Sometimes I hesitate to say I’m also a coach.
During my coach training 15 years ago, I often felt like an outsider, not because I lacked experience or skill, but because many of the narratives felt disconnected from the kind of work I believe in. They sounded artificial and even superficial.

 

 

“Just be your authentic self.”
“Step into your power.”
“Shift your mindset.”

Not wrong, exactly, but overly simplified. Polished into slogans that skim over the complexity I’ve seen in myself, others, real teams, and real pain.

These ideas aren’t necessarily false, but they’ve been flattened, reduced to soundbites, made easy to digest, and emptied of the depth they demand.

I’m not saying all coaching is like this. There are excellent approaches grounded in psychological depth. But in today’s world of quick fixes, hacks, and instant wisdom offered through reels, webinars, or weekend certifications, it’s easy to lose sight of the emotional work that real change requires.

I notice the same kind of simplification when people compliment me. They mention my presence, calm, or emotional clarity as if I were simply born with them.

I try to explain that these aren’t traits I just have. They were developed, slowly, through effort, reflection, and sometimes real struggle. I tell them this is actually good news: these qualities aren’t rare gifts; they are learnable.

But many people don’t hear that part. They smile and say, “You’re lucky,” or they just say they don’t have time to work on themselves.

Amid all that noise, it can feel vulnerable to speak about the slow, quiet work. The kind that isn’t flashy or easy to sell. The kind that asks for patience, self-honesty, and a willingness to look inward.

The truth is that none of it came naturally.

It’s also easier to view leadership as a gift rather than a practice.
But to lead well, there’s much to learn, not only from books and training but also from inner work. From therapy. From listening, failing, and trying again. From learning to pause. From asking better questions. From being willing to unlearn and relearn.

That, to me, is hopeful.
Because if I built it, others can build it too.

Here’s the hard part: that kind of work doesn’t fit into a slogan.
It doesn’t promise quick results, and it doesn’t go viral.

Still, again and again, I’ve seen that the leaders who choose this deeper path are the ones who leave a lasting mark. Not because they are the most charismatic, but because they are present, grounded, and trustworthy.

So no, I don’t offer slogans.

I offer space to pause, reflect, and get curious about what drives us, not just what others see.

It’s not fast.
It’s not shiny.
But it builds something real, and it lasts.

Because none of this is luck.
And none of this is about slogans.