Sabrina was born and raised in Cyprus and studied in Hungary (Pécs Medical University). Now she is an empathetic, experienced medical physician working in Switzerland and a supportive, open life coach (Noble Manhattan Coaching). Apart from her daily job, Sabrina chooses to pull rather than push energy and is doing so by feeding her constant need for curiosity, exploration and discovery. She is the President of Coaches in Basel, coaches people, dances, enjoys climbing, singing and Zumba, blogs passionately ( on a regular basis and volunteers to the Red Cross Basel. Her vision is to empower coaching in the medical field on all levels of the organisation, beginning with patients (children and adults), their families, nurses, doctors, managers etc. At the moment, she is experimenting with discovering the values of her patients and their family members. Her passion for growth, to inspire and be inspired, as well as to help and be there for others allows her to lead a fulfilling life, come in contact with people from different walks of life, contribute and have fun while doing so.

Falling in love with stories is a magical feeling. Thinking back a part of me is feeling guilty for not making the time to read all the literature stories Ι could have. Recently a beautifully written funny story came back from my memories. It’s written by Dimitris Psathas, called “The big purse and the little purse”. If you ever have the chance to read it, go ahead! It certainly brings funny, exciting memories in my mind.

Ι wish I had invested more time to read the rest of the stories of Greek literature. Beautiful stories have been written, amazing stories have been told, awesome stories have been read. Yet, there are the others, the unsaid, the unwritten, the unread ones. What happens to them? Is there like place where they go to rest? Is there a place such as a “Story Retirement Home” or a “Story Necropolis”? Or maybe they are taken captive by a Story Dragon that either burns them or keeps them safe in some kind of treasure in his cave. Or do they just go about existing in the infinite space of time until they finally become discovered by a Muse, who in her turn gives it as a present to an artist of any sort, who then translates it with senses that a humble human creature might understand-or not.

It is crazy to try to conceive how many stories already exist in any form that we can interpret. Can it also be that the same story has been interpreted a million times in a million different ways? The unknown number of the stories yet that haven’t been said, written or read must certainly be vast, infinite. One may argue that for a story not to be said, written or read, it means that it’s not enough, not really worthy. On the other hand, how can that be true? How unfair is that? “Wake up, Sabrina! Life is unfair!”. Now that might be a story, never said, written or read. It might be a story in process. Or just a simple crazy tangle of my mind or maybe my Cypriot Muse comes and goes giving me mixed or broken signals.


We all have a dark side. Most of us go through life avoiding direct confrontation with that aspect of ourselves, which I call the shadow self. There’s a reason why. It carries a great deal of energy.

Lorraine Toussaint

I seem to keep coming back to the same questions. I seem to keep coming back to the same answers. It feels like I keep landing to the same thoughts. Somehow however I end up -well, at least in certain areas of my life- to different results. Which would intuitively mean that I’m indeed doing something different, wouldn’t it? Maybe the questions are somewhat different, or the answers are tweaked. I’m having trouble understanding how it all changes, and sometimes not.

In the last couple of months, I’ve been love struck by my inner child. And it’s somehow a new-found land. A new place that I haven’t really known, a place that I’m inventing as I go. Invention comes with a certain playful sentiment of curiosity and the allowance for experimentation. I feel I am in a jungle of emotions, thoughts, behaviours, beliefs and values. And weirdly enough it feels scary yet fascinating at the same time. And what surprises me and at times leaves me at awe the most is the courage it takes to lean into the fear, lean into the unknown, lean into this jungle and embrace it for what it is. 


I imagine me getting beaten by the annoying mosquitos, being afraid of hissing sounds, being scratched by trees and plants, sometimes being splashed from sudden rain and others being frustrated, tired and breathing heavily because of the endless warmth and humidity. And in this jungle, it’s hard to say if you’ve taken the right path or not. All you know is the way you’ve already passed. The innate hope that there’s something better ahead keeps you going and gives you the strength to explore more.

And the process can be frustrating, tiresome, lonely, exhausting on your body, mind and spirit. But you keep going on. Because apart from all this there’s something exciting about The Unknown. And you can’t help but have faith that there’s something better than what you’ve already seen. Could you go back? Would you go back? Should you go back? Is The Known really known? Is it better? Safer? So, then you decide to just be for a moment, stay dormant, stay still. Maybe then, you wonder at least you know The Now. Or do you? Did you?

In this jungle I constantly find myself taking action and interpret situations based on what I’ve experienced from The Known. Other times, though, I rebel. And I do everything differently. “Fuck the Known, YOLO”, I tell myself. And then I mentally prepare for the thunders and storms ahead. Because they will come. The mind needs to prepare for the worst. Resigning is not an option anyways. Relentlessness is the skill that I’m learning, the resistance and strength my body, mind, and spirit can exert under new circumstances.

