🔥
☀️ Builder's Morning
We talk about a yes like it's the finish line.
Someone joins, someone says yes to your help, someone trusts you, and we celebrate, as we should.
But there's a quieter thing that happens in that same moment, and almost nobody names it.
I remember the first time one person asked me for my personalized help.
A former colleague invited me to lunch, said she wanted my opinion on a few things, and I honestly didn't think much beyond that.
Just two colleagues catching up.
And then, over lunch, she told me she'd love to work with me, that she wanted my coaching.
I was genuinely surprised, the good kind of surprised.
This was someone who, from the outside, seemed to have it all together.
And she was sitting across from me saying, in her own way, "I trust you to help me."
Alongside the honor of it, and there was real honor and real gratitude, came something that felt a lot like fear.
Because a yes asks something of you that a no never does.
A no, you feel, and you move past it.
A yes, you have to carry.
This person had just handed me her hope, her belief that I could actually help her get where she wanted to go.
She'd chosen me.
And in that moment, the quiet thought underneath the honor wasn't only "how wonderful."
It was "What if I let her down? What if she trusted the wrong person? What if I'm not enough for this?"
Here's the thing.
You feel this too, every time someone trusts you.
When a member joins your community, when someone signs up for your help, when a person finally says yes to what you offer, they're doing exactly what she did at that lunch.
Handing you their hope.
Believing you can help them get where they're going.
Every yes you receive carries that same quiet weight, because every yes is someone choosing you.
If you've felt that, the strange weight tucked inside a yes, you're not doing anything wrong.
That weight is love.
It's what happens when you genuinely care about the person trusting you, and it's proof you take the responsibility seriously.
Here's what took me a while to understand, and it changed how I hold it.
I used to think honoring someone's trust meant I had to have all the answers.
That I was now responsible for producing her transformation, carrying it on my back, delivering the whole result.
No wonder it felt so heavy. That's a weight nobody could hold.
What I know now is that honoring the trust doesn't mean carrying the person.
It means walking alongside them.
My job was never to do her transformation for her.
It was to really connect, to understand her, to guide, and most often, just to ask the right questions and help her get out of her own way.
She was always going to do the walking.
I just needed to walk with her, and make sure she wasn't doing it alone.
That's the shift that takes the weight from crushing to bearable.
You are not responsible for carrying someone to their destination.
You are responsible for walking beside them, honestly and fully, while they find their own way there.
So here's what I'll leave you with, and I won't tie it up neatly...
The weight you feel when someone trusts you...
Is it the weight of a promise you can't keep, that you'll deliver their transformation for them?
Or the weight of a promise you can keep, that you'll show up, walk beside them, and give them everything you honestly have?
One of those was never yours to carry.
The other is exactly what being trusted asks of you.
8
18 comments
☀️ Builder's Morning
Leaderboard (30-day)
1
🔥
+389
2
🔥
+337
3
+332
4
+241
5
🔥
+241
Powered by