More Than a Number

I first learned of the Enneagram in 2006. My boss at the time kept talking in numbers and I felt incredibly curious if not left out of some grand, who’s who party. She was convinced I was a two. What does that even mean? What’s a two? And why not a seven? Even numbers are boring! (Or so I thought.)

Whereas I had great respect and trust for this woman, deep down, I simply couldn’t
stomach the idea that I could be reduced to a number. This felt far too pedestrian,
or boxy for the likes of me. I didn’t know it then, but I soon learned, this was the first clue I was not in fact a two, but a four, the Romantic.

I left work that day and ordered the only book I knew on the subject, The Enneagram: A Christian Perspective, by Richard Rohr and Andreas Ebert. I devoured it like a marathon runner carb-loading before race day. It became something of a Bible and an oxygen tank for me.

I won’t lie. For the first couple of years, I was “that girl” who’d try to type you in the Starbucks line. I’m pretty sure my friends and family were ready to issue a restraining order if I mentioned those damn numbers one more time. For this dogmatic behavior, I do apologize.

Here’s the thing though. We are all zealots in love during the honeymoon phase. All we want to do is talk about this flawless person (or system in my case) that can do no wrong and smells amazing. However, I believe true love far outlasts the honeymoon phase, deepening and morphing into what comes to feel like home.

Fast forward 13 years. I’m still in love with the Enneagram. As a wife, mom-to-be, psychotherapist, writer, teacher, and dreamer, I can honestly say it’s the baseline I come back to for grounding and refreshment amidst a world spinning on its head. It reminds me who I really am before I put on all those other hats. It continuously, graciously, calls me home to the truth of who I am.

Here’s the catch though: If we stay fixated on the optics of our type—all those behavioral characteristics that name and explain us—and fail to apply it’s practical wisdom to our daily experience and relationships, we miss out on the transformational aspects of the Enneagram. It’s like saying “Sure, I’ve been to Paris!” When you’ve really only had a four-hour layover at Charles de Gaulle en route to Frankfurt. Sure, you saw the Eiffel Tower from your window seat coming in and scarfed down a day-old croissant at the gate, but you never truly got to savor the magic of the city. What a tease!

Are you looking to deepen your understanding of the Enneagram? Perhaps you know your type and want to put this new-found knowledge into practice. Good news, my friend, you’re in the right place.

This fall, I’m inviting you into some exciting experiences to do just that. In the meantime, I’d love to hear where you are on your Enneagram journey. Please feel free to hit reply to this email and share!


Love & Gratitude,

Katie

Great Expectations (or not)

Here we are.

This is not a throw away sentence. It’s perhaps the most profound reminder we’ve got.

We will never ever experience the present moment ever again. It’s gone in a heartbeat and yet is the only sure thing we ever really touch—presence, being, the here and now.

If you’re like me, presence becomes harder and harder to fully grasp in seasons of waiting and anticipation. At nearly eight months pregnant, I’m struggling to stay in the moment and soak up these final days of life as a non-parent (read: sleep).

I’ve always felt summer can be a bit like the Holidays as it kicks up a whole host of unique demands and expectations, leaving me often anxious if not resentful. It’s tempting to compare my life to others I see magically splattered all over social media cavorting around far away places by fake looking bodies of water with glamorous wardrobes to boot. Hell, I haven’t even gotten in a pool all year long and feel more like a weary beached whale than an energetic summer explorer.

Where do these expectations even come from? My hunch is, they come from the stories we make up in our heads. Ah, those glorious narratives of certainty, guarantees, entitlement, essentially—suffering.

Last week we unpacked this idea that pain is inevitable while suffering is optional.

Why? Because suffering is the story we make up about our pain. “I should have a better job that lets me travel more.” “I should have a partner that enjoys doing the same things I do.” “I shouldn’t have to work so hard. After all, it’s summer and I deserve to relax and enjoy my time.”

Whereas these may be true, I don’t know how much progress we make changing our reality by playing the victim. In fact, there are no guarantees in this life. That said, keeping unrealistic expectations flush in our back pocket is a fast way to prevent abundance in our everyday experience.

As an Enneagram type four, I often struggle with this pervasive longing for what’s missing in the moment. For example, “Ah, the sunset is beautiful, but I wish it were a bit cooler so I could really enjoy it more.” I know. Gross.

This dangerous habit creates a crusty resentment which in turn drives away joy.