How pathetic! I’m sometimes pathetic. But I won’t apologise for that. I’m pathetic for being human, for being such a perfectly imperfectly designed machine. I’m pathetic for doing my best. I’m pathetic for expecting so much from my body, mind and spirit. I’m pathetic for having the hubris to even think I could be better, do better, love more, care more, have more. I’m pathetic for not knowing what I want. I’m pathetic for trying and doing so much. I’m pathetic for it being able to focus. I’m pathetic for not being fast enough or slowing down enough. I’m pathetic for having so many interests. I’m pathetic for being scared. I’m pathetic for daring to dare. I’m pathetic for daring to dream. I’m pathetic I’d even think I deserve better. I’m pathetic for swinging between ideas, goals, skepsis and praxis, avoiding
and confronting, pushing away and pulling in, happiness, fear and sadness, loneliness and belonging, having control and giving it up, freedom and bondage, autonomy and dependence, safety and danger, narcissism and altruism. How pathetic is the randomness of it all and how confusing it all sounds!

I‘m in a blue sea swimming, floating, drowning. And then I’m saved from the light, brutal waves, the sounds of past, present and future calling my name, the Vast, a piece of safe, warm land, this do-it-yourself inner creature of my phantasy.

I‘m in a blue sea swimming, floating, drowning. And then I’m saved from the light, brutal waves, the sounds of past, present and future calling my name, the Vast, a piece of safe, warm land, this do-it-yourself inner creature of my phantasy.

Sometimes the circumstances in our lives force us to take a seat back in our own movie theater, enjoy some popcorn while watching our past unfold, relax and appreciate before our eyes what the fuck just happened in the past couple of X days. Now, when I need this kind of “What the fuck just happened?” time, I choose to see me alone, in a cold, pitch black cave with either food or drink. The only “weapon” I have is a box of matches.

Now you may ask, what’s the motive to actually take this kind of time-off to reflect. Usually it happens consciously once we are in too deep, ROLLING in the deep in fact. And other times, things might seem so banal, that we choose to return to our caves to lick our wounds or take care of us or just to be alone from the world for once, to find some peace, where there are no expectations of us.

Yeap, sadly that’s the truth. Namely the motives to seek your inner cave are basically the deep and dark emotions of a great death or loss. The most common and true to the core deep and dark situations that have sent me to the cave have been: the death of a loved one, a breakup with a special someone, losing my health (physical, mental, spiritual), being violated or violating my values, having taken something from me unfairly or by force, feelings of confusion, nostalgia, mourning, scarcity, deep love and fear of losing it, fear of change, fear of growing older, fear of living a life with contrition and/or oblivion, fear of no belonging or being alone #INSERTFEARHERE. Now, you kinda get the picture, don’t you?

I cannot count enough how many times I’ve felt this way. And I’m sure there are more to come. Somehow I’m sure of that because unlike others, a part of me chooses to be a slow learner. It’s therefore only logical that I at times choose to enter my dark cave consciously before I hit a wall. There’s something frightening, lonely yet intimate, sensitive and courageous happening in there. Isn’t that fascinating?

And that’s when suddenly the bluesy, foot stamping “Rolling in the deep” Adele plays in the background, and the song becomes my anthem until I make it out:

There’s a fire starting in my heart
Reaching a fever pitch and it’s bring me out the dark
Finally, I can see you crystal clear
Go ahead and sell me out and I’ll lay your ship bare.

So, in the darkness, I tend to find my strongest Artemis- the Greek Mythology goddess of hunting, wilderness, chastity, protector of animals and children- and with the help of my other goddesses holding Artemis’ hand, she finds her way through. That’s what Aristotle meant I guess when he said, “It is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light”.

And my focus changes. I remember I’m still carrying a box of matches. All of a sudden, I’m reminded -and to my astonishment- I’m absolutely convinced I’m lighting a torch again, restoring light and getting myself out of the hell hole I got myself into in the first place- every single time.

And that’s what the first match symbolizes right there, all combined in one: HOPE, LOVE and TRUST

And indeed just the realisation that I at least have a part in this and I’m responsible for my circumstances is HUGE. Honey, even if you find the torch in the dark you got the matches to light it up.

And that’s your second match right there: AWARENESS.

And even if everything is dark, now you gain more clarity and know you can make light in that you actually light up a match. With that little spark you can see stalagmites and stalactites and start sucking on nature’s ice to smoothe your thirst.

These are the matches of INNER WISDOM, INTUITION, and FLEXIBILITY.

