?

Book a call and we can discuss! 

Much love to you today.

Zeva

Reinvent your new normal

The men were chanting and swaying together while the women locked arms in a festive traditional dance. 


In the middle of the elaborate wedding scene in the fabulous new Netflix mini-series Unorthodox, I lost track of the story. All I could see were human bodies. 

Healthy living bodies. 

Lots of them in the same room.

Celebrating together. 

Moving together. 

Sweating together. 

Breathing in the same air. 

My eyes welled up with this thought: “When will people be able to get together like this again?”

As the initial stress and adrenaline of the first weeks of confinement subside, something else is happening: collective grief is giving way to aching acceptance a renewed sense of meaning. (this article explains the process brilliantly).

As a new reality sets in we’re learning to define and appreciate what matters most to us. 

When you peel back the layers of life as we’ve all been forced to do these last two weeks, suddenly you see with sharp clarity what counts most:

• My friend told me through tears the other day that she realizes how much she loves her life and how scary it is to think it could be taken from her.

• One client told me that she’s no longer willing to suffer at her job and is finally ready to leave it after15 years.

• And my son shocked us the other night at dinner claiming to love school because “each day feels different.” 

This period, while surreal and scary as hell, is also like a vinaigrette that’s been made hours before the guests arrive— the oil and acid have pulled away from each other into distinctly visible parts. 

So I have an idea for you, friend, what if instead of trying to quickly whip that vinaigrette up into a frothy homogenous dressing, you let it sit and separate some more to see what those parts look like? 

I’ve created new exercise called Reinvent Your New Normal that helps you do just that—see what matters most to you so that you can invent alternative ways to nurture those things (even in confinement) and roll into the post-confinement world with a clearer vision, and stronger tools, for moving forward with meaning.

Click here to get the free exercise sent to your inbox.

Be sure to email me (zeva@zevabellel.com) after you've completed the exercise so that I can give you some feedback and help you along your way. 

I hope that you and your loved ones are safe and in good heath. 

Trying to get a grip on this new reality of ours? I've got you covered with my brand new worksheet Reinvent Your New Normal. You can get the free worksheet  sent to you by clicking here. Feel free to share this post. It could be a great exercise to do with friends and loved ones in order to feel close and connected even at a  distance.

Are you wildly growing or overly-designing your professional path?

My biggest adolescent annoyance was my mom’s unshakable trust in me. 

While my friends were pushed into engineering programs or into schools where their siblings went, my mom would say “Why should I tell you what to do when you always make great decisions on your own?”

Arggh!!! That drove me nuts! I wanted someone to GIVE ME THE ANSWER. To become a doctor or lawyer or dancer or writer or whatever. Just tell me!

The most advice she would offer was: “Zeva, just be an interesting person.” 

I couldn’t help laughing about my mom’s wisdom while listening to the developmental psychologist Alison Gopnik recently on the podcast On Being. 

Gopnik explains how “parenting” became a verb in the 1970s, and how over time parents have become more and more hands-on, helicoptering over their kids, bulldozing problems out of the way in order to architect lives to match a preconceived model of perfection. (If you need proof, have a look at the 50 people charged in the college admissions bribery scandal)

She calls this type of parenting “carpentering” mode, and thinks it’s a terrible invention. 

By trying to eliminate all risks and failures and control the outcome like a carpenter, smoothing and sanding the sides of a bookshelf, we wind up raising dependent, terrified humans who are ill-equipped for the evolving challenges of the world

Gopnik advocates for a different parenting model: the “gardening” variety. Instead of focusing on creating the perfect person, you focus on creating a loving, nurturing space where experimentation and discovery can thrive so that a diverse and resilient ecosystem emerges. She explains:

“Love’s purpose is not to shape our beloved’s destiny, but to help them shape their own. It isn’t to show them the way, but to help them find a path for themselves, even if the path they take isn’t one we would choose ourselves, or even one we would choose for them."

This all made me think not only about my childhood and the wild gardening my mom did with me, but also how these models apply to the self-discovery work we do when trying to get clear on our next professional path. 

Do we measure and predict what's going to happen with a specific image of perfection in mind, or do we sow our seeds in a loving environment and see how they can grow in unpredictably beautiful ways?
 

Whether or not you have kids, you were a kid, so what was the environment like for you?

