I Talked to 26 Therapists in Two Weeks. Here is What I Was Discounting.
How a chaotic calendar and a conversation with my wife forced me to stop discounting my own expertise.
I talked to 20 therapists in two weeks.
Actually, considering I also talked to my own therapist, and I talked to my co-workers and friends, I probably talked to more like 25 therapists. (I am a therapist, and I talk to myself constantly so let’s call it 26.)
I sent a note to a local listserv looking to build a referral network for my coaching clients, and my calendar instantly filled up with back-to-back Zoom calls. I was unprepared for the response. But, I was game!
One morning, my wife asked, “what do you have going on today?” and I said, “Not much — just a bunch of calls with therapists. Like, seven.”
She stood stock still and said, “Holy SHIT.” Like I just casually mentioned I’d be running an ultramarathon this afternoon. Like I declared I was shaving my head.
My wife is an introvert. A delightful, dirt-digging, animal-loving, hilarious and adorable introvert. The idea of having a calendar full of zoom calls is, for her, a low-level Dante-style ring of hell. I said, “Oh, this is so easy! Low stakes! I just talk to a lot of cool people!”
She said, “That’s straight up crazy.”
Here’s what I learned from talking to many, many therapists in a week: I discount what I am good at.
A quick 30 minutes, make a new pal. Easy! And I met so many of them! I even am working on planning a meetup because therapists don’t get out and meet other people in our field nearly enough, and what’s more fun than 20 zoom calls with strangers? A picnic on the lake with 20 strangers!
I’m very good at getting on a phone call, establishing rapport, sharing information and asking questions. Those are the skills that make me a good communicator. They are the fuel I use to feed my galaxy brain and to create programs that help and delight my clients. They are skills that, after years and years of honing, are as available to me as breathing. And I was looking at a day full of back to back meetings as an “easy day.”
As I reflected on this, I realized something else — seven-meeting days are not, in fact, easy for me, either — preparing, being present, following up — all require work, and at the end of a day full of this, I’m tired. But I’m playing in my comfort zone. I don’t dread the day, I don’t feel dysregulated at the end of it. The extra energy required to force myself to do something I don’t want to do feels like so much more work than 8 hours of work I enjoy.
I constantly forget how much work it took for me to get good at these things. I’m really great at doing an intake call because I worked for PR agencies for decades. I’m unintimidated by meeting a stranger because I’ve met thousands of them.
I was talking to a friend who is a deeply seasoned, gifted practitioner of her craft — who had to be reminded that people aren’t paying her to make a phone call. They’re paying her for the years of experience and deep relationships that make it so she knows exactly who to call and precisely what to say.
Even if you don’t have decades of experience, if you’re a natural at something — you’re still doing something that many, many people can’t. Or that they would take so much more time and effort to do.
And here’s the rub: When we discount what comes naturally, we over-commit until we snap.
I went to grad school, ran a business, and planned a wedding at the same time. All things I was interested in and that felt “easy” at the time. I sat in a place of feeling like I wasn’t doing “enough” because nothing felt “hard.” Then I hit a huge burnout wall. Because I was actually doing like three full time jobs and giving myself credit for none of it.
The problem wasn’t the workload. It was the perception. I had convinced myself that if it didn’t feel hard, it didn’t count.
I’m not doing that again.
My wife thought seven meetings was a crisis. I thought it was a light day. We were both right — we were just using different measuring sticks.
Next time you finish a task and think, “Well, that was nothing,” stop. Write it down. Your brain might be telling you it was easy, but your energy levels later will tell you it was real work.
After all, it took millions of years to evolve a brain that makes breathing look effortless.
If you’re ready to stop writing off your best work as “no big deal,” let’s look at it together. Book something here.