 ‘Coaching is taking a player where they can't take themselves.’ (Jose Mourinho) ‘Why is it so difficult to coach myself?’ Good question. We often need another person because coaching isn’t just about having the right tools. It’s about creating a presence and reflective space we can’t generate alone. A coach can help provide perspective, emotional grounding, accountability and cognitive support that our brain literally can’t offer itself in real time. People have persistent cognitive blind spots, including the self-serving bias, where we sometimes attribute success to internal factors and failure to external ones (a phenomenon known as the bias blind spot). It means we can’t see our own assumptions clearly. A coach can offer external perspective to surface or challenge distorted narratives or hidden patterns. Emotion regulation, especially under stress, is more effective with social support from another. Neuroscience has shown that, for instance, holding someone’s hand reduces neural responses to threat. Self-coaching during emotional turmoil is like trying to fix a car while it’s on fire. A coach can help co-regulate our emotional state, helping us access rational thinking. We sometimes interpret our own actions based on circumstances but interpret others’ actions as revealing their character (a distinction known as the actor-observer bias). When you're in your own story, it's hard to gain distance or objectivity. A coach helps you become an observer of your own created narrative – something that’s almost impossible to do from the inside. Solving complex problems requires juggling competing thoughts and emotions. The working memory has limited capacity for simultaneous processing. Coaching requires meta-cognition: that is, thinking about our own thinking. It’s cognitively taxing to both reflect and reframe at once. A coach can help offload some of this mental burden, enabling deeper insight. Finally, behavioural change is more likely when someone else is involved, especially someone who provides non-judgmental accountability. Implementation intentions (plans to change behaviour) are significantly more effective when made public. When working with a coach, our intentions are less likely to stay in our head and more likely to be outworked in practice. Are you curious to work with a coach? Get in touch!
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 ‘The longest journey you will ever take is from your head to your heart.’ (Thich Nhat Hanh) I was co-training a group of managers this week in practical coaching techniques. The workshop included skills practice where one participant would coach another with a third acting as observer, followed by a review of discoveries. One of the things we reflected on was the power of reframing a question from, say, ‘Where are you at in your thinking now?’ to ‘What’s your gut feeling?’; or ‘How realistic do you think that is?’ to ‘How realistic does that feel?’ This kind of framing invites a person to pay attention to their intuition and emotion as potential sources of awareness and energy. It taps into something deep, beyond rationality, and can help make the shift from thinking about an issue or a solution to exercising agency in relation to that issue or solution. Tony Stoltzfus draws on this principle in ending coaching conversations: ‘What could you do?’ ‘Is that a step you want to take?’ ‘Hand on heart, what will you do?’  ‘Words have memories, a history of their own.’ (Vivek Shanbhag) I speak some German as well as my own native language, English. I noticed yesterday that, when recalling a vivid memory of an event in the German-Austrian alps, I found myself translating that account into English to explain it to an English friend. If you’ve ever had that or a similar experience, I’ll share some insights here as to why it happens: 1. Memory is context-dependent When we experience something in a foreign country and speak the local language, our brain stores that memory with the linguistic, emotional and sensory context of the moment, including the language we are speaking. So, when we recall that memory, our brain tries to reconstruct it as it was encoded, which includes the foreign language. 2. Language is part of the memory trace Language isn't just a tool for describing memories. It’s actually embedded in the memory itself. The words we used, heard or thought during the experience are part of the memory’s structure. So, when we retrieve the memory, our brain pulls it up with the original language attached, as if replaying a recording. 3. Reconstructing vs retranslating When we try to recount the story in our native language, we aren’t simply replaying. We’re actively translating because our brain is accessing the memory as it originally occurred. That means we first get the thought or sentence in the foreign language, then we convert it to our native language in real time. That’s why it feels like we’re translating. 