Were you raised like a carpenter’s child or a gardener’s child?

More importantly how are you growing your life today? 

Are you creating a nurturing space for experimentation, discovery and variety?  Or are you measuring, chiseling, and sanding your angles down to a precise science? 

Let me know what comes up!

PS. My mom still never tells me what to do, but now I like it that way.! 

PPS. In my upcoming group online coaching program I’m slathering on some sunscreen, getting out my rubber boots, and heading into to garden to plant a lot of self-discovery seeds to see which ones spark your path forward. If you’d like to learn more about it, book a call with me here:



How to avoid brain drain

Lice, strikes and no more mozzarella in any of the stores when you plan on making New Year's Day lasagna.
 

1. Is it the title of a new Coen brothers movie based on the Odyssey? 

2. A feminist podcast starring Tina Fey?

3. Or some of the energy-depleting experiences that decorated my winter break?

What's your guess?

If you think I'm using my random holiday turmoils as an excuse to complain, you've got another thing coming. 

They're actually awesome examples of how brain-drain works— meaning when your mind says "pas possible" to creative work because it's been depleted generating solutions to totally annoying problems. 

I always though that the long ramp-up to making a decision (be it ordering from a bible-size NYC Greek diner menu to deciding whether to pivot professionally) was what drained us the most intellectually, emotionally and physically. 

But Dr. Tara Swart, author of The Source, the book I'm currentIy obsessed with, says that it's the act of making the decision that's the most draining for our brains. 
 

"It is perhaps surprising that although the rumination that leads up to a decision requires mental energy, it's the point of decision making itself that is the most energy-intense for our brains. This explains why reducing the number of unnecessary choices in our day (what to wear, eat, watch, react to on social media) is an effective way to conserve decision-making energy for bigger and more important decisions."

This is why Steve Jobs wore the same outfit each day and why so many people do their most creative work in the morning before their brains have been zapped to death on emails and deciding what to eat for lunch.  

It's also why supermarkets strategically place the candy by the cash register: your brain's made hundreds of small choices by the time it gets to the counter that it's much more likely to crack for candy then. 

So, here are some suggestions for you:

• Reduce the number of small decisions you need to make daily. (e.g. mono wardrobe, batch cooking, delegating)

• Audit your most important decision making moments and your energy when you're making them. 

• Create a fail-safe, energy-generating morning routine that you do without having to think about it.

• Come up with a contingency plan before heading to the supermarket when you're vacationing in a small mountain village and plan on making lasagna for 12 people: what will you make if they're sold out of mozzarella or don't have the right size lasagna pan? 

Sending you much love and brain-saving energy. 

Photo by Paweł Czerwiński on Unsplash

Define your timeframe

It was 1999 and I was sitting opposite my therapist, Yael, worrying about what to do with the lease on my 4th-floor walk-up apartment above a Pet Store in Brooklyn.

Even though it smelled like fish food and wet dog every time I walked through the building, my apartment was conveniently located and affordable enough for New York. 
 

Should I extend the lease, and risk staying put for another year, or break it and go who knows where?

Beggars can't be choosers, I thought, but every ounce of my body wanted OUT OF THERE— not just the apartment but NYC all together.
 

I had until the end of the month to figure it all out. 

Then my therapist Yael dropped one of her golden reality bombs into the room: “Zeva, contracts can be broken and calendars can be adapted. There’s only one situation that has a non-negotiable timeframe—pregnancy!” 

BAM! Message received loud and clear.


I walked out of that session with a new lease on life (pun intended).


For the life of me I can’t remember if I extended the lease or not, but once that deadline became a non-issue, my mind lead me to a whole new sea of options (which eventually got me on a plane to Paris).

 

Why am I bringing this up?

Because as the end of the year approaches, we all try to rush to the finish line, jump over hurdles and past milestones to “make it” to the end of the year with all of our goals checked off in a row. 

As if deep personal growth can be squeezed out like the last blobs of toothpaste hiding at the bottom of the tube.

That’s just not how growth works. You can't force it. You can’t cram it it. You can’t expect that by the stroke of midnight on December 31st everything will suddenly be exactly as you want it to be. 

Calendars help us track seasons and collaborate with the rest of the world in an organized fashion. But they are not indicators of where we have to be in our lives. 

