 ‘Coaching should be a process of inquiry, not a series of questions.’ (Marcia Reynolds) I’m often stimulated by the great questions, insights and ideas that people bring to coaching training workshops. This week’s advanced-level participants were in Burundi, Pakistan and the UK and mostly in leadership and management roles. Some of the questions they raised were:
The first question touches on culture and boundaries since where people draw the boundaries between ‘life’ and ‘work’ may be different in different cultural contexts. Many managers are willing to explore outside-of-work issues insofar as they impact on a person or team in-work. The second question touches on perception and capability; firstly, the degree to which the way in which a person construes a situation and themself in relation to it corresponds with ‘reality’ and ‘truth’; then how far critical environmental factors are constraining or enabling their progress. The third question touches on emotional and cultural intelligence; that is, how far the manager is aware of their own emotional triggers and how far they have developed themselves to recognise and address them. It’s useful to work through these things with a trusted supervisor. The final question touches on relationships and systems; that is, how the manager positions themself in relation to others in a team, and the others in relation to each other, and how they then choose to navigate the cultural and relational boundaries that emerge between them. Do you want to develop your coaching skills as a manager? Get in touch!
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 ‘Those who make conversations impossible, make escalation inevitable.’ (Stefan Molyneux) It was a stimulating 2 days this week, co-leading a Masterclass for a diverse group of trained and experienced action learning facilitators. One of the things we looked at was Personal Trigger Maps. I find this a useful developmental tool for facilitators and participants, enabling them to identify their own emotional hot spots and prepare ways to deal with them, should they feel triggered (sometimes unexpectedly) during an encounter with an individual or group. I first became aware of this in a counselling course many years ago where I was placed, with others, in a group without explanation and without a leader to see what would emerge. I felt relaxed and happy to sit with the silence, observing rather than participating, until a man in the room put down a vulnerable-sounding woman harshly. Something triggered within me and I sprang into recue mode, taking out the surprised man forcefully. Eeek. An important lesson. The Map itself has 5 stages: 1. Trigger: the external event or situation; 2. Interpretation: the meaning I assign to it (often automatically); 3. Core sensitivity: the deeper value, fear or wound it touches; 4. Reaction: my emotional and behavioural response; 5. Regulation/choice: What helps me to response more skilfully. We can work through the 5 stages sequentially. It fosters emotional and social intelligence and can enable a shift from reactivity to responsiveness. Here’s an illustration:
Would you like help with creating your own Personal Trigger Map? Get in touch!  ‘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!  ‘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.’ |
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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