Guide, don't perform: when the fear of expectations holds you back

“Can I really do this?” I hear this question surprisingly often. I hear it from beginners, but also from people who have practiced for years, have experienced a great deal and are, honestly, long since ready.

Recently, in a conversation, it happened again. Everything was actually in place, and yet this one worry hung in the room: the worry about the expectations that come with the new role. Some people call it impostor syndrome, the fear that at some point someone will notice you don't know enough after all.

I know this feeling, too. And over the years I've understood something about it that takes the pressure off for many people.

Whose expectations are these, really?

What real guests expect is quite simple. They found your offer, it touched them, and they trust you. They want to experience it with you. They don't expect perfection, and they don't expect someone who knows everything.

The expectations that are so loud in your head often come from somewhere else. With many of the people I accompany, they're voices from the past: people who made them feel they weren't enough. Those were mostly their own unresolved issues. But they keep working as long as we carry them around with us.

And this is where the real sticking point lies for me. What I've observed is this: if you constantly have these expectations in your head, you write and speak from them. That way you attract exactly the people who have such expectations. The old scenario confirms itself, even though it has nothing to do with the people who are really yours.

A different role

You don't have to stand up front and put on a show. You're a guide, and people simply do the practices along with you. You walk a little ahead because you already know the way, and the others come along. The whole thing can be a lovely experience, for them and for you.

When this role really lands inside you, a lot changes. Your voice gets calmer. You're allowed to say, “I don't know that, let's look at it together.” And at some point it becomes pleasantly irrelevant to you whether someone has other expectations. Then you can say it in a very relaxed way: this is my offer, and whoever would like to join is warmly welcome.

Two levels that go together

• On the outside: clarity about your people. When you know exactly who your evenings are meant for, you only speak to the people who really fit you. I describe how that can work in the article on the ideal client avatar for spiritual practitioners. By hand, this kind of clarity can take months. I once spent three weeks on this one question alone. With the custom GPTs I've built for it, you can get there in an hour or two today.
• On the inside: the old connections. Topics like this often come with inner resistance to change. Reiki sessions are one possibility. I personally like to work with Kuji Kiri here. It can open space for releasing the energetic connections to the people who fed this old scenario. If something weighs on you heavily, though, spiritual work is no substitute for professional help.

And one more thing that takes a lot of pressure off: it's enough if one person comes to your first evening. With thirty people right at the start, you'd more likely be overwhelmed. Every single evening gives you experience, even with a single guest.

A small start for today

Take a sheet of paper and draw a line down the middle. On the left, write: Which expectations am I afraid of? On the right: Whose voice is this? Often you notice while you're still writing that the right-hand column is full of people from your past, and not the people who will come to your evenings.

Then write one sentence about your role, in your own words. For example: “I walk ahead, and whoever likes can come along.” Put it where you'll see it before your first evening.

And set a date. In my experience, the biggest danger isn't making a mistake. It's putting things off. Suddenly another quarter has gone by, and the thought “well, later then” comes easily, even though everything is ready.

It doesn't have to be perfect

A single evening with a single person is a real beginning, and the rest grows from there. In more than 25 years I've seen many people start with exactly this worry. And many of them told me later that the fear beforehand was bigger than anything that actually came.

So you're allowed to start before you feel completely ready. In my experience, the feeling of being ready usually only shows up along the way.