Episode 2 When Everything Looks Fine—But Still Feels Off
I should be fine… so why do I feel so empty?
When I first met Marina, I saw something in her eyes—
a quiet shadow of pain she hadn’t shown anyone.
On the outside, she seemed to have it all together.
Eight years into her career, up for promotion,
the kind of person others describe as “doing well.”
And she spoke proudly of her job:
“It’s fulfilling. I feel challenged and appreciated.”
But behind her smile, something felt… heavy.
In the silence between words, I could almost hear the slow deflation of a balloon.
One day, after we’d built enough trust, she finally said:
“No matter what I do, I still feel empty.
Like a balloon that’s lost all its air.”
Her words stayed with me.
Marina was sharp, composed, thoughtful.
She said,
“I enjoy my work. It’s meaningful, and people value what I do. But…”
Her voice drifted.
“Since my promotion came up, I’ve felt… off.
I just can’t shake this feeling—like something’s missing.
It’s like I’m dragging myself forward, without energy or direction.”
The image she used—a deflated balloon—was heartbreaking.
I gently reflected her words back to her:
“You said work is fulfilling and people respect you,
but you still feel empty, unsure of yourself—
like a balloon that’s slowly losing air.
How does it feel to hear your own words like that?”
She paused.
Then said softly, almost like an outsider looking in,
“It sounds… hard.”
That distance—that inability to connect with her own pain—
felt like the very heart of her struggle.
I asked,
“What if a colleague or friend told you the same thing? What would you suggest?”
“I’d recommend counseling,”
she replied, without hesitation.
A clear and compassionate answer—
but only when it was about someone else.
So I asked,
“Why didn’t you choose that for yourself?”
She paused.
Then, hesitantly,
“…Because my husband doesn’t like it.
It’s complicated. It’s always been like this.”
Suddenly, everything she’d shared started to make sense.
His words, his judgments, the way he dismissed her needs—
they had slowly chipped away at her self-confidence.
“He says, ‘You’re not sick, so you don’t need counseling.
Don’t be so dependent on others.
If something’s wrong, you should talk to ME first.’”
“That’s why I reached out for coaching instead.
It’s forward-looking, and it felt… safer.
Even if he finds out… I thought maybe it would be okay.”
This was emotional control—clear as day.
“I was so scared of his reaction,
it took me months to say anything.”
Her shoulders trembled as she spoke.
Then she added, almost as an afterthought,
“There was abuse in the past…
But that doesn’t happen anymore.”
And yet, even now,
she was afraid of his words,
shutting down her own feelings,
blaming herself for everything.
She truly was that deflated balloon—
dragging herself through life, unable to lift off.
But—
she had still reached out.
She had chosen coaching.
That meant some part of her still longed for air.
Still believed, somehow, that she was worth saving.
A Note for You
Do you ever feel like a deflated balloon?
Please don’t doubt that instinct…
Your exhaustion, your unease—they mean something.
And more than anything—
you are not alone.
If a part of you wants to talk to someone,
please honor that instinct.
Reach out when you’re ready,
to someone you trust, in your own time.
You don’t have to carry it all by yourself.