We’re excited to introduce you to the always interesting and insightful Thomas Kevin Dolan. We hope you’ll enjoy our conversation with Thomas Kevin below.
Hi Thomas Kevin , thanks for joining us today. Can you tell us a bit about who your hero is and the influence they’ve had on you?
My Oldest Brother, Like Sweet-But-Sour Candy
The telephone rang one quiet Saturday morning in March of 1988. My aunt spoke sharply down the line, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her next words told me my eldest brother was dead.
He was the most accomplished of our clan, a football star, a shining athlete, and a lovely and gentle human being. As much as I tried to steal his title, he really was perfect.
I identified his body at the morgue. I went to his rooming house to clear out his things. I found the letters he had been writing to his estranged sons, filled with apologies for not being around to raise them. He spoke of his secret: his alcoholism.
My desire to not be married intensified after his death. I grieved for my brother. I grieved for myself. Images of the unfinished letters swam around in my head. When I called his former wife to tell her that he was gone, she told me their boys had each received a letter from their father, days before his death.
I had found only the drafts. He had finished his letters and mailed them. He’d found his words. He’d shared his secret with his sons. He’d shared his truth. And, in doing so, had liberated himself.
Perhaps this was my brother’s gift to me?
Perhaps I could commit to telling my truth?
What I Braved
Even today, 35 years after his passing, I hear myself saying, “You were an amazing man. I miss you, and I trust you’re doing well.”
There were few male role models I felt safe with in my life. My oldest brother was one of them.
He lived a quiet life. I wished I had been mature enough to ask him more questions. I sense he had a lot to teach me, but I also sense he had no idea how to impart that wisdom. At any point in time, when I was younger, I was told some amazing stories about my oldest brother, from his athleticism to his charming disposition, to how generous he was. I always heard good words about him. To me, he felt like a local hero.
He was my head coach during my first years in bantam football in junior high school. Part of my sense of confidence came from his positive encouragement of me.
He’d share without any pressure, “I really feel your leadership capabilities. Your work will be to show that to others.” Even in Grade 9, I understood what he was saying.
During practice one day, bringing my leadership skills to life, I sprinted past the leader of the lap around the practice field we were taking. My teammate blurted, “Fuck off,” as I ran past him. All I remember thinking was, “This is me showing others that I am a leader.”
My brother lived in an age when ‘ink’ (not tattoos) described the amount of press coverage one received in the newspaper and was the measure of one’s sports success. He’d receive write-ups for his prowess in little league baseball, all levels of hockey, football from high school, junior football in Saskatoon, right through to the Canadian Football League, and his success as a football coach.
I was once told by a prominent Calgary sportscaster that my brother was perhaps one of the greatest athletes to come out of Calgary. Yet there existed a sadness about my brother that felt familiar to me. It’s as if he had lived through something I had lived through. Both of us were walking a similar path. While he was alive, I would never be able to figure it out.
We both had secrets: mine was being gay, and his was being an alcoholic.
We both used perfection as a way to hide our secrets. It was our shield that insured the world wouldn’t see our imperfections. God forbid if the world knew who we really were.
He would use alcohol to cover up his sadness. I think it also helped him not be able to feel the pain he created in his relationships. My brother did a lot of work with the Alcoholics Anonymous Twelve Steps, but the one thing he couldn’t shake is what I call Dolan Pride. It was this bullshit belief instilled in us by our parents to never let the real world see who we really were. It kept us from asking for help and inspired us to always cover up the truth with lies.
He inspired my move away from the Catholic school many of the Dolans did not graduate from. That trajectory changed my life. He believed in me. He knew, as he’d often say to me, “Forge your path, one step at a time, young man.”
What I braved in my relationship with my hero was learning to create boundaries and upholding them. Although I’d be stung many times by his hardships, he did honour my no when that was the boundary I needed to create. To this day, I know he understood the steps I was taking.
My oldest brother bestowed upon me two of my life’s most precious gifts: I matter, and I am worthy.
Thomas Kevin , before we move on to more of these sorts of questions, can you take some time to bring our readers up to speed on you and what you do?
Life Design Coaching by Thomas Kevin Dolan Coaching ensures all parts of you get picked up and honoured so that you can live HeartFULLY enabling you to be UNAPOLOGETICALLY YOU!
Living heart centred means you have access to your authentic self while peeling away your ego and living with unparalleled guidance and accountability.
Thomas Kevin Dolan Coaching helps to transform people from a place of not knowing and not remembering who they are, to being able to guide and honour their own hearts and lives.
Thomas Kevin Dolan Coaching helps you reconnect with all parts of you – mind, body, heart – so your spirit can grow.
