LinkedIn, Healing, and the Magic of Unexpected Connections

Changing careers in the era of social media isn’t always easy. Social media tends to archive your old identity, and breaking out of that can feel terrifying. For a long time, I doubted whether I should keep using LinkedIn as I transitioned from architect to sex and relationship coach.

My network had grown quickly — I’d held high-profile positions, and while people didn’t necessarily like me back then, many respected me or needed me on their side. But now, it was a completely different story—a whole new narrative.

Instead of posting about my latest PMP certification or how we’d heroically hit all our project goals—on time, on budget, with perfect quality—I was about to start sharing why orgasms matter, why people loose desire, and how self-pleasure can change your life.

It was risky, yes — but it didn’t make sense to throw away all the contacts I had built. Especially when many of them were my ideal audience: people who struggle with sex and have the money to pay for my services.

There was also something deliciously rebellious about it. It felt like a reclamation: ‘Here, take your very important corporate titles back — I don’t need them anymore. I'm going to do whatever I want, and I will be a success.’ I loved that!

It was part strategy, part defiance.

And even though it made me wildly anxious, I decided to stay on LinkedIn and fully own my new path. I announce myself as a Pleasure Specialist.

To my surprise, not only did it work — it worked incredibly well. My network kept growing, and I started getting clients — exactly what I needed after paying for a very expensive certification and walking away from my corporate job.

My community manager noticed something curious and shared it with me: most men would accept my invitations to connect, while most women tended to reject them. We laughed about it — who knew that women might be the ones who found my new path harder to embrace?

So naturally, we focused on men. And honestly, that worked for me — I had just started dating again. Who knows? Maybe the love of my life wasn’t hiding on Bumble, but right there on LinkedIn. It couldn’t hurt to try.

I wasn’t looking for anything in particular — just good-looking men with mutual contacts.

I decided to follow a method I’d tested before. Years ago, I found a very sexy boyfriend on MySpace—right after I’d warned a previous partner that if he moved away without me, I would find a sexy Argentinian with an Italian name. He moved out.  And I did find my Argentinian boyfriend with an Italian name contacting only Argentinians with one specific name.

It was weird yes, but also wise and epic.

So, with the same stubborn magic that had brought me so much joy — and pain — I revived my proven methodology. Each day, I’d think of one name and ask my community manager to add anyone who showed up with it. It became my little ritual: I’d check my inbox over breakfast, curious to see who had accepted.

That day, with a smile on my face, I found out it was working.

I had found a Joe*.

Not very conveniently located, but really cute. And he’d texted me immediately after connecting.

I’d had plenty of interactions with men on LinkedIn before — some genuinely interested in coaching, some just curious about my work, and a few asking about tantric massages (which, by the way, are not part of my offerings). Nothing ever crossed a line. It was LinkedIn, after all — everything stayed cool and professional, which worked perfectly for me.

But this one was different.

Joe (not his real name) sent me a polite, thoughtful message thanking me for adding him to my network and asked if he could have my WhatsApp so we could stay in touch. I didn’t mind at all. I mean, a super good-looking man with an impressive CV? Especially if I was using my name game methodology — this was part of the experiment, after all.

I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I was definitely curious. And a little bit excited.

Almost to my surprise, it turned into the sweetest WhatsApp relationship. Joe would text me every day — sharing his plans, little details, and photos from his life. I would make him laugh a lot, wish him sweet dreams, and send him my best, most ridiculous stickers, which he absolutely loved.

Every now and then, he’d casually mention how nice it would be if I visited him in Europe, but that wasn’t in my plans at the time. He slowly became part of my daily rhythm.

There was no rush, no expectation. No pressure to move to the next step — no phone calls, no pet names, no forced romance or online sex. Just two humans, sharing across the Atlantic, enjoying this soft, uncomplicated connection.

After a few months, I started dating again and eventually entered a relationship that involved a lot of travel. Joe was genuinely happy for me, and we naturally stopped keeping in touch.

But surprisingly, it wasn’t as easy as I thought to let that connection go. Every now and then, I’d wonder how he was doing, where life had taken him. He wasn’t the kind of man who posted anything on social media, so I had no way of knowing.

I was happy in my relationship, but I couldn’t help but wonder.

When that relationship ended, I kept traveling on my own. I had planned to meet my family in Greece, but those plans fell through when my mom and sister got sick and had to cancel.

I was sharing this with a dear friend I had met in Bali a couple of months earlier, and she said, “Well, you already have your flight to Paris — just catch a train and come visit me! You’ll be here in few hours.”

Honestly, it didn’t make much sense. I could have easily just gone to Greece by myself. But I thought, you know what? It would be really nice to see my friend — and maybe this was a sign of some sort.

I’ve always loved going with the flow and saying yes to whatever life offers me. And after all… My friend happened to live in the same country as Joe.

I had forgotten exactly which city he lived in — the names of those places aren’t exactly easy to remember. When I couldn’t find him on WhatsApp anymore, I searched for him on LinkedIn. That’s when I discovered he had acquired an impressive business that was rapidly expanding. I also saw he lived far away from the city I was headed to — so it seemed like our paths wouldn’t cross anytime soon.

