I Thought I Could Save Her

This is an email sent to me by my coach… who is Neil Strauss. He’s a well-known author of the book “The Game” and “The Truth” who’s been an inspiration to me in my development.

I’m grateful to get to work with him now.

I wanted to share his email with you:

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SUBJECT:

I THOUGHT I COULD SAVE HER

Nima,

I never thought I’d write to you about something so personal. I tend to save that for the books.

But for some reason, sharing this seemed appropriate, since if you read The Truth, you know her.

Last week, my mom passed away. She’d been ill, but it was still a shock. Much quicker than anyone was prepared for.

When I heard the news, I couldn’t stop crying. My father held the phone to her while waiting for the coroner, and I was able to say a few last words to her, that I loved her, that I was grateful for the way she raised me, and that I hoped she was happy now.

It was that last thought, the hope that she’s happy, that made me think of what I’m about to share.

I spent most of my life wanting my mom to be happy.

I’d seen photos of her when she was younger. She was smiling, having fun, socializing, and just cool.

But the woman I knew wasn’t like that. She could be funny and outgoing, but inside she was deeply unhappy.

She once wrote (slightly paraphrased): “All of the misery that happened to me colored me in black…in tiny dots, in wide strokes, in square packages until no one could see me, the person under the black.”

Since I was about ten or eleven, all the way through my twenties and early thirties, I tried to convince her that her unhappiness was all in her head, that she had the power to change her life, that it wasn’t too late to pursue her dreams.

But her response was always the same: That she’d been ruined, that she was stuck, that it was too late to do anything about it.

I tried to every way I could think of to help her. I gave her advice, solutions, and just listened. I offered to find the right therapist, pay for it, drive her there. Everything.

As you can probably guess, nothing happened and nothing changed.

In short, despite decades of effort, I failed.

(Of course, through my own therapy I eventually stopped trying to “fix” her, and realized I needed to parent myself not her.)

But out of this effort came a gift, something I’ve defined my life by.

That frustrated impulse to “save” my mother is now my passion. I spend my time trying to help others improve their lives, become happy, and escape from the negative stories in their heads.

I learned from an early age that unhappiness is ultimately self-inflicted — or more accurately trauma-inflicted — and found meaning as an adult by helping others rediscover their joy and make their personal dreams come true.

I find that to be true of many in this line of work, as well as health workers: The child’s failed attempt to help a parent (whether from psychological, chemical, or physical distress) becomes the adult’s successful attempt to save others.

This is why I write these emails trying to improve your life. This is why I have these coaching groups trying to get people unstuck from their limiting beliefs and self-sabotaging behaviors. This is why The Society exists. This is why I write books about my own self-improvement journeys.

That is why I’ve dedicated my life to continually learning more so that I can keep sharing what works.

Perhaps we fail with our parents so that we can succeed with others.

That is the gift of trauma. It doesn’t just take away, it also gives.

And so this email is to thank my mother for all she did. Whether I liked it at the time or not. Whether it helped or hurt me. Because without all of it, the so-called good and the so-called bad, I wouldn’t have been able to touch literally millions of lives.

And though I couldn’t save her, that was never my job. The job was to simply accept her and be grateful for the past that made me a person I’m happy with today. And fortunately, in her final year, I was able to tell her that, and that I loved her. Many times.

So this email is a reminder to all of you to never take anyone you love or care about for granted. To forgive if needed, to be grateful always, and to be responsible for your own interpretations of their actions that you’re living out of now.

Treat them as if they won’t be here tomorrow. Because they may not be.

Love,

Neil