A Beginner Again
On mentorship, midlife change, and the courage to start over
It was Tuesday afternoon as I gently walked to the physiotherapist clinic. For six months now I’ve been diligently visiting the clinic almost every week, hoping that the physio’s manual therapy will bring some relief to my stubborn neck pain. So when I entered his office and he introduced me to the intern, I got a little bit worried.
“Would you mind if he treats you today?” – he asked me
Those weren’t the words I wanted to hear as my back pain subtly reminded me of why I was there.
“Of course, be my guest” – I kindly obliged
In that fraction of a second between his question and my answer, empathy kicked in. It wasn’t the first time he had coached an intern in one of my sessions and in the past it all turned out well. But this time, it was different, it somehow felt more personal. I imagined the intern’s eagerness to put what he had studied into practice, his hope to be given a chance to gain the experience he needed to be the professional he always dreamt of becoming. All of a sudden I saw myself in the intern’s shoes, being a beginner again.
I saw myself a few months from now, after my sabbatical. As completely changing career paths is an option, I imagined taking the first steps in an occupation I know nothing about. Who would give me the chance to learn the ropes of the job? Who would coach me as the “newbie” even though I am no longer a young trainee? I pictured myself surrounded by younger colleagues, every single one of them an expert in the topic, having to explain the lingo to me as they slowed down so that I could follow what they were doing. Will they have enough patience to do that or would they assume that because of my age I should be the proficient one? Would they expect me to catch up faster than any other new employee just because of my past professional experience?
Change suddenly felt real. And very unsettling.
As I started feeling relief from my pain, the anxiety also started to go. My mind had gone down memory lane to when I was a young professional over 20 years ago and reminded me of those who had taught me the skills that served me well over the years. Like my manager Jeannette, who always insisted on data robustness, good storytelling and keeping things simple. Or my business partners, who valued strong recommendations rather than data charts. Each comment or feedback allowing me to build an expertise that I still carry with me today.
Being his supervisor, the physio was also guiding and encouraging the intern to ask me questions about my problem and identifying the pain areas he could work on. He started gaining confidence and slowly became more assertive, his hands steadier and more commanding. This made me think of the many people I had the honour of coaching over the years. Many were young professionals when I worked with them and I was hoping to pass on my experiences while they were forging theirs. As I see how some of them have blossomed into leaders in their own rights I wonder if I played any positive part in their development. I guess for most of them, I will never know.
A couple of years ago, however, I received an out of the blue message on LinkedIn. It was from someone that had been part of my team almost ten years prior. I’m not sure what led her to write that message that day, but I’m glad she reached out, as what she said touched me immensely – and still does. She thanked me for what I had taught her and for helping her get better at what she did, as that had allowed her to develop in her career and move to her dream city with her family. But most importantly for me, she said:
“I just wanted to let you know that your efforts were worth it. I am trying to teach my team the skills I learned from you so hopefully someday, someone will also think I’ve been a great mentor to them, as you were for me.”
The physiotherapy session was coming to an end. The intern asked me how I felt and if I had any feedback for him. He had a more poised demeanour and his presence filled the room more than it had done when I entered it. I thanked him and encouraged him to continue studying and practising. My physio seemed happy and proud.
As I gently walked back home, I couldn’t stop thinking about the session. Maybe it hadn’t been what I had expected when I entered the clinic and it wasn’t as effective as it normally was, but I felt better after it, in a very different way. I felt grounded and thankful. I also felt hopeful for myself and for what is to come.
In memory of Alejandra S., my English teacher and friend to whom I am eternally indebted for patiently teaching me to write structured essays in English.
Without her guidance and patience all those years ago, this Substack post wouldn’t exist.
I learned of her passing when trying to recontact her to invite her to read my newsletter, which she never got to do.
This is my humble way of thanking her for teaching me this incredible skill.
Thank you, Ale.
I’m curious how my writing lands with you. If anything I share resonates (or doesn’t!), feel free to add your thoughts, your own story, or even a quiet “me too.”
If this post resonated with you and brought someone else to mind, feel free to pass it along. Sabbaticals are better when they’re shared.
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