You don’t have to start a new job on Jan 1st. 

You don’t have to quit your job before you go on vacation. 

You don’t have to share your vague business ideas with your cousins over your holiday dinner. 

You don’t have to know with 100% certainty what your next career move is going to be when, over smoked salmon canapés, uncle Jean asks you what you've been doing with all of your free time since you left your last job. 

Think of Yael and my stinky old apartment when you feel the weight of the clock (and your loved ones, bless their well-meaning hearts). 
 

Every timetable is flexible, except one, so release the stress of competing with time, and yourself, and move at your own rhythm. 

You've got this!

Photo by Malvestida Magazine on Unsplash

Moving forward despite the fog

We were 20 minutes into our hike in the mountains and my brother-in-law was on his second lesson on how to use a compass. He was speaking to my son but I was listening in slyly to see whether I could answer any of his questions correctly. 

He described a hypothetical scenario. "What do you do when you're hiking in the mountains and you can't see past your feet because the fog is so thick."

My son said: "You stop and wait." 
Thierry answered: "That's an option, yes..."
Then I added, half jokingly: "You don't go on the hike in the first place."
Thierry laughed: "But what happens if the fog comes in unexpectedly?"
My answer: "You panic and cry!"

I can't remember what Thierry said after that and I've just sent him a text to try to find out (cliffhanger, alert!)

Why? Because my mind started racing.

Thierry's Survivor/Koh Lanta quiz was a great metaphor for what my clients experience before beginning our work together: they're in a panic because they're in a thick fog professionally and the longer they wait for the fog to clear up, the heavier, darker and scarier it seems to get.

They can't run back to the car (turning back the clock is out of the question) and they're desperate to find that crystal-clear mountain range up ahead in the distance where a picnic rock awaits their tired tush.  

So what do you do when you can't see your path clearly but you have to move forward?

Do you wait for the fog to clear?
What if it just gets thicker? 
How long do you wait?
Can you find a point somewhere, anywhere, that can help you move ahead?
Maybe its the sound of a river nearby.
Or a light source.
Or maybe if you calm down and listen to your heart, there's a North Star that you can set your compass to now?
So that you can take another step ahead.
And another. 
And another.

Just remember: the entire path doesn't have to be crystal clear for you to feel your way towards your destination. 

Photo by Andrew Neel on Unsplash

Not your problem

Over the last couple of years I’ve had the immense fortune of speaking with over two hundred women about what they want most in life.

From Tokyo to London by way of Montreal and Paris, the most common “problem” I hear is: “I don’t know what I want to do with the rest of my life professionally and I’m scared of making the wrong decision.”

The thoughts ricocheting inside their brains sound like this:

• “What am I legitimately good at?”

• “What do I really want to do with my life?”

• “How can I be certain that I’ll make the right decision?”

• “What’s the perfect next step for me?”

You know what l've learned from speaking with and coaching women who share such similar thoughts and feelings about their future? 

The best way to find the answer to their “problem” isn’t to dig in it, pick it apart and dissect it. Nor to hold it up on a pedestal and cower at the heels of its powerful presence.

In fact, the best way to solve the “problem” is:

1) To politely ignore it.

2) To turn the lens on the thoughts about the “problem” instead.

Basically, you solve your “problem” by questioning the questions you use to find the answers. By thinking about your thinking, you develop new ways to think. 

We all assume that our thoughts are rigid and 100% real — like permanent black marker streaks on a pale wood table top. They are alarmingly true and NOT going anywhere. 

But that’s not the case: thoughts are as nimble and flexible as you allow them to be. And the key to changing them is to start thinking about them. 

This process, called metacognition, is about stepping back and doing an audit on your thoughts. What thoughts are moving you forward? What thoughts are keeping you stuck? What thoughts would you give up if you could? What do the people you admire most think? What would it be like to think those same things? If you were giving advice to someone you love who has the same “problem” as you, what would you tell them?

“It’s so tempting to dig into the problem, or dig into the details. What you want to do is get people to think about their thinking [instead],” explains Dr. David Rock, director of the NeuroLeadership Institute and author of the best-selling books 'Your Brain at Work', 'Quiet Leadership', and 'Coaching with the Brain in Mind.’