Now, you’re looking around for material to make or find a torch. You’re looking up and down, right and left, listening to your own heavy breath as you start feeling exhausted, you ‘re touching your clothes and realising they might serve you soon as the burning source of your torch.

Say hello to the matches of IMAGINATION, CURIOSITY and RELENTLESSNESS.

Through the process, you know that’s the way it was supposed to happen and you end up finding your way back to share your revelations and findings with the rest, with those who are ready to hear.

And so you use your matches of SHARING and BELONGING.

Growing up I remember of fond memories. Dancing around, teaching to people that remained in my imagination, jumping on the bed and singing to my Celine Dion favourite “I drove all niiight to get to you“. Loads of fun and, yes, people thought I was weird but who cares? One memory that resurfaced on the golden pink sand of my thoughts in the past couple of days that helps me make some sense in my journey of aspiring to be a writer was an assignment we had in fourth grade.

It was pretty much straight forward to most. “The traditional games of my country”. The first thoughts that went into MY head: “I don’t know dude! What are you looking for? This is so vast! Where do I begin? What do you want from me?” Although I was overwhelmed, I had to remind myself that it was just an assignment, and I was doomed to write it anyways. Call it my need to get a good grade (which was highly unlikely with the frowny 60 year old teacher I had back then), my need to prove myself to me, my need to not attract unnecessary attention from my parents (they had enough to deal with already), my duty. So I convinced myself “Sabrina, stop it with the “Why me?” thoughts already and get it done!”. I guess I intuitively knew, the faster I could write it, the faster I could go create drama scenarios with my Barbie dolls.

Once I got home, I got my white, lined notebook with the typical “Δεν ξεχνώ και αγωνίζομαι”, translated “I don’t forget and I fight” pictures, I wrote the title of the essay, underlined it carefully and looked at it.

The staring didn’t stop unfortunately. It kept going for a couple of seconds. The seconds turned into minutes and the minutes turned into hours! I had been staring at this piece of blank page for a looooong time. It felt endless and confusing, not knowing where to start. I tried to make a list, trust me! But what was I supposed to write about? Barbie Dolls? I wouldn’t dare! How would I describe the shameless, soap opera and sometimes PG 18+ scenes going on during my playtime? Plus, Barbie Dolls couldn’t have been a game of my country; “Barbie sounds so exotic, someone from the Caribbean”, I told myself.

In the end, I decided to let the notebook be. Ken had swooped me off my feet. My imaginary audience couldn’t wait for the next episode of the Barbie series. And then I got distracted with a book, then some music… I was doing everything BUT the assignment and I absolutely freaking enjoyed it! It was sooo much fun to do anything I wanted, to be free and rebellious!

And suddenly, there it was. The sound of the keys turning on the front door. My mom was home from work. I knew I was in trouble… And it must have been quite late because I could still hear the newsman in the background of the 20 o’ clock news broadcast coming up. I made my way slowly and quietly downstairs, ready to eat. My grandpa was entering the kitchen at the same time, which kind of helped my momentary, embarrassing inability to make eye contact go unnoticed.

We started having dinner, when the dreading question came up. “Sabrina, did you finish your homework?”. In all fairness, it was a surprising question. My mom trusted most of the times that I would have done my homework, so she BARELY ever asked. But I guess mom’s know everything, don’t they? Disappointed and embarrassed I got caught red-handed, I had no choice to come clean. With a whispering hesitating voice, I managed to say “No… I need help with an essay.”

Before I knew it, I was staring at the same white page, with light blue lines and that frustrating title: “The traditional games of my country”. Once my mom saw the title, she gave me the best idea ever: “Here’s your grandpa! Ask him!” And so I did. The interview wasn’t planned, and started off really shallow, boring and rather cold. I knew my grandpa was more interested in watching the news rather than answering my ever-ending questions about what each game was called, why was it called liked that, how it was played, what was its goal… Looking back, I was Curious Sabrina Her Majesty back then. Eventually, I could win him over with personalising my questions to him, like asking him which games he used to play and which one was his favourite game growing up. Once we were both engaged, I stopped making notes. I started writing directly and filling up the light blue lines.

I was aware that we were supposed to fill a maximum of 2 pages of the notebook and at first I was thinking of writing bigger letters to fill up the space and be done sooner. With all this beautiful, new information from another era, though, I couldn’t see myself stopping nor caring about stopping or sticking to the rules. I guess I was being creatively naughty and rebellious, yet again. I will never forget that night. In retrospect, this was the first time I can now remember of connecting with my grandpa and the ability of flow. I didn’t care how late it was, I didn’t care I was tired, I didn’t care I was 7 pages too deep. All I could care about, was the engagement, the energy, the flow, the curiosity and the ability to travel with the power of someone else’s words and stories to their own reality, to different world. In a magical way my grandpa’s stories that night were my first imagination time-travel. “That’s enough”, my mom said when she noticed that it was a wee bit too late for me. To be honest, I don’t remember writing a proper, thoughtful ending, as if I unwillingly didn’t want to put an end to it.

