Are You Addicted to Coaching?
If you’re unable to do anything without an “expert” opinion, set of eyes, or feedback… what are you paying for?
It’s easier to believe that our problems are unique and highly complex than what they truly are: normal and run-of-the-mill. Doing so allows us to sidestep the entirely unglamorous, mundane, but effective, foundational steps. The basics, if you will. In deciding that we are above the basics, and that only a hyper-individualized plan tailor-made to our one-of-a-kind challenges will “work”, we distract ourselves from the actual problem. And, coincidentally, diverting our attention from the problem can convince us the problem has fixed itself, or that the silly routines we’ve adopted have mediated the issue. It’s a little mental sleight of hand your mind is responsible for, and it’s wildly effective. Strength training to gain some muscle and drastically improve your life? No way! You are a middle-aged woman with insulin resistance and PCOS who struggles with overwhelm in day-to-day life and requires XYZ service for $500 a month!
In a psychological experiment whose name and author escapes me, study participants were told they’d be taste-testing brands of wine, both dirt-cheap and upscale. Of course, as psychological experiments would have it, both groups received the exact same wine, in the exact same cups, at the exact same time. The first group was told they’d be privileged enough to experience top-shelf pinot noir, hand-squeezed and strained from the delicate hills of Calabria. The second group was told that their wine was the alcoholic version of sloppy seconds: it was cheap (less than $10 per bottle) and could be purchased at any gas station.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, the first group perceived their wine as having a magnificent taste. They commented on its subtle aromas and notes of dark cherry and cocoa. Their experience, or so they thought, was elevated simply by nature of the wine’s price and presentation. The second group behaved similarly. Their wine, according to their taste buds, was for poor college kids who wanted a buzz, and the wine’s flat taste and miserable context made for a 1-star review. I’ve written frequently about how our expectations heavily influence our experience, so much so that our perception is prone to bias, inaccuracy, and self-deception. That is, we tend to experience what we expect, for better or for worse. And, with so many people marketing their “product” on social media with a top-shelf-wine-like presentation, it can be easy to fall into the trap of believing we’re addressing a problem we have--- only by distracting ourselves from it.
The obsession with ameliorating discomfort or “optimizing” everyday life can be discouraging to those of us in human service fields, who likely entered the field of our choosing simply because we found joy in helping. While my salary is certainly comfortable, it had zero bearing on why I chose psychology in the first place. Money means next to nothing for those of us who have fully felt the joy in being of service to another person. I’ve theorized it’s the reason why my business skills are horrific, at best, and that I constantly feel a sense of guilt for naming any sort of price for services I provide. I’ve largely resigned to the fact that I’ll never work for myself--- and I think this is how I know I’ve made the “impact” I’ve longed for since my undergraduate degree.
The influence I’ve had on people, so far, has seemed very granular. That is, it has occurred on very individual, microscopic levels that I’m unsure have transferred to a broader scale just yet. For years, and even currently, I wanted to believe I was capable of what widely-known companies were doing: they had large followings and seemed to be spearheading their own reform in their respective fields. How do I do that? Why haven’t I done that yet? What are they doing that I haven’t done? It became that of envy versus wanting to help that haunted my every decision, to the point that clients and being of service weren’t even an afterthought. Was this the impact I wanted to make? Scrambling to build an audience so I’d have faceless people to boast to about my mission of “changing the world”? And, further, the feedback I’d received from people, and their continuously shitty behavior following my “services” for them, proved repeatedly that my so-called mission was a farce, and that the only impact I’d made was being the chick people used as a scapegoat to air their politically incorrect thoughts and feelings. That is not the person I want to be. I’ve recognized that being a public-facing person is not something I’ve ever enjoyed or have ever even been good at, aside from perhaps public speaking and basic crowd work. It’s the people, the reactions, and the conversations that I’ve grown fluent in--- not the stage they may take place on.
Feedback is necessary should we improve. We’re exposed to objective criticism in school by submitting essays and projects for grading, to which our teachers scribbled their corrections in red ink across each page before assigning a final grade. Regardless of how strong a person is mentally, constructive criticism usually stings. It’s less about the constructive criticism itself but more about how we react to it, and what we decide to do with it. Keeping the importance of feedback in mind, we turn to today’s influx of “remote coaching” positions. I’ve spoken with countless clients/athletes/consumers/patients that pay month and month and even year after year for these high-end services about why they believe they need them. Their answer? Usually some rendition of, “It’s entirely individualized to what I need.” I once believed I’d be a remote coach that would finally stick it to my bosses by making my own money. I failed miserably, because my “work” is best executed in person--- the service that business coach after business coach will tell you is “too hard to scale”. It is definitely difficult to make a living driving to client’s homes, their gyms, residential facilities, and psychiatric institutions an hour and a half away. But they’re getting from me what I believe is what I’m made to give people: connection. Individualized, made-for-you service. This is where I’m fully on board with hyper-individualized care.
After working in psychological fields in both clinical and teaching positions, our clients are in desperate need of more individualized, thoughtful care. Their technicians and their practitioners are often bogged down with massive caseloads and useless administrative work to the degree that a cut-and-paste treatment plan written for Sally 3 years ago will just have to suffice for today’s Sandy. This is especially common for those working with children, as the demand for psychological or behavioral services for kids younger and younger has skyrocketed in recent years. This is likely due to the public perception that their child is the fine-wine sourced from Calabria, and that only a hyper-specific program tailored to their “deep feeling kiddo” and their intricate web of needs will help progress them toward some lofty goal of compelled happiness. Okay, I kid. Sort of.