LinkedIn isn’t exactly discreet with stalking, and it sent him a notification that I had viewed his profile. Almost immediately, he reached out from a new number.

I told him I was traveling and shared where I’d be. Then he asked, “By any chance, will you be there around the 15th of next month?” The exact days I’d be visiting my friend.

I confirmed, and he replied. “It feels like someone has answered my prayers — I’ll be in that city those very same days.”

The odds felt impossibly small. And even more striking was that his hotel was just few blocks from my friend’s house.

Do I believe in destiny or synchronicity?

We were all genuinely excited—me, him, my friend, and maybe even the universe. As the day got closer, we started texting more often. I kept him updated on my travels, and he shared everything I needed to know about the city, even teaching me some useful words in his language—like “sandwich,” “newspaper,” “window,” and “apple.”

We planned to meet for dinner one night. I have to admit, I was excited but also nervous. That feeling eased the moment I saw him. He was taller than I expected, really handsome, and had a calm, welcoming energy. He greeted me with a big, warm hug and a smile that made me feel like we’d known each other for years—which, in some way, we had.

Dinner was easy and fun—great food, lots of laughter (he has an amazing sense of humor), and plenty of stories. He was exactly how I’d pictured him from our messages—not pushy or trying to impress, just happy to be there with me.

He felt like a calm, safe place in the middle of all the emotional chaos I’d been carrying—gentle, kind, and comfortable.

He wanted to hear about my past relationships and travels, and I found myself sharing more than I expected. It felt good to open up, to find some comfort in the space between us. He did feel familiar.

We got to the part where I told him my ex had broken up with me over WhatsApp.

“That must have been really hard. I’m sorry it happened to you,” he said softly.

I excused myself to use the restroom, and while I was gone, he sent me a WhatsApp message. It felt strange since he was right there at the table, but the message read: “You are really beautiful.”

I smiled and felt my cheeks flush. When I came back, he helped me with my chair and said:

“I wanted you to remember that you deserve beautiful messages in your WhatsApps—not just the ones that break your heart.”

I didn’t know what to say. It really touched my heart.

He asked for the bill and paid for dinner, we hugged goodbye, and I headed back to my friend's house.

It was as if everything that had happened between us during those two years (the weird name search, the messages, the breakup, my friend inviting me there, him being in the same city those days) where specifically designed for him to meet me then and there and lift me up with that WhatsApp. It felt surreal and magical.

Sometimes we underestimate timing and the human power to heal.

We believe it only exists where therapists treat, doctors prescribe, or healers craft magic.

And we forget that tenderness can live in these small, unassuming spaces.

We rush so much into the next phase, the next moment, that we forget to really pay attention—to listen and learn the other person’s story—and to take that information to create something even more beautiful: transformation.

What he just did was not only beautiful but quietly powerful. He wasn’t love-bombing me; he was simply offering a different narrative of what’s possible. And that’s the beauty: it’s not about him swooping in to fix everything. It’s about him listening, leaning in, and gently transmuting pain. In real life. In real time.

Maybe healing doesn’t need to be orchestrated, expensive, or intellectualized. Maybe human tenderness — raw, simple kindness — is already enough.

We find it everywhere. 

In the stranger on LinkedIn who surprises you with a message, 

in the barista carefully crafting your morning latte, 

in your dog’s silly attitude when the world feels heavy, 

in the writer who puts into words exactly what your heart needed to hear, 

in the astrologer’s hopeful reel that lights a spark in your soul, 

in your bestie’s text when the night feels endless, 

in the stranger on the train singing something strange — something freeing — 

and in nature, gifting you white flowers in your garden when you’re low.

We are enough. 

Life holds a deep wisdom — a knowing that hurts us and heals us, that breaks us down and builds us up, all woven through this human journey.

Here: this man will wound you with a painful breakup WhatsApp, and there: another man will heal you with a simple, tender message.

What are the odds? 

How much wisdom. 

How much magic. 

How simple it all is.

Maybe all we need is to surrender to this flow — to let it move through us, to stop trying to control, to define.

And in that surrender, we will find healing. We find each other. We remember that we are all healers.

Maybe this is the kind of beauty waiting for us at the end of the rainbow. 

When we follow our intuition and add random people by name on LinkedIn. 

When we trust our gut and ask for someone’s WhatsApp — even if they live oceans away. 

When we allow ourselves to play, to be soft, to be kind to strangers. 

When we say yes to changing plans, yes to living without an itinerary. 

When we are brave enough to sit across the table, open our hearts, and say: “Hey, this is what happened. And it hurts.”

And maybe healing happens, too, when someone else chooses to step in and say: “I see you. I will heal this for you. You deserve better. I know it — and I will give it to you.”

I don’t think this was fate. I believe it was the entire universe celebrating the journey that brought us together, with every yes we said along the way.

Maybe this is what real power of human connection looks like: no plans, no expectations, no agenda—just beauty and curiosity. Just kindness and tenderness.

I’m sharing this story with you today as a gentle reminder: you deserve stories that lift your heart as much as those that break it.

Real connection—beautiful, kind, and tender—can arrive when we least expect it, if only we say yes.

"Ooit eten we samen een appelsandwich bij het raam."