lessons from a coach on quitting

This is a story about quitting and finding my way back

I quit my Masters of Coaching program.

I am not a quitter. I can’t remember the last time I quit something. Even when something is hard, I keep going. Especially when that something means something to me.

The Q word doesn’t roll off my tongue. Instead, it gets stuck in my throat. Sitting there waiting for me to face the inner gremlins that swim underneath.

The gremlins that say…

You failed.

Couldn’t hack it.

Asked for too much. 

It is taking an ocean of courage to write this.

I steady my breath as I try not to spiral down into the depths.

Quit. Quitter. Quitting.

The sharpness of that q. It hurts every time.

I had (still have) a dream to go back to school.

You see, part of my bigger life vision is to teach at an academic level so I can positively disrupt the coaching world. I care deeply about my profession. It changes people’s lives every day. I love it for its accelerated growth. It's capacity to empower. Its ability to shift the macro by shifting the micro.

This profession I love — it needs to change.

Coaching is a white-dominant profession that centres privilege. Harmful beliefs that put the weight on the individual and not on the collective. A space that isn’t safe for everyone. As a white coach, I am a part of what's wrong and also have a part to help make it right.

I have a vision of a coaching profession that is generous, equitable, and safe. Coaching as a part of social change to create a world where everyone can be their whole selves.

This program I quit — it was a step toward that vision.

I didn’t quit because I didn’t want it.

(I still want it.)

I didn’t quit because I wasn’t good enough.

(I am beyond capable. More than good enough.)

I quit because I could not be in integrity and continue.

I want to feel pride for standing up for what I believe in. For standing in my values.

Part of me does and the truth is… I also feel the shame of quitting. I feel like a failure.

Having coached for 15 years,  I cognitively know that this is a normal, welcomed emotion. Admitting it feels like exposure. The gremlins say - shouldn’t the coach know how to bypass this? Shouldn’t you have found a way to reframe failure into something positive?

I don’t. I don’t think there is a bypass. This is a part of the process of letting go.

Sometimes what we want isn’t what it said it was. We do our best to assess and discern. Sometimes we get it right. Sometimes we don’t. It doesn’t mean we aren’t enough. It means we are human.

As my friend Deanna Germaine Foukal says, “Sometimes NO amount of research and discernment can reveal enough.” In those moments (maybe in all moments) we need to rely on our inner wise voice that always knows what we need to know to make the right call for ourselves.

I live a values-aligned life.

My values lead how I run my business, how I hike trails, and who I am as a friend, partner, and coach. Everything. I am not perfect, I don’t strive to be. Every day I go to my values to navigate my path.

Living life by my values means staying true to those values even when it hurts, even when I don’t want to, even when my gremlins come out.

My friend Janet Moore once told me:

“Because you care so deeply about the work and the humans you support- and because you call out the bullshit - you go so deep into the work that you dive in and bring fire back from the depths to share and some folks can’t see the light - you sometimes burn yourself to share what you see in that future.”

I will always be the one to ruffle feathers. Say the thing that isn’t being said. I will be the one to challenge us to ignite the fire for a brighter future.

I believe that how we do things matter.

Oftentimes more than the what. This is a part of who I am. It’s part of what makes me a great coach.

As I sit here in the hardness of the capital Q, I pull the F word from it. F for failure. I didn’t fail. Living one values isn’t a failure. It’s living in integrity. And perhaps part of this learning of this experience is this:

Permission to walk away.

What I know to be true is this —

I am not broken.

I did not ask for too much.

My vision is possible.

As I swim through the gremlins of quitting, I will repeat these words again and again. Back to the surface, taking the fires back from the depths to share with you.

The next time you quit —

Remember these words too:

You are not broken.

You did not ask for too much.

Your vision is possible.