Neil Lawrence: on becoming a coach, discovering authenticity and learning to look after his mental wellbeing.

The steering wheel locks to the right, and the car starts to aqua glide across three lanes of the M4 motorway. Time slows down so that every second becomes a recognisable moment. As my partner tries to correct our course, the torrential rain assaults our car. I am only vaguely aware now of an audiobook, which moments before had been the centre of my attention (A Brief History of Seven Killings by Marlon James).

We are on our way to Devon, the first trip we have taken for a long time. I am scouting a setting for a detective novel, but I am yet to be published at this point in my life. I am a wellbeing coordinator at a secondary school in Inner London. I am all but ‘done in’ through the psychological battering I have been taking and how my body has responded. I am a shell of my former self.  At 49, I have Fibromyalgia, and my life feels dangerously on the edge of collapse.

The car begins to rock; we are in the centre lane, and the skid is becoming a spin. I am deeply amazed there seem to be no other vehicles near us despite the fact it is the middle of summer. As the spin starts to pick up speed, I’m thinking (bizarrely), “This is the writer’s life”, and the camp drama of this thought actually makes me chuckle. I am vaguely aware of my partner; he is doing his best to keep calm, and as we finally (it really does feel like a long time) reach the inside lane and collide with the boundary fence, I realise I am in no pain whatsoever for the first time in twenty-odd years. On the contrary, I feel ridiculously clear and peaceful.

The car comes to a stop. And there is time enough to realise we are still breathing. Apart from a mild bump to my partner’s forehead, we have no injuries. How can this be? 

With jerky movements and shaky legs, I open the car door and get out. My partner slides over and does the same. The rain feels heavy against my jumper. Do I even have a coat on? I walk around the car. The outer bodywork is totalled, which is odd because the interior has suffered no damage at all. Someone is ringing for help. My partner? The noise of cars along the motorway sound like growling tigers. How did we not get hit?

How on earth am I still here?

It is ‘who knows’ how much later after the emergency responders have delivered yellow cagoules and we are waiting for a lift off this road when I first make my pact, the one I still keep five years later. I am lucky, I say, I have been blessed, I say, every day from now is like a bonus tracks on a CD (but hopefully better quality), and I HAVE to make it true to who I REALLY am.

And who am I? Reading left to right: a dyscalculic, Jewish, gay, and disabled scouse guy. One who has discovered that despite what the detractors say, having ‘outsidership’ status does not grant me immunity from bullying and does not entitle me to respect. 

*

And so, I guess at the age of 49, my true journey began. The September after the crash, I went back to work, my tenth year at an increasingly compassionless academy that used hierarchy as an excuse for acts of immoral behaviour. But, armed with my pact from the motorway, things immediately changed. By the end of week one, it was clear this career no longer aligned with my core values or sense of purpose. The quarter of a century spent incrementally fighting for the rights of all staff and students had exhausted any usefulness I might have once had. I also realised that when a workplace makes ‘reasonable adjustments,’ this can be a euphuism for squeezing the most out of a disabled worker and not to make their job fulfilling.  

It did not take long before the inevitable clash occurred.  I was asked to deliver work I was no longer capable of delivering (the details I am not allowed to reveal). By the following June, I was spat out, feeling like a failure, telling myself I was a liability and forced into silence about the experience via NDA. The fact I could not tell others about my prolonged exposure to hierarchical and institutional bullying increased my sense of isolation, increased my trauma.

I considered what to do next. I knew supply work and teaching were no longer an option. Could I give something back to the LGBTQIA + community? I had already done a stint working for one such charity in the early noughties, thinking my teenage experiences from 1980’s Liverpool, growing up terrified amidst the AIDS epidemic in a homophobic community, might be of some help to others. However, as an adult working for an LGBTQIA+ charity, I found all the same hallmarks of cynical bullying I had experienced in the education sector.  

So, it felt clear I could not do either of those. I would have to build myself from the ground up. I would only be able to move beyond the fearful self by acknowledging skills I had acquired during my working life to date, and I could only achieve that if I moved into a new arena. I would need to retrain.

