Back in the day, I had a few students from Asia who used to call me Sensei.
It always made me laugh.
Not because I didn’t take them seriously
but because I never gave myself that title.
I never stood in front of a class in a robe.
I never asked to be followed.
And I sure as hell never saw myself as anyone’s “master.”
But that word…
Sensei “the one who has gone before”
started to stick with me.
Because the truth is,
I had gone before.
I had walked through some very dark places.
I had made mistakes I never thought I’d recover from.
I had broken, rebuilt, broken again… and kept going.
Not because I had a map,
but because I refused to stay lost.
I’ve come to understand that being a teacher isn’t about having all the answers.
It’s about carrying scars that whisper:
“You’re not alone. I survived this too.”
It’s about holding space without needing credit.
About guiding others back to the version of themselves they forgot was still alive under all the pain, confusion, or fear.
It’s about recognizing when someone’s pretending they’re fine, because you used to wear that same mask yourself.
These days, I don’t laugh when someone sees me that way.
I carry it with quiet responsibility.
There’s something sacred about having lived through enough
that your very presence becomes a form of safety for others.
Not because you’re perfect, but because you’ve bled for your truth and don’t flinch when someone else is finally ready to face theirs.
If you’re reading this, and you’ve ever been the one who helped someone rise while you were still healing you know what I mean.
You don’t have to call yourself a coach, a healer, or a mentor.
But when you’ve walked through your own darkness with your soul intact,
you become someone others look to for light.
And that’s something you don’t take lightly.
To this day, I still guide others.
Sometimes through coaching,
sometimes through presence,
sometimes through silence.
I don’t wear a title.
But I do carry a fire.
And if that makes me a Sensei to someone,
then I receive that with humility and gratitude.
Not because I want to be followed, but because I know how it feels to be found
by someone who simply refused to let me stay lost.
We all need that person.
And at some point…
we all become them.
— G