Because the struggle is so real for me, I created a little Expectation Inventory to keep me in check a few years back. I’ve come to wholeheartedly believe the pivotal moment in every unrealistic expectation is simple: gratitude. It tethers us in the here and now. It gently leads us back home to presence. Gratitude changes everything in an instant.

Today, I’m sharing my inventory with you. Keep it close and use like guard rails when you start to slip into resentment. Maybe, like me, they will keep you on track and reminded of what you do have as opposed to what you lack.

Expectation Inventory:

1. How do I feel right now?

2. What unrealistic expectations am I feeding into?

3. What is the payoff for having these expectations of myself or others?

4. What would it feel like if I were able to let go of these?

5. What do I need in order to let these expectations go?

6. What am I grateful for?

Enjoy…truly!

Love & Gratitude,
Katie

I'm okay

The stories we tell ourselves keep us safe because they help us make sense of the world. Here’s the catch though, these stories don’t have to be necessarily true—they just have to be complete in order to do so.

“In the absence of data, we will always make up stories. In fact, the need to make up a story, especially when we are hurt, is part of our most primitive survival wiring. Mean making is in our biology, and our default is often to come up with a story that makes sense, feels familiar, and offers us insight into how best to self-protect.”

For decades, I told myself a story that I was somehow wildly deficient. Everyone else made it out of labor and delivery just fine. Not me. I was flawed and had to work overtime to measure up—to show up.

What facts supported this story? What was the payoff for believing it? These are two questions I didn’t start asking myself until my late 20’s. And man were they gnarly narratives to reconcile.

I won’t get into the gory details here, but basically I’d adopted this self-defeating narrative early on in childhood in order to make sense of a wound and my childish belief about that wound. The binary conclusion I came to about that wound paid off in dividends because it helped me overcompensate and defy it’s possible effects moving forward. How? By armoring up with perfectionism and the insatiable desire to prove the world wrong: I am indeed enough and will work realllllly hard to show you!

This worked well until it nearly killed me.

You and I are very much alike in that we both live out of stories— some of them life-giving, some of them need serious editing.

I’ll never forget the first time I sat in my therapists office and said these words out loud, albeit wobbly and with a quizzical tone, “I’m okay.”

Now that’s a narrative that changed everything. If I was in fact, “okay,” I could drop the act and quit hustling for worthiness. As a recovering perfectionist, this would be a long, humbling process—and a risk.

Oh but the risk far outweighed the expired reward of that old, broken story. It’s proved much more fun as well.

I’m leaving you with a writing prompt to push around this week. It may help you identify a few broken records you’ve been unconsciously wearing out for too long.

If I could write the next chapter of my story and play the hero instead of the victim, it would go something like_________________________________.

Spend 10 minutes to an hour with that one. Tell me how it goes…

Love & Gratitude,

Katie

Leaning into Loss: 3 Lessons on Grief

You may not realize it, but life either has, or will, make you something of a hope vendor. Loss is all around us. It makes up at least 50% of life. At times, you’ve worn the hat of grief counselor for friends, family, and co-workers. I want to share some insight I’ve gained that might shine a light on these often immobilizing and confusing stretches.

A couple of years ago, I attended an all-day workshop led by David Kessler, self-help author and grief guru. He is most well known for his groundbreaking work with Elisabeth Kubler Ross, a Swiss-American psychiatrist who pioneered what we know as hospice care as well as the Kubler-Ross model, or the five stages of grief (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance).

Despite Kessler’s expertise in death and grieving, he is hilarious. He cracked jokes throughout the entire day, poking fun at himself and taking some light-hearted stabs at the afterlife. I found this profound in light of his work’s focus.

Here are three key insights to remember about grief and the grieving process:

We Grieve in Character

Have you ever known someone who is super level-headed, maybe even annoyingly practical and even-keel, experience a major loss and recover with seamless resilience? Perhaps to the point you even asked them, “Are you sure you're okay? You don’t even seem like this phased you!”

Unless there is a small chance (less than 15%) they’re experiencing delayed grief, he/she is grieving in character, meaning— the way we normally do life is the way we also grieve.

As an Enneagram four, I grieve in all colors of the rainbow; with intensity and every shade of emotion. Hell, my feelings even have feelings, so this emotional intensity checks out in light of my baseline character.

Suffering is Optional

Pain is inevitable; suffering is optional.

Pain and loss are an integral part of life. Suffering, however, is the story we make up about our pain. For example, “This shouldn’t be happening to me” or “It wasn’t supposed to end this way.” We quickly forget how much a part of life loss is as the proverbial record gets stuck on that screeching note of overwhelming shock and awe.