Powerful distinctions, through varied curriculum are taught, that focus on you discerning which aspect of you – your intuitive self or your cultured self – is running your life.
Life Design Coaching supports your journey to oneness by helping you discover your best self. After all, the world needs that special gift that only you have.
The focus of Thomas Kevin Dolan Coaching is to support you in unleashing your epicness and journey with you as you step into your genius.
The purpose of Life Design Coaching is to ready you for a whole new life so that you feel well, think well, and are in alignment with a belief in yourself.
In all coaching relationships the clients have a thought partner, an accountability partner and a coach.
This soul, heart, mind, and intuitive altering coaching experience helps the client to create a new path that can inform every step of their future.
Certifications/Development/Experience:
Certified Wayfinder Life Coach through The Martha Beck Institute.
Certified Master Integrative Coach Professional™ The Ford Institute for Integrative Coaching with certifications in: Blueprint Coaching, Healing Your Heart Relationship Coaching, Client Driven Coaching, Courage Coaching, Integrative Leader and Best Year of Your Life.
Member of the International Coach Federation.
20+ years experience in the field of traditional, Integrative Coaching and Wayfinder Life Coaching.
What’s a lesson you had to unlearn and what’s the backstory?
Letting The Old Script Go
I do not remember who asked me these questions, but answering them felt vital to a way forward:
“How would it feel to let your story go?”
“How would it feel to open your heart?”
“How would it feel to stop pretending you were perfect?”
The Unlearning
Like so many, I struggled with perfectionism for much of my life. I knew I wasn’t perfect, but there was no way I was going to show the world anything other than my perfect self. This began my journey of what I call ‘waking up ’or ‘walking through my life awake. ’This inspired me to consider stopping the pretence that I was perfect.
On the second day of an experiential weekend called The Shadow Process, created by the late Debbie Ford, I literally fumbled and dropped my whole idea of what being perfect meant to me. With my pink water bottle in hand, walking along the San Diego Bay seawall heading for Day 2 of the weekend, I suddenly stumbled, and my water bottle crashed to the sidewalk. It was dented, scratched, and nasty looking. My first instinct was to march back to the hotel room and pick a spare water bottle since this one was no longer perfect.
And there it was.
I stood aghast, suddenly realizing this was what I do. I refuse to hold any part of myself or hang onto anything that I think isn’t perfect. Worse, still I’ll walk miles backwards to cover it up, let go of or replace anything that resembles imperfection. Tears began to stream down my face with the realization of how scared I was to let anyone see any part of me that wasn’t perfect.
So instead of retrieving my backup water bottle, I continued my walk to the start of day two, having no idea what was in store for me. I did notice feeling uncomfortable carrying a water bottle that was no longer pristine, chip-free, and pretty.
The lead facilitator, Debbie Ford, stood on stage and asked, “So, who wants to share what they discovered about themselves as a result of what we did yesterday?”
Two things happened to me, okay three. First, a nervous shot of energy ran through me. This felt familiar. It was the feeling I got when I was at risk of showing a part of me that wasn’t really perfect. I hated that feeling. Second, I felt an immense calm that was completely unfamiliar to me. Third, I raised my hand.
Rising to my feet in front of more than 150 people, I felt nauseated. A microphone was placed in my hands, and this is what came out of my mouth: “This morning, I dropped my pink water bottle while walking here. It was pristine, without a scratch. It was shiny and new, just the way I’d like you to perceive me.” I could feel my heart pounding.
I took a breath and continued to share, “As the bottle rolled to a stop, all marred from the descent it just took, my first thought was to run back to the hotel room, ditch it, and come back with a new one. I always have a plan B when it comes to hiding what is really going on for me.”
I felt the people in the room stop breathing.
I continued, “It dawned on me that what I do, even when what I have or who I am is scratched and dented, is to pretend that I am perfect.” My Shadow Process colleagues nervously giggled. It was a clue that they knew what I was about to share.
I found the courage, in that moment of sharing, to finally stop pretending I am perfect.
Sharing the imperfections of who I am has brought me joy, authenticity, and a whole host of relationships that reflect back to me that perfectionism, according to Brené Brown, is merely a 200-pound shield I hold up to hide the real me from the world. All I ever received from the charade was exhaustion. The unlearning I allowed myself to have by giving myself permission to stop pretending to be perfect was the release of the lie that the Dolan family was perfect.
I no longer had to lie to cover up my family’s humanity. I no longer had to lie to cover up my humanity. In short, I gifted myself with freedom, at the same time dropping things left and right. I’ve never felt more empowered, and I’ve never felt more brave.