4. Cognitive switching between linguistic systems If we’re bilingual or speak multiple languages, our brain keeps those linguistic systems semi-separate and switching between them takes effort. Recalling a memory stored in Language B while speaking in Language A triggers a language switch, which can feel like mental translation in the moment. 5. Emotional and cultural encoding Sometimes, the meaning of what we experienced is tied closely to the culture or emotional tone of the foreign language. Certain concepts, expressions or nuances don’t map perfectly onto our native language, making the translation feel less immediate or intuitive and further reinforcing our sense of translating. Have you had these or similar experiences? I’d love to hear from you!  ‘Voting is irrational. Emotions always win.’ (Eyal Winter) Yesterday, I had a conversation with Alicia, a young German student with an interest in psychology. We reflected on current world events, including the resurgence of Donald Trump in the U.S. and the unfolding German election results. One question puzzled us: Why do so many people support political leaders and parties whose policies and behaviour seem irrational? Take Trump, for example. His use of ‘alternative facts’ doesn’t seem to shake his supporters' confidence. Similarly, politicians on the far left or right offer simplistic solutions to complex problems, yet their followers remain unwavering. Meanwhile, centrist politicians who present nuanced arguments in measured tones often struggle to gain traction. Instead of persuading people, they are met with boredom or disdain. Why is that? Here’s a thought: Many people today feel hopeless when they look at the state of the world and the challenges in their own lives too. Traditional politicians speak to the mind with carefully-crafted words, yet those who feel lost or frustrated are voting from the heart. Perhaps it’s not about what populist leaders think or say. It’s about how they make people feel.  ‘The medical model doesn’t perfectly fit mental health – and it confuses a lot of people.’ (Emma McAdam) Is mental health all in the mind? I don’t think so, but I do believe we’re sometimes getting a bit lost in how we think about and approach it. Take Sam. He’s 27, talented and full of potential. Yet Sam often finds himself these days feeling jittery and irritable and struggling to concentrate. His partner finds his mood swings and erratic behaviour increasingly difficult to cope with. Feeling concerned, she took him recently to see his GP who referred him for a mental health assessment. The assessor asked Sam briefly over the phone to describe his symptoms, diagnosed his state as ADHD and recommended prescription medication to resolve it. Now step back with me for a moment. Consider human factors that lead to a sense of mental, emotional and physical well-being, and which can influence a corresponding felt-experience of unwellness if persistently absent in our lives. Things such as: safety and security; sense of purpose; engaging in positive and meaningful human relationships; ability and opportunity to exercise free choices; feeling of making a valued contribution in the world, especially for the benefit of others; achieving something worthwhile; fresh air; change of scenery; prayer, intimacy; sex; physical exercise; personal hygiene; laughter; diet; sleep; rest. Sam stays mostly indoors; sleeps until mid-afternoon; rarely washes; spends all night, every night, playing intense computer games; eats junk food; lives on high-caffeine energy drinks. He did have a job for 2 weeks at a call centre but resigned because he felt unhappy dealing with customer complaints. He has now been unemployed for some time and lives on state benefits. From a psychological and relational perspective, we could view ‘feeling jittery and irritable and struggling to concentrate’ as natural outcomes of Sam’s lifestyle choices, not as a pathological dysfunction requiring medication. Social prescribing could be a healthier response.  ‘Grief is not a disorder, a disease or a sign of weakness. It is an emotional, physical and spiritual necessity, the price you pay for love. The only cure for grief is to grieve.’ (Earl Grollman) Ambushed by grief. A graphic book title and a profound way to convey the experience of the experience. Grief can, at times, take us completely by surprise, impacting us suddenly and as if out of nowhere; leaving us breathless, broken and bleeding. My most traumatic grief experience was at age 18. I still re-experience it, like living in the vice-like grip of a terrible nightmare that stubbornly, agonisingly and tormentingly won’t let go. One of the best descriptions of grief I’ve ever read is a beautiful and painful personal expression of this phenomenon that, in the midst of such agonies, offers a picture of hope. It resonates with much of my own personal experience too. Only in more recent years have we begun to discover, perhaps to rediscover and to understand, the somatic dimensions and consequences of