To reiterate, in theory, individualized care is wonderful. Necessary, even. But I frequently wonder if our fetish for feedback isn’t so much about evaluating our performance as it is about reassurance-seeking. I wrote in one of my last pieces about how we’ve outsourced many of our very basic, very simple and natural problems to online coaches, to templates and “resources”, to Google, to ChatGPT. I’ve used and greatly benefited from all of these digital resources, specifically Google maps, because I never have any idea where the hell I’m going. It’s something that has allowed me to get to places with ease but also ensure I never actually have to learn directions.
Perhaps this is my point. Coaching in any industry can feel a lot like it’s giving direction. And, when done well, it does. Coaching, mentoring, teaching, or servicing another person in need of guidance requires the practitioner to enhance a client’s critical thinking and guide them to a destination without offering up a solution. Effective service is typically acute (that is, 3 months or less) and does not require constant feedback. If I’m being entirely honest, there are things I do on a day-to-day basis that I don’t want feedback for, even if I’m not doing them efficiently or correctly. Hobbies, for example, have entered the digital marketplace as routines which warrant a template, an e-book, a resource, a “coach”. My recent obsession with gardening, for example, has coyly seduced me into rabbit hole after rabbit hole, all of which conveniently sell some form of gardening expertise whose authors apparently believe I cannot find on page 1 of Google.
There’s also something to be said about having more fun, taking things less seriously, and doing shit that isn’t evidence-based but is enjoyable. Trust me, I recognize how this sounds. The fields I work in rely almost exclusively on scientific evidence and data to support a person’s claims, which I completely support and utilize for the majority of my work. There are some aspects, though, where I think the “evidence-based only” groups actively dismiss the oh-so-common pleasure principle. Sure, the Chinese detoxification method that is “cupping” has minimal evidence base to support its efficacy in muscle recovery. But it leaves cool, quirky little circles on your body and it feels really pleasant. It distracts you from that knot of fascia under your shoulder blade and puts you into a state of deep relaxation. Is this necessarily a problem? If the person continues to injure themselves and continues to throw money at things like cupping, it certainly can fester into a problem. If the person enjoys it, though, and they’re not hurting anybody else? I suppose we aren’t in a place to tell people how to spend their money. This is my “impact”--- helping people reconnect with common sense.
This is where I believe much of today’s coaching is more a marketing tactic to breed treatment dependence in consumers. Treatment dependence occurs frequently in psychological fields and in therapy. It’s when the practitioner is unable to help the client use their skills independently and when they’re not in the presence of their therapist. In modern day, since we live in the “everyone should see a therapist” epoch, it’s common for people to attend their weekly sessions for 3, 5, and even 10 years. The sessions have no real agenda or even proposed outcome. They’re in place because they’ve become a part of a person’s routine that they believe is necessary for their functioning but also can’t seem to explain how it’s benefitted them or why they continue to go. It’s the illusion that someone is actively listening to our specialized set of problems and is supporting us in a specialized way--- even if we can’t explain how they’ve supported us or in what way our lives are better as a result of this service.
The basics can take us a long way. They can usually take us far enough to where we don’t need to throw money at coaches and templates and resources. I’ve been the person that believed my problems were above the basics, or that my skillset had advanced beyond the beginner level. Both of these things may be true in some instances. But I hate to break it to you: none of us are that special. And, for some reason, much of today’s “services” demand we see ourselves as special. We’re not spectacularly architected snowflakes rife with unparalleled complexity. Our problems are likely more similar than they are different from the billions of people that populate planet Earth. While this may come as a shock or even a buzzkill, it’s meant to be a positive thing. It means that you’re not fundamentally damaged and that your existence need not be dictated by a coach or a mentor. It means you can experiment on yourself and trust in your common sense. And it also means that you’re not alone in the many struggles that feel exclusive to you and isolate you from other people.
It isn’t that serious. Some are goal-chasers and high achievers and actively seek feedback to improve upon their every misstep. This is crucial should we aim to improve ourselves and understand how our perspectives differ from others. And then there are some like me, a recovering lofty-goal-chaser with a kink for blunt criticism, who no longer wish to aspire to a career goal or even a personal goal. For once, and perhaps for the first time in my life, I want to just “be”. I still want to hear as many perspectives as I can. I still want my clients and students to trust that I will hear them and offer my honest opinion, even if it’s difficult to give and receive. But I’m not all that interested in evaluating my work performance or pursuing a fitness goal that has proven, historically, to have zero impact on my overall sense of purpose.
Perhaps rightfully so, we’re terrified of symptoms. We’ve proven to our symptoms, whether real or imagined, that we cannot handle their presence. Our efforts to discharge these symptoms, through consultations and coaches and evaluations and pills and resources and blogs and social media, put us in a position that offers immediate relief but long-term sensitivity. It’s important to educate ourselves on a broad array of information. It’s also important we recognize that much of what’s marketed is trying to divorce us from reality, from common sense. Do we really need continuing education units or webinars on stress management? Are we that defeated and controlled by our stress that we feel it’s heavy enough to need online course correction? More often than not, we’re inflating our problems more than our problems are truly internally combusting. Literature on chronic pain reminds us of common sense: that the more we fixate on our pain, the greater pain we experience. This does not require a pain coach. It requires an acute phase of self-awareness and understanding that a little hard work and a little less self-analysis goes a long way toward “symptom management”.
I guarantee you, if you stop managing your symptoms and instead look to the root cause of the problem, the solution will be simple. Coaches cannot change your behavior or your trajectory. That has to come from you.