A Year In: My Real Introduction

I’ve been here with you in this space for about a year now and I almost feel like we’re friends. Every week I sit down to write, and by now you probably know pieces of my life. But I realized I’ve never really done a formal introduction. So here it is.

This column actually started on a whim. At the time, I was working as a divorce mediator and still am and thought maybe if I wrote a column about mediation, it would help drum up some business. So, I sent an email, pitched the idea, and before I knew it, I had a weekly spot in the paper. No plan, no strategy, just, “why not?”

At first, I wrote about divorce. Custody schedules, conflict resolution, the ins and outs of what I was doing. But I realized pretty quickly that I was bored. Mediation is one part of me, but it is not all of me. Slowly, without even meaning to, I started writing about life instead. My life. The struggles, the reinventions, the small things that end up being big.

What I never expected was the response. And not just from the Five Towns. People from Monsey, Florida, and this summer I found out people were reading my column in the bungalow colonies. My articles were being forwarded to people who do not even get the paper. Sometimes when I’m sitting in a restaurant, people come up to me and say, “Keep doing what you are doing. You’re making a difference.” 

My professional path has never been straight. I started out as a couples’ therapist and did that for many years until I hit burnout. I remember sitting in my office one day, listening to another couple fight in circles, and realizing I had nothing left to give. That was a hard moment for me because therapy was not just a job, it was my entire identity. Walking away felt like failure. After that, I bounced around. I worked for a furniture company. I taught 5th grade in Darchei—that was a funny one. I became an HR director. Eventually, I found my way back to people-work through divorce mediation, career coaching, and life coaching. From the outside, it probably looks scattered. From the inside, it felt like survival. Reinvention was not a choice. It was the only way forward.

My personal story has its own weight. I married young. When I was 28, my mother was diagnosed with cancer. She was sick for 12 years. Those were the years I was raising my kids, building my home, trying to create a sense of normal while knowing nothing was really normal. I remember sitting in the hospital with her so many times and her begging me to go home because it was so late. I remember leaving the hospital and crying the whole way home, then pulling myself together before walking into my house while trying to be a good mother and wife. She died too young, and those years left a mark on me that I still carry. They left me moving quickly because I know how short life was, and they left me softer because I know how fragile it is.

For so long, I told myself this was not really a story. Many people struggle, so what? I even used to joke that I would never be on “Meaningful People” (and I mean that as a compliment to the Gordon family, who built something beautiful) because nothing in my life felt dramatic enough. There was no one big headline moment that split everything into before and after. But maybe that is not how stories usually look. Maybe the real ones are built from chapters like these. The burnout, the detours, the long shadow of illness, the small moments of resilience. None of them sound dramatic on their own, but together they have shaped who I am.

And since I am already being vulnerable, here is one part I have never really shared: I stutter. Not always, not every word, but enough. Enough that I have hung up mid-sentence when I could not get a word out. Enough that I have stayed quiet when I wanted to speak. Enough that I carried shame about it for years. Which makes it almost ironic that Hashem gave me a career where my whole job is talking. Mediating. Coaching. Guiding. And the dream I hold closest is standing on a big stage one day, speaking to thousands. And I stutter.

I sometimes wonder why Hashem gave me a voice that trips when all I want to do is speak. And then I think of Moshe Rabbeinu, who also had a stutter and he begged Hashem to send someone else because he did not feel worthy. But maybe the very fact that he was not a fluent speaker was what made him the right choice. If the greatest leader could stand before Pharaoh with imperfect speech and still carry the weight of a nation, then maybe I did not have to wait until my words come out perfectly to use them. Maybe my stutter is not what disqualifies me. Maybe it’s what makes my story worth telling.

I remember once going to a rabbi for advice, and he told me something that has stayed with me ever since. He said, “We are not put here just to live in comfort. We are supposed to struggle. I do not want a life where everything is perfectly smooth.” At the time, I thought he was crazy. Who doesn’t want smooth? But as the years went by, I started to understand. Maybe that is true with speech too. Maybe my words were never meant to come out perfectly. Maybe the struggle itself was part of the point.

And here’s the funny part. While I live with a stutter, this week on a group coaching call, someone told me I come across as intimidating and confident. I laughed out loud. Afterwards, I even called my sister. “Me? Intimidating?” I’ve always thought I was the least intimidating person in the room. And yet, I keep hearing it: people telling me I’ve changed their lives, that I have a gift I do not even realize I’m using. I’m not sharing this to brag; I’m sharing it because it feels so different from how I see myself. And I think that is true for a lot of us. We do not feel the way other people experience us.

So here I am, a year in, finally giving you a real introduction. My story is not neat or polished. It is a zigzag of careers, long years of illness, a stutter, strangers in restaurants who tell me to keep going, and a rabbi’s words that still echo in my head. We were not put here for comfort; we are here to struggle. It is me thinking I do not have a story, and realizing that maybe the very things I thought disqualified me are the things that connect me the most to you.

So, thank you for reading, for sharing, for stopping me to say it matters. Maybe we really are friends after all. 

Tamara Gestetner is a certified mediator, psychotherapist, and life and career coach based in Cedarhurst.  She helps individuals and couples navigate relationships, career transitions, and life’s uncertainties with clarity and confidence. Through mediation and coaching, she guides clients in resolving conflicts, making tough decisions, and creating meaningful change. Tamara is now taking questions and would love to hear what’s on your mind—whether it’s about life, career, relationships, or anything in between. She can be reached at 646-239-5686 or via email at [email protected]. Please visit TamaraGestetner.com to learn more.