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ONE LONG AND HARROWING WEEK OR SO LATER…
The good news is that I have my own desk in my own spacious office and a new exciting career as a life coach. The bad news is all of the above.
‘I can’t believe that we’ve been working together for over a week already!’ Nidi, my new boss, says excitedly, sweeping into my office, grabbing a cold bottle of water from the cooler and plonking herself down opposite me. ‘It’s flown by so quickly, hasn’t it?’
I stare back, nodding. ‘It certainly has.’
It certainly hasn’t.
‘You’ve taken to this like a duck to water, haven’t you?’ she says, smiling at me.
I certainly have not.
‘I think we will make a great team. Everything happens for a reason, as they say. And by they’ – Nidi pauses to stare into the middle distance – ‘I mean the universe. Our very lifeforce, you know?’
I nod back in agreement.
No, I do not know.
She has been like this all week. She’s a young, pregnant Indian version of Gandalf with her moonstones this and her stars aligning with our auras that. Then she’d surprise me with some in-depth insights into neurolinguistic programming, changing mindsets and tales of transforming people’s lives through sage and turmeric, as though it’s very scientific and real.
Managing your finances via breathwork took some persuading at first, especially as opening a bank account for myself proved to be more difficult than solving the climate crisis, but she’s taught me to tap my third eye and rub my chakras with assorted crystals to cure various issues like lack of ambition and kidney function. It’s all been terribly confusing, but she insists that bringing all aspects of a client into the therapy and mental health space will work more effectively.
The Quick Qualify website mentioned none of this.
‘It’s all in here, my bible,’ she says, turning her huge, dark eyes on me while pushing a mighty great tome titled ‘The Life Coaching Handbook’ my way. It’s the official guide used the world over. ‘You’ve really embraced the whole ethos and holistic style of life coaching, Nell. There’s a rawness, an honesty about you that people will connect with.’
I have no words. I haven’t been honest since the moment I arrived. It has been a real test of my moral compass, which I am convinced must be broken.
Working with Nidi in Spain makes my old life in England seem years and years ago, instead of barely two weeks ago. With every moment that passes, I am sure she will find out that I am a fraud and send me packing, and I’d hate to upset her in such a heavily pregnant state. I have a continual, dull sensation of anxiety clouding my every move. I am amazed she has not seen past my fake smile and long silences while I pretend I’m actively listening when really I’m a hot panicky mess of confusion.
‘Don’t forget we need to schedule in time to do a performance review tomorrow with a new client who booked with us yesterday. I’ll observe the first session before you start life coaching on your own. I’ve informed the ICF that I’m your official mentor.’
What new client? ‘ICF?’ I say, keeping the panic from my voice. Should I know what that is?
‘International Coaching Federation,’ she explains. ‘Didn’t you have to register with them when you first qualified?’
I pretend it rings a bell. ‘Ah, that ICF. Yes… yes. Good, good.’
‘And you also have that interview with the Costa Blanca Radio. Thanks again for covering for me while I’m at my paleo midwife appointment.’ She rubs her belly while I try to ignore that she is planning to give birth in a nearby cave just like they did 2.5 million years ago. ‘Don’t forget to mention the business singles event, will you? That could pull in a lot of interest.’
Oh God. While she was talking about the business singles event earlier, I had been daydreaming about Oliver, wondering where he is and what he is doing. How long he lay there waiting for me. Spread-eagled. His member upright and reporting for duty.
I blink the images away.
‘Self-employed people and micro-businesses often lack networking opportunities,’ Nidi tells me. ‘We’ll match them with complementary businesses, and you never know, love might blossom too.’
Sweet baby Jesus, I’d rather stick pins in my eyes.
Lots of clients are the absolute last thing I need right now, until I have a clue about what I’m doing.
Nidi insists her recently hired assistant, with the world’s longest name, Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen, helps me with the interview. ‘It will give her some much-needed experience,’ Nidi says, ushering her into my office, ‘and hopefully help with her people skills.’ Which, I’m pleased to see, are even worse than mine. I’ve barely said more than two words to Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen since I started because she has such a moody and unapproachable demeanour. And she keeps hissing at people down the phone.
The Quick Qualify online course has provided me with lists upon lists of phrases that life coaches might come out with such as living your purpose, owning your truth and plotting a course to the future. I’ve been up until 3 a.m. every night cramming to pass the modules so that they can send me an accreditation certificate to show Nidi. I told another white lie and said that I lost it in transit and have asked for a replacement to be sent out. Thank God I have a brain like a sponge when it comes to learning new skills and remembering things. It used to come in very handy in the workplace, especially for important meetings, thinking on my feet and holding professional grudges. I’ve also been observing Nidi’s habits, such as placing mood crystals in corners of my office and hanging up pictures of pebbles and raindrops on a pond. But I must draw the line at spraying the psychic protection mist and rearranging the office before a full moon.
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