Someone drives in from Greenfield for a first session, finds a parking spot, sits down in the chair, and spends the first few minutes apologizing for being nervous. Almost everyone does some version of this, and it turns out to be useful, because the nervousness is already material: a tight throat, a laugh that arrives half a second early, hands that cannot decide where to go. More often than not, that is where we start.
This post walks through a first session with me from the discovery call to the drive home, so that you can decide whether this kind of work is for you before you book anything.
What happens before the first session?
Every new client starts with a discovery call. It is a short conversation, and its only purpose is to find out whether we are a fit. I ask what brings you and whether you are working with a therapist. You ask whatever you want to ask. I explain what a session involves and what I do not do, and we cover fees and scheduling then, so that nothing about the first session is a surprise.
If the call shows that what you need is a therapist rather than a coach, I say so on the call and help you find one. I am a coach, not a therapist, and the discovery call is the first place that line gets drawn.
What does the first session look like?
It starts as a conversation. You tell me about the thing you want to change, which might be a pattern at work, a way you react to a particular person, or a feeling of being braced all the time without knowing against what. I listen, and while I listen I watch, because in Hakomi, the method I trained in, the body is already answering the question before the sentence is finished.
At some point I ask whether you would be willing to slow down, which is a real question, and you can say no. If you say yes, I ask you to close your eyes or soften your gaze and pay attention inward while I describe what I noticed: “Your shoulders came up when you said your manager’s name.” You check whether that is true, and if it is, we stay with it. Hakomi calls this studying present experience in mindfulness, and in a first session it can take as little as a few minutes.
From there I may offer a little experiment. I say a short sentence, or suggest a change in posture, and we both observe what your body does in response. The sentence might be “you can set it down for now.” Your shoulders might drop, or rise further, or your breath might catch, or nothing at all might happen, and every one of those is information we can use. I am watching what already happens, and so are you.
Touch is sometimes part of Hakomi, a hand placed on the shoulder for example, and it only happens if I ask first and you say yes. You can decline touch for the session or for good, and nothing else about the session changes.
What should I wear or bring?
Clothes you can sit and breathe in comfortably, and nothing else. You do not need a story prepared or any experience with mindfulness, yoga, or bodywork. People who have never closed their eyes in front of another adult do fine.
What if I cry, or what if nothing happens?
Both are common, and neither is a problem. Tears often arrive before the reason does, and in mindfulness that is expected. Nothing happening is also a result: it tells us that whatever you came in with is being held somewhere we have not found yet, or that the body does not yet trust the room, which is a reasonable position for a body to take on a first visit.
What if what comes up is bigger than coaching?
Then I say so, because a first session sometimes surfaces something that belongs with a licensed therapist, such as a history of harm, panic, or a grief that has not moved in years, and when that happens I stop the coaching work, tell you what I am seeing, and help you find a therapist. Pittsburgh has many, and some of them practice Hakomi, so the handoff can keep the same language. If you are already in therapy, tell me on the discovery call, and I will keep coaching inside its lane.
How do I book?
The discovery call is the first step, and you can read more about how I work at /coaching/.
The person from Greenfield, in my experience, says the drive home was quieter than the drive in. Nothing got solved in one sitting, and what people describe instead is the quiet that comes after someone else has noticed the thing they were carrying without knowing it. Wear something you can breathe in.