The next morning I handed in my assignment. I was scared to littlest ear bone of my skeleton because I knew I had written too much and I was too tired to re-read all 12 pages, that I just handed in the original work. “Most of it won’t make any sense to him anyways”, I convinced myself and exited the classroom for the scheduled break.

The days went by and I had forgotten about the essay. Honestly, I think I must have had the emotional memory of a fish as a child. Now, I do remember, I was not paying attention in class, when that same teacher called my name in class. “Sabrina”, he said. My thoughts were interrupted and I had know idea what was going on. I looked at him surprised, hoping that he hadn’t realised I was paying more attention to the unicorns and witches in my brain.

In my 25 years of teaching”, he exclaimed, “I have given 2 As, and the last one was 10 years ago”. I was like, “You shitting me? What’s this guy expecting from a bunch of 10 year olds?”. He went on, “Today, I’m proud to give a well-deserved A once again. This written art has taken me back and I thank you for that. Sabrina, can you please come here and read your work out loud?”

In my head, I was lost. And stunned. And humbled. And weirdly calm, peaceful and confident. That’s the moment, that’s the story I know now that makes me writer.

Want something more in one or more aspects of your life?

Are you open, honest, and willing to take life to the next level?

Are you ready to take responsibility for your own life and turn things around?

I’ve been where you’ve been! Trust me! The road is long and challenging but coaching makes the ride smoother, faster, cheaper and worth the while!

I’m an NMC Life Coaching Diploma accredited coach, with experience in neurolinguistic programming (NLP), and the President of Coaching Support Group in Basel, Switzerland. I’ll help guide you to achieve your desired outcomes!

This is NOT for you, if you:

– want advice and expect me to tell you what to do- this ain’t mentoring, therapy or counseling.

– ‘ve got it ALL figure out.

– ‘re happy with your life as is.

– ‘re not ready to take your life to the next level.

– blame everyone for what happens/-ed in your life.

– ‘re not ready to take responsibility and accountability for your actions &/or decisions.

– ‘re suffering from a mental disorder, diagnosed by a pro MD.

– ‘re below 18.

In this case, PLEASE do us both a favor and find someone else. 

Otherwise, go ahead and book you coaching sesh now.

Not sure where your self-esteem lies?

Maybe you have a hint and are afraid of finding out where it REALLY lies?

Even feeling guilty of taking some time for you to check the file out? 🙈 Sweety, it’s fine! In fact, it’s more than fine! You and the people you care about will thank you for investing time on yourself.

Download the following file below, print it out and score yourself.

PS: No need to lie. Remember this is for your eyes, and your googly eyes only -unless you choose to share. Allow yourself to be courageous, vulnerable and honest with yourself.

Download the Self-Esteem, Self-Awareness Evaluation

After the Ev (ye, that’s what I’m calling it these days :P), get paper and a pen and reflect.

What does the result mean? What do you want to do with it?

Hmm, not sure? Just ask honey!

Do you:

  • have a new goal but find it hard to stick to the things you’re supposed to do to reach it?
  • want to set a new habit?
  • find it hard to be accountable and stick to what you said you’re gonna do?
  • wish you had some support on a daily basis? 

Allow me to keep you accountable and be there when things don’t go the way you’d wished.

I’m kind AND assertive.

Together we get things done.

Fill in the form below to get us set:

Accountability buddy: 30 days

100.00 CHF

Accountability Buddy: 60 days

190.00 CHF

Accountability buddy: 90 days

280.00 CHF


I want to create a Coaching Support Group in Basel, Switzerland. It’ll be a team of 3-7 people with fantastic, open energy with main goal to create a coaching family of individuals and spread the amazing power of COACHING!

1. You are going to be part of a group and community, where you can exchange opinions, ideas and ask for help.
2. It increases your visibility and helps you build your own brand, while giving back.
3. You have the opportunity to deliver or receive free coaching during the meetings.
4. You have high-quality, high-standard, worldwide backing from a professional, English-speaking coaching institute, which offers trainings, diplomas, certificates and even Ph.Ds.
5. You get continued education and knowledge.
6. You have access to different career opportunities and increased income, i.e. you can become a mentor, trainer, etc.

Interested to learn more? Contact me!

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