Let’s talk about resilience next – do you have a story you can share with us?
The psychologist leading this meeting turned to me and said, “Tom, what do you think the problems are at home?” I could feel the steely gaze of my mother as I attempted to breathe. I believe I was just a teenager and still have no idea what I was doing sitting in on my mom’s counselling sessions with one of the social workers assigned to the Dolan file. Stranger still, it was while she was a patient at Calgary’s Foothills Hospital.
I have no memory of any of that interaction, but can still feel the fear, confusion, and shame as if it was alive in my cells today. Growing up, I always witnessed a struggle by my older siblings as they attempted to have independent lives. I am sure if I asked their many ex-girlfriends or ex-wives, all of them would tell me that my brothers had no idea how to make them a bigger priority than their mom. My mother leaned on all her kids in some pretty strong ways, and much of it felt very unhealthy.
I remember while celebrating New Year’s Eve with university friends, slipping away to call my mom at midnight. When a girlfriend asked where I’d been and after telling her, she said, “I thought you might be interested in kissing me at midnight, more than your mom.” I was devastated, and shamed.
My best friend in high school always invited me to spend Christmas Eve with his family. It was a Ukrainian tradition that Christmas Eve’s meal not include meat or dairy. As someone not all that fond of meat, it was a feast for me. My friend’s mom was an exquisite chef and an amazing human being.
She passed away, and the following Christmas Eve would be my friend’s and his family’s first Christmas without her. It felt imperative to be there in support of his loss and in honour of her life. Christmas Eve for the Dolans, presided over by mom, was loaded with tension. Who would get drunk? How much second-hand smoke could I endure, and would anyone have a conversation without the television blaring in the background? It was not an event I relished, but Mom made it clear that attendance was mandatory.
On that Christmas Eve, supporting my friend and his family, without the presence of his mom was vital for me. My friend’s dad did a beautiful job in preparing everything his wife had served up the year before. It was a moving Christmas Eve tribute to her and one, in this lifetime, I will always remember.
I thought I did well to get home, just 15 minutes past midnight, only to hear my mom say, as I opened the door, “I hate you! You missed Christmas Eve.” Clearly, Christmas was ruined.
I have many other examples of how it felt like Mom treated me more like her husband than her son. All the money I earned working one full-time and two part-time jobs one summer went to feeding my siblings and paying for $500 electricity bills under the threat of our power being cut off. And yet Mom always had new clothes.
None of what went on felt normal, and there certainly was no room for conversation. My young life was ruled by guilt and shame. Fresh out of high school and deeply in love with a friend – he not being gay – Mom completely devastated my relationship with him. In a desire to stay connected once high school was over, I continued to share as much of my life with him and his girlfriend as I could. The three of us were inseparable. While preparing to meet him one night, as I descended to the basement to get ready to go to a movie, I overheard a muffled comment from my mom.
I turned, walked back up the stairs, and, as politely as I could, said, “Sorry, Mom, I didn’t hear what you said. What was that?” The moment the words fell out of my mouth, I felt terror twinge in my stomach.
“Everyone knows about him. You might want to be careful.” With that, she turned and walked away.
Paralyzed. Not breathing. Shamed. Devastated. I couldn’t believe what she just said.
After what felt like an eternity, I walked back down the stairs. I opened my bedroom door and sat on my bed. My friend and I had laid there, many sleepless nights, talking about life. I adored our time together.
Suddenly, it dawned on me what my mom was implying. In that quip of a comment, Mom was telling me my friend was gay. Nothing could be further from the truth. It was me who was gay and not out. My head felt like it was going to explode, and all I can remember thinking, between bouts of terror, is that my mom knows I’m gay.
Moments later, I called my friend and told a lie about why I couldn’t meet him. It would be, in that moment, how our friendship would end. Mom got exactly what she wanted: me all to herself. We never talked about what happened. We never talked about me being gay.
Forcing me to play the role of surrogate husband and father was a heavy burden. I was left with no coping skills and no way to know how to deal with life experiences that would come my way. I was left feeling hopeless and helpless. My self-esteem was never augmented; all I lived with was the constant feeling of futility. The unlearning for me, in my relationship with my mom and my siblings, was to un-become being the surrogate husband and dad. I was so embarrassed when one of my brothers gave me a Father’s Day card.
The level of parent-child-sibling enmeshment fostered devastatingly unhealthy codependency. I was trained so well to anticipate the needs of my mom and siblings, all the while being completely unaware and having no one to intervene on my behalf. I carried this trait on into my adult relationships. I didn’t stand a chance.
Contact Info:
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Image Credits
Adam Ma