My Bookclub, but not really

My book club meets every month and, as with most book clubs, we talk about the book of the month.

But that’s not really the point.

We gather as a group of women and talk about everything—our work, our relationships, our children, our vacations, and how we are doing in general. The conversation usually begins with themes from the book and then grows from there.

I think that’s what makes this group special.

You see, this group of women did not know each other a few years ago.

But they all knew me.

This month, they thanked me for bringing them all together.

That felt uncomfortable.

Not because I don’t love this group. I do. But because I don’t really see it that way. I don’t feel like I brought them together.

Their comment stayed with me, though, and I started thinking about why they see it that way—and why it is so uncomfortable for me to be acknowledged for creating something that has become so meaningful.

When I began my therapy/coaching practice, I had a very specific feeling I wanted my clients to walk away with.

A feeling of ease.

A feeling of connection.

I set up my office to be a comfortable place. I intentionally dressed in comfortable clothing, most usually jeans or yoga pants. My little dog was always available to be petted if a client felt the urge and wanted some comfort.

Every once in a while, I would tell myself that I really needed to dress more professionally. So I would put on a dress and feel very put together.

None of them liked it.

Most were pretty verbal about wanting me to be someone they felt comfortable curling up on the sofa with and sharing their innermost thoughts and feelings.

No more dress-up for me.

But it wasn’t really about the clothes.

So many of my clients had a similar story.

A story of feeling isolated and disconnected.

They had families and friends, but the dynamics of those relationships were shifting. A feeling of loneliness was beginning to overtake the feeling of busyness they had been so used to.

Children were growing up.

Marriages were changing.

Friendships were taking more time and attention.

And relationships that had once seemed strong and secure suddenly required more effort to sustain.

Sometimes there was a feeling that they had somehow done something to fracture relationships that had seemed so strong for so long.

We talked about all of this.

We talked about how easy it is to take these changes personally. We talked about accepting that everything is impermanent—whether it is a feeling in our bodies, a relationship, or a family dynamic.

Everything is constantly changing.

And change, even when it is a natural part of life, can feel very uncomfortable.

After hearing versions of this same story from so many women, I started thinking.

What if they had a place to simply be together?

What if they could take off the roles they were playing in their everyday lives and spend some time being women together?

So I decided to get a few of them together for a weekend retreat.

I would teach.

We would meditate.

We would practice yoga.

We would do some group work.

We would eat good food.

We would have massages.

That was seven years ago.

There were eight women.

I have continued to hold a retreat every fall, and now there are twelve of us.

Some of the faces have come and gone. Some years there are a few new faces.

What started as an invitation to open up and be vulnerable has become a group of women who get together in twos or threes—or all together.

Often.

Sometimes too often!

And now, somehow, they are a book club.

But not really.

They are friends.

They are a community.

They are women who have chosen to stay connected.

I look at them with wonder.

Each of us is very different, and yet somehow exactly the same.

And when they thank me for bringing them together, I want them to see what I see.

They did the work.

They put in the effort.

They are open and loving and tough on each other.

They show up.

They reach out.

They make plans.

They check in.

They bring out the best in each other.

In my own mind, the effort was not really mine.

Of course, putting together a three-night retreat every year is a lot of work.

But sustaining the relationships?

That is theirs to own.

Maybe this is why their gratitude makes me uncomfortable.

Because I didn’t create the friendship.

I created a space where friendship could happen.

And maybe there is a difference.

It feels a little like birthing something and then allowing it to grow and change over time.

Like a family.

Like a business.

Like a relationship.

You can create the conditions.

You can nurture it.

You can give it your attention.

But eventually, it has a life of its own.

And maybe the hardest—and most beautiful—part is learning to step back and watch what grows.