I started researching, letting my sense of purpose be my guide. 

I visualised my ideal work life, health, and happiness.  I asked myself what most aligned with my sense of moral purpose? The answer was a transformational coach. I was drawn to the concept of listening deeply, to helping people construct success out of their strengths. After a quarter of a century in the realm of ‘telling’ – whether it was me being told I wasn’t measuring up or me ‘telling’ students what they ‘should know,’ this idea appealed.  I looked for a course that included elements of mindfulness practice, like those of Buddhist teachers and psychologists Tara Brach and Jack Kornfield. I found the Transformational Diploma through Catalyst 14 and applied for a place.

I grappled and brought kindness to my imposter syndrome. Then, using Tara Brach’s book ‘True Refuge’ and her model RAIN, I set about tackling the trauma of feeling useless. This is work still ongoing. It involves harnessing compassion, learning perseverance, and allowing those around me to give support. 

I let my vulnerability show. Rather than pushing people away, I stayed grounded and was honest with myself and those around me. I felt moved by their generous responses.  David Elliott at EBA helped me set up my own business, Life Coaching London Ltd. A close friend bought me a domain name, website space, and an email address to help set up. My partner gave (and still gives) me the freedom to follow my own nose, something that had always landed me in shtuck as we say in Yiddish. 

Fast forward six months, and I began my transformational coaching diploma, still reeling and feeling unresourceful. Yet, by the end of the first morning, I knew it was the right choice and was overjoyed to be amongst so many others who shared my passion for working respectfully. As the course got underway in earnest, even as I was learning to work with clients, some of them in the throes of imposter syndrome themselves, I set about working on my own symptoms. ‘Physician (or coach) heal thyself.’ 

The following March, I passed the course at Practitioner level.

*

Armed with a new skill set and a profession, I started my working life. I began to hone my coaching skills whilst on the job. And how wonderful it felt!  What a privilege it was (and is) to support those living with burnout, fibromyalgia, depression, transition, identity questions, the list goes on. I also discovered that it is possible to strengthen the well-being of others within every coaching context.  Well-being and success at work go hand in hand. If only I had known that when I was at my lowest.

I also learned how to facilitate better self-care and made a strong commitment to my own wellbeing. I took a test for PTSD and undertook CBT when it was diagnosed (the trigger being a particularly pernicious bullying incident at the end of my teaching career). Later the same year, I attended another course, ‘The Lightning Process,’ and combined with a workout regime I already had established with Redefine Personal Training, it led to a massive recovery from many severe Fibromyalgia symptoms. 

I delved deeper into mindfulness practice and found a real sense of gratitude for my partner and all the years we have known each other (1992 onwards). I also experienced a deep appreciation for the continued loving journey we have had as a same-sex couple. By fifty, we have learned to do things our way. Trying to do what was expected proved to be seriously detrimental to our happiness over the years. And we have learned from that.

I got a dog. I walked further than I ever thought possible. My writing career took off – I have three short stories published to date (check out Neil Lawrence, writer.) Many of these developments occurred during COVID. 

What have I learned from all of this? First, that mental and physical wellbeing is essential if a person wishes to thrive. Coaching allows me to show respect, work in a compassionate space, and bear witness to the strengths that we don’t realise we have. Second, I feel gratitude for all I gained from my years in education, particularly the psychotherapy training and my ability to ‘read’ organisations. Finally, I am thankful my older working life has contributed to the job I now do. 

Conclusions? Humans are adaptable and resourceful creatures when given the right environment. I have found that compassion and care enable me to coach myself into this new life. Of course, I am deeply affected by the wider context we live in right now, but the skills developed since getting that NDA helps me negotiate the complexity of living amid such global strife.

In my life today, I learn from the people I meet, and the glory of being a coach is not only so I have the opportunity to help provide a structure to improve others wellbeing and help them find success, but they also enrich my life.

May we be happy, may we be healthy and, may we be free from worry.