SPARK Insights by Coach Reg – Issue #0019

Last week’s letter brought in the most responses I’ve ever received to a newsletter.

People told me they were deeply affected and several wrote thoughtful, long responses back. They said, “This is me.” They said, “I finally feel seen.”

And I meant every word of it.

But this week… I need to tell you what happened next.
Not because I need to explain myself.
But because I promised you I’d keep this space honest.

Last week, I wrote about all the times I’ve felt overlooked — the rooms where people didn’t know who they were sitting next to, the quiet ache of being unseen. And I named the truth:

But here’s the shadow of that story — the part I didn’t write last week:

It doesn’t happen in my coaching work — in SPARK Sessions, I’m clean. I hold space. I stay in the pocket.

But outside those sessions — in collaborative spaces, in peer circles, in moments where the lines blur —
this old part of me takes the mic. I interrupt. I steer. I drop insight that wasn’t asked for. I unconsciously shift the dynamic so I’m the one holding the room. And in the moment, I tell myself I’m helping.

But I’m not helping. I’m hijacking.
Not with malice.
With an old wound I haven’t fully healed.

Here’s the root:
I was a boy who wasn’t picked.
I was overlooked, underestimated, unchosen for most of the first 18 years of my life.
And somewhere deep in me, a part learned this:

So now — when that old story gets triggered — it doesn’t whisper.
It grabs the mic.
It takes over the room.
It drowns out the people I love — the same way I used to be drowned out.

That’s what happened recently with a group of people I care about deeply. I won’t go into the details — they’re not the point. But I saw it. I felt it. And this time, I didn’t push it down. I owned it.

I reached out. I apologized — not to fix, but to witness.
I named the pattern and asked for accountability.
And something cracked open.

Not just in the relationship — in me.

Because I realized something I’ve never fully admitted:

That’s a sobering truth to sit with.
But it’s also… freeing.

Because what if I don’t need that wound anymore?
What if I’ve outgrown the story that built me?

What if there’s another way to be seen — not by speaking louder… but by speaking less?

Not by leading with force… but by holding with presence?

This isn’t a “do this” message.
It’s a “here’s where I am” message.

I’m sharing this not because I’ve figured it out, but because I’m finally willing to stop pretending I already had.

And maybe — just maybe — there’s something in your story, too.
Some old pattern you’ve outgrown.
Some voice you’ve overused.
Some armor that’s too heavy now.

I’m not here to tell you what it is.

I’m just holding up the mirror.

And sometimes… that’s enough.

With clarity and care,
Bob

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