Coaching reflection: They Let Me In...

This coaching program is my second. I am still learning—still evolving as a coach—but this experience reminded me that sometimes growth doesn’t come from what you teach. It comes from what you’re allowed to witness.

Despite still finding my way, they let me in.

They opened their hearts, their thoughts, and their silences to me. Not because I had all the answers, but because I was willing to sit with them in the questions. They didn’t just attend sessions—they invited me into the raw, unfiltered parts of their lives that many said they had never shared with anyone. They gave me their trust, and that remains one of the greatest honors I’ve ever known.

What made this experience even more profound was how often their stories brushed against my own. Sometimes, their words echoed wounds I hadn’t touched in years. It caught me off guard—the way their pain quietly mirrored parts of mine. And in those moments, I had to pause. I had to remind myself: this is their space, not mine. I am here to hold it, not to fill it. To stand beside them, not to carry my own story into their moment. That boundary is not always easy. But it is necessary. And it is sacred.

Throughout the journey, patterns began to emerge—recurring struggles shaped by shared environments. Family pressure. Limited opportunity. Silence around mental health. Emotional suppression disguised as strength. The same inputs often led to the same outcomes. Yet, within these patterns, something beautiful stood out: they were never the same.

What made each of them unique wasn’t just their story—it was everything around it. Where they come from. The dynamics of their families. Their connection to those they love. How they navigate heartbreak. How they hold joy quietly, or how they bury fear. The way they process—or protect themselves from processing—emotion. Every layer, every choice, every silence, adds texture to who they are.

And that’s where transformation begins—not in fixing, but in listening. Not in changing them, but in honoring the truth that’s already there.

These young people are not broken. They are not problems to be solved.
They are stories—complex, beautiful, unfinished stories—waiting to be heard.

And when someone is truly heard, something shifts.
Healing begins. Dignity is restored.
And the story starts to change from within.

They let me in. And for that, I will carry them with me—always.