The goal is to increase insight, meaning realizations and connections that happen internally. AHA moments. Epiphanies. “Prises de consciences,” in French. 

Those moments when a ding goes off in your brain and you suddenly see the world in a totally different way.  Not because someone gave you the answer, but because a new connection was made inside your mind that flung open a whole new set of doors. 

“What we found is that coaching conversations with insight are dramatically more likely to create real change. You think of insight as just a moment where your brain really changes in a way that releases a lot of energy, you see things differently, ” says Rock who teaches leaders how to think better and problem solve more creatively using science-backed research.

There’s literally nothing like that warm, fuzzy feeling of knowing deep in your cells that you found the answer to what you were looking for, am I right?

So next time you’re stuck on a “problem,” politely put it aside and do an audit on your thoughts around the “problem” instead. 

PS. Click here to hear the full interview with Dr. Rock on the awesome podcast The Science of Success.

Serena of the south west

What’s it like to realize that you’re not the person you thought you were halfway through your life? 

Exhilarating? 

Terrifying? 

Liberating? 

Nauseating? 

All of the above?

Let me tell you something about a little discovery I made this summer: I’m good at sports. 

That’s right. I AM ATHLETIC.

You see, I always thought that I was terrible at sports. That my world was with the “artists,” the creatives, the intellectual misfits, the indie rockers. 

This belief started in Junior High School. When I was a shy and uncomfortably overweight pre-teen who’s parents had recently divorced. 

I had been playing the violin for a couple of years in elementary school at my mom’s urging. When it was time to chose a Junior High School my mom convinced me to apply to Mark Twain For the Gifted and Talented (I kid you not, that was the name!!). A special public school that bussed kids in from all over Brooklyn. 

You had to have a “talent” to get in. And I got in with my violin playing (which actually sounded more like cats screeching to an agonizing death).  

The rest of my friends from elementary school made it into the “Dance and Athletics” programs.

From the very moment I was selected for music, I became certain that I couldn’t also be athletic. There was a lot of proof in the pudding—as a chubby prepubescent kid I couldn’t climb a rope or do arm lifts to save my life. 

I wasn’t part of the confident, athletic crew. I belonged with the creative, sensitive crowd. 

Over the course of my life, I’ve experimented with lots of physical activities from swimming and jogging to yoga. But me, athletic, not in a million years. 

That’s just not part of my identity. That’s not of my DNA. 

But this summer something shifted. I decided to take some tennis lessons while vacationing in the south of France in the small village where my mother-in-law lives.


I signed up for a course with the 73-year-old French coach named Jean Pierre who was my husband’s coach as a kid and is still kicking it strong! 

My motivation? If I’m being honest with you, << Test First Name >>, I though it was a legitimate escape from my motherly commitments and a chance to take in some fresh mountain air. Plus my son and my husband are tennis-obsessed and it was a way to taste their world and see what all of the fuss was about. 

Thirty minutes into my first course, after Jean-Pierre showed me how to hold the racket, how to position my body in order to hit the ball at the right angle, he stopped our training and came up to the net. 

He said, “Are you sure you’ve never played tennis before? You’re really good at this.” 

And then he went on:

“You pick things up quickly.”

“You’re determined.”

“You observe and adapt quickly.”

“You’ve got great sense perception.”

“You’ve got personality.”

I laughed at his compliments a bit awkwardly, but still let them linger in my mind. 

What he said about me didn’t totally surprised me. He was pointing out parts of my character and personal narrative that I believe are true, but that I've never applied to tennis. 

I saw myself in the person he described even though the context was unfamiliar.

You see, << Test First Name >>, you and I have inherent skills and talents that we think are reserved for certain contexts, certain vocations, certain professions. 

But what happens if we decide to apply them elsewhere, in a field that excites us but that’s totally unknown? 

What if we can actually thrive using our inherent skills in a space that’s foreign? What does that say about us?

What parts of our identity lay dormant because we haven’t yet decided to experiment who we are in a new environment?

I don’t plan on becoming the next Serena Williams, but I do have a tennis class this Friday that I’m excited about because it’s a new chapter in my life that makes me feel alive in a completely different way. 

What inherent character traits can you plant in a new pot?

Maybe you’ll realize you’re more than who you think you are. 

That there are sub plots to the narrative of your life that are waiting to be explored.