This morning I had a classic emotional meltdown. The kind that lurk on days of upheaval, pre-intercontinental flights, when I feel that dash more vulnerable. Days after an amazing month in California when I’m going home to a place that is no longer home. Days like today.

The trigger was typically insignificant. I’d miscalculated my arrival time, so that instead of a civilized 11am arrival into Düsseldorf, allowing plenty of time to transit to Amsterdam and still have an evening to relax and work, it was actually 11 fucking pm. Suddenly I was throwing money at shitty hotels I didn’t want to stay in and early train trips I didn’t want to take and I realized how tired I was of living out of a suitcase, constantly a guest, never sleeping in my own bed. 

And my positivity capitulated. It straight out left the building in a full on, first world tantrum. 
I flung myself on the bed, angry, sobbing. My boyfriend knocked on the door, gave me a hug then tentatively asked me what I needed. I answered through tears: a run. I wanted to sweat and feel the meditative rhythm of my feet hitting the ground which has soothed so beautifully during previous meltdowns. 

As we drove out in Californian sunshine towards the park, I tried to explain what was wrong:

“I am stressed about all the stuff I have to do, oh and I don’t have a home.” 

He nodded and asked, “what would coach Sal tell you now?”

“Huh.” I breathed out. “I’d tell myself to stop stressing about the short term stuff. It will take care of itself. All I have to do is show up. Then I’d suggest working on a plan to solve the longer term homelessness issue.” 

I’d never actually tell a client what to do, obvi. But stepping into my coach shoes helped me get a healthier view on what was happening. This genius move by my bf snapped me out of my malaise. It gave me perspective. 

We talked it through for five more minutes and smashed a five mile run. Afterwards, a sense of confidence and strength had returned, yet again.