traumatic grief. The body certainly does keep the score. On Easter Saturday (a day that marks the existential time gap between Jesus’ death and his resurrection) this year, I visited a Christian community where one of its leaders shared a deeply evocative short video clip by Massive Attack. It captured and expressed feelings of denial, betrayal, pain, abandonment and death in such a way that left me stunned and speechless. We prayed for all who feel trapped in a perpetual state of dysthymia. Few images have more powerful emotional resonance for me than that moment at which the WW2 Allies detonated explosives under a huge marble swastika at the Zeppelinfeld stadium in Nürnberg, Germany. It was the place where, just before the war, Hitler and his followers had held their infamous Nazi rallies. The rallies had proved a potent propaganda weapon, convincing Nazi supporters of their own ‘supremacy’ and intimidating their enemies into fearful submission. The public destruction of this infamous symbol marked the impending final demise of the deranged Nazi myth and its psychopathic regime, and the end of by far one of the worst eras in human history. I can only imagine how it must have felt for those who had suffered so terribly to witness, at last, this emerging glimmer of hope. Similar evocative and symbolic moments were soon to follow with a Soviet flag over the German Reichstag and an American flag raised on Iwo Jima. There’s something about these images-as-symbols that capture and express a wider human story and experience. They carry and convey powerful psychological, cultural and emotional meaning for those who understand and identify with what they represent. Other well-known examples of symbols include the Christian cross as a sign of God’s love and salvation through Jesus Christ or, conversely, ominous ‘Z’ insignia on Russian military vehicles during the 2022 invasion of Ukraine. What symbols have a particular resonance for you – and why? In its now-classic album, Hemispheres, Canadian rock band, Rush, sing a dramatic story of a cosmic struggle between competing gods of love and reason; each determined to rule humanity on its own terms. It’s a creative mythological account of the very real dilemmas and tensions we face and experience in human decision-making of head vs heart. (If interested in a faith dimension, we can see this polarity resolved in Jesus, described in the Bible as ‘full of grace and truth’, and in his call to be ‘wise as serpents and tame as doves’). Yet, how hard it is to do this in practice. It becomes more complex if we get caught up in emotional reasoning: ‘…the condition of being so strongly influenced by our emotions that we assume that they indicate objective truth. Whatever we feel is true, without any conditions and without any need for supporting facts or evidence’ (Therapy Now, 2021). It’s a blurring of heart and head so that the former appears to us, as if self-evidently, the latter. Betts and Collier, in their thoughtful review of refugee policy (Refuge, 2017) liken this to a ‘headless heart’; a decision driven by emotional response without due regard for consequences. A person may hold the opposite extreme, the ‘heartless head’, where he or she believes every decision must be informed or supported by rational thinking or objective evidence - and emotion or intuition are disregarded as irrelevant or unsound. We see this in cultural environments where, as Eugene Sadler-Smith observes, leaders feel compelled to post-rationalise intuitive decisions in order to make them more acceptable to colleagues (Inside Intuition, 2007). It’s a stance that risks dismissing beliefs, values and other dimensions of sense-making, motivation and experience. John Kotter brings words of wisdom here (Leading Change, 2012): to pay attention to our own default biases and to take account of those of others too, if we’re seeking to influence change. On presenting vision, he offers a helpful rule of thumb, ‘convincing to the mind and compelling to the heart’. The Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI) provides useful insight into different preferences that influence decision-making too. Rush’s epic song ends with its own solution: ‘Let the truth of Love be lighted, let the love of Truth shine clear…with Heart and Mind united in a single perfect sphere.’ At a time when geopolitical tensions between NATO-EU and Russia are on the increase and depicted starkly as such in the media, I showed a video of a Russian 'hell march' to an international group and asked them: a. What do you notice; b. How do you feel; c. What does it mean? It opened a deep conversation that emphasised the need for critical reflexivity in interpreting experiences and events. A Chinese participant looked quite disdainful and said it reminded her of similar 'propaganda parades' in her home country, designed to make people feel compliant and positive about the Communist party state. A German participant said it filled her with fear, evoking stories she had heard from elderly family members about horrors under Soviet occupation at the end of the Second World War. A UK participant, perhaps with the spirit of Brexit still reverberating fresh in the background, said she found the enforced uniformity and conformity disturbing. A Filipina participant from an Hispanic cultural background, who had lived under a repressive military dictatorship, said she liked how the soldiers were as-if dancing to a rhythm and doing something constructive that displayed positive talent. I noticed banners in the background depicting 1941, the year in which the Nazis had unleashed a war in the East that resulted in unspeakable terror and devastation. As a passionate anti-Nazi, I saw the march as an assertive symbol: a 'never-again'. We reflected on our different selective perceptions, feelings and interpretations and the profound influence of ourselves-as-filters as we look out onto the world. In a similar vein, at a Gestalt coaching training workshop last week, I posted an image on screen of a tree in wheat field with dark clouds looming overhead. I asked the group what they would notice in 3 imagined scenarios: 1. As a child, you loved to climb trees; 2. You are walking the countryside and have forgotten to bring a raincoat; 3. You and your family have had no food to eat for a week. We noticed that we notice what matters to us in the moment. Different people-groups may notice different things in the same situation, or the same person-group may notice different things in the same situation at different times. We attribute meaning based on our beliefs, values, hopes, fears and expectations. This includes personal and shared-cultural memories, emotions and imaginations. As we move ahead this year, I pray that I-we will do so with eyes wide open. What may appear to us as self-evident, real and true may reveal as much about us as who or what we observe: if we are willing to see it. What can we do to create greater critical reflexivity? How can we address blind spots and hot spots to open up fresh possibilities, address risks – and take a stance that is sound? My daughter is a guinea pig. This afternoon in the bright sunshine, I invited her to take part in an experiment. First, we stepped out into the street and, gesturing to a line of cars parked at the roadside, I asked, “If you were to buy a car, what colour would you choose, or definitely not choose?” She answered, “I’d love a white car.” “OK,” I replied, “let’s go for a walk into town and back. Your task is to count every white car that we pass. If you have the same number as me when we get back here, I will give you £10. How does that sound?” She grinned and willingly agreed.
An hour later, we stopped back where we had started and I asked her, “So, how many red cars did you see?” She looked at me blankly. “I didn’t see any red cars. I counted 206 white cars.” In fact, we had passed 93 red cars, yet she had been so focused on the white cars that she hadn’t seen a single one. This simple experiment illustrates an important psychological phenomenon known as selective attention: “The ability to pay attention to a limited array of all available sensory information…a filter that helps us prioritize information according to its importance.” (Bertram Ploog, 2013). Gestalt psychotherapist Geoff Pelham comments that, in any given relationship or situation, we notice who or what matters most to us (The Coaching Relationship in Practice, 2015). This idea of who or what matters most reflects beliefs, values and emotions. In this exercise, my daughter was influenced and motivated by her beliefs (that this experiment would serve some useful purpose), values (the prospect of a £10 reward) and emotion (her choice of a colour she likes). These factors combined to ensure concentration on a task (counting white cars) that required selective attention. Why is this insight significant in our work with people? The principle extends beyond literal-visual perception to deeper psychological processes too. Our beliefs, values and emotions subconsciously influence our focus and act as filters. We construe personal-shared narratives based on what we perceive. Such narratives appear to us as-if reality, as-if totality, and often without any awareness of who or what we have excluded. As such, narratives always point to and reveal, implicitly, who and what matters most to a person, group or culture, rather than to a definitive account of reality per se. A key question is, therefore: who or what are we, and others, not-noticing? If we can enable a shift in perception, a re-shaping of a narrative, what then becomes possible? Interested to do further reading in this area? See: The Art of Looking: Eleven Ways of Viewing the Multiple Realities of our Everyday Wonderland. |
Nick WrightI'm a psychological coach, trainer and OD consultant. Curious to discover how can I help you? Get in touch! 
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