The upside is we have complete power over whether we suffer long-term or not. When we suffer, we live in our heads and attach to narratives of futile embellishments… "why me?”

Resilience shines not when we deny our pain, but as we courageously “lean into the suck” as Sheryl Sandberg cleverly puts it in her latest book Option B. Loss is painful, and the quickest way to the other side is through it, not around it.

Fixing Doesn’t Work

There is no rational way to fix traumatic loss just like there is no way of scientifically explaining romantic love. It just is.

Grief must be witnessed, not explained.

When I try to relate to someone in their grief by offering up a “me too,” what I’m doing is making it about me, not actively listening. In doing so, I cheapen their felt experience. Don’t worry, grief will inevitably run its complex and necessary course. We don’t have to, nor can we ever simply fix it. A hug, an open ear, and a shoulder to cry on will work far better.

From my own experience, I’m reminded how isolation wreaks havoc on the grieving soul. I'm not saying we need to extrovert-up and throw ourselves into social chaos. However, knowing we’ve got a few safe people who will witness our grief is vital. We’re not meant to go this road alone.

As I write this, I’m cringing on the inside. It’s so pat…so formulaic. The grieving process is far from math. It’s ghastly. It feels like death. It’s bigger than space and time and breaks us in a way that feels violent—wrong.

So how do we intentionally bring awareness to this part of life, even when what we currently experience feels light and joyful? It’s a combination of two things: we stop to give thanks a lot more for the things we have that bring life, laughter, and meaning. We also explore in conversation the reality of loss, not to focus on the negative, but mindfully acknowledge the fragility of it all. These two go hand in hand.

If you or someone you know is alone in their grief, know that there are options. Please reach out if your grief needs a witness. It won’t stop the pain, but it might ease the suffering.

Love & gratitude,

Katie

The Enneagram and what's right with you.

I turned forty last Monday. Surprisingly, it was painless, even…lovely!? I’ve been joking around with people who ask how it feels in saying, “It’s glorious. I feel like my age is finally catching up with my soul.” As an old soul since the womb, this really does feel accurate. I’ve always felt a kinship with those older than me. As a kid, I used to hang out for strangely long stretches at the dinner table to listen to conversation my parents would have with their dinner guests. They seemed far more interesting than the make-believe dialog happening in the playroom (although I did love to go there alone in my spare time). But if given the choice to linger at the adult table or play with barbies amongst the other youngsters, 11 times out of 10 I’d choose the first.

This balances out nicely when you’re a bit older and have the freedom to hang with whomever you choose, but in grade school and adolescence, it’s brutal. I perpetually felt misunderstood, alone, and longing for something deeper.

Enter Enneagram.

When I first discovered the Enneagram 13 years ago, I felt a massive wave of relief wash over me, explaining answers to angry questions I’d been asking God for a long time. Why did I do the things I did? How could I learn to make peace with the complex and often terrorizing crew of emotions always up loud? Could anyone explain the inadequacy and longing raging deep inside?

When I read about the character structure for the Enneagram type four, or Individualist, I quickly discovered the foreign language I’d been speaking all along was not what was wrong with me, but what was right with me. In fact, there were others who spoke this language and an entire road map dedicated to us who felt all the same feelings and needed all the same help. I wasn’t, in fact, underdressed and a day late to the ball. (God forbid ever showing up underdressed to a party. My Mama taught me better.)

The Enneagram has been so life-changing, I’ve spent over a decade immersed in self-study and formal training in order to better resource others who might also gain more self-awareness and transformation in their lives. I do take it seriously, and in doing so, have dedicated myself to being a lifelong student. After all, it’s no buzzy trend. It’s been around since the fourth century and is here to stay. I’m no expert, but have recently stepped into the roles of coach and teacher which are beyond thrilling for me.

As I enter this new season of life, I want to invite you to join me. We’ll be talking a bit more about Enneagram concepts here on the blog as well as in therapy and out in the community.

In just a few weeks, I’ll be introducing a monthly Enneagram opportunity for you as well as a free resource I’ve created for you on your unique journey.

I believe the Enneagram is much more than a personality test. It’s an open-ended invitation to the truest version of you. Now that’s a party I don’t want to miss.

It’s also a gentle and wise companion for your everyday experience.

Trust is built over time and baked in safety. We’ve come a long way together. I can’t wait to write this next chapter of the story together.

Love & Gratitude,

Katie