I learned to ride a bicycle when I was four or five years old. Like most people, rode a bike a lot as a kid, and then I occasionally rode through my early teenage years until learning to drive a car. Until last month, I don’t think I’d ridden a bicycle for maybe 30+ years. And then, without any planning or prep, my wife and I rented bikes while we were vacationing in Hilton Head, South Carolina. Do you want to guess how long it took me to remember how to ride a bike? I’ll bet you know exactly how long: no time at all.
We Americans have a saying for something that is known so deeply that it can be accessed after years and years without having to even think about it: “It’s like riding a bike.”
I don’t know the exact science or psychology or whatever it is that allows something that was very difficult to learn the first time (I am not naturally talented at things that require balance and coordination) to take no time to re-engage after a period of dormancy. What I do know is that something learned has a way of sticking around. And things that are deeply known emerge almost automatically when the moment presents itself.
Our brain/body’s ability to recall and apply deep learning is often an advantage. But sometimes such automatic access is actually a liability. This is often the case for new coaches who are trying to embrace a new approach, develop new skills, and establish new patterns for helping others. The new gets smothered by the older and deeper. For example, we know it’s best to ask open-ended questions that allow the client to think, explore, and create, yet our engrained pattern erupts some close-ended question that contains an obvious suggestion. We blurt out something along the lines of, “Do you think your co-worker Tim could help you by talking to your boss on your behalf?” Ugh!
What old patterns are difficult for coaches to break? Here are three of the most common.
#1 – I help most by telling.
When someone has a question, it seems the right thing to do would be to tell them an answer. If someone needs direction, telling them which way to go just feels natural. But when we inhabit the role of the coach, telling people what to do, how to do it, or why to do it is the exactly wrong thing to do. Even those of us with years of coaching experience find ourselves having to resist this deeply engrained pattern from time to time. And by “time to time” I mean pretty much every coaching conversation. Telling is not helping, but it sure feels like it is.
#2 – I want to appear smart.
From impressing your parents by reciting your ABCs as a toddler to having the right answers for the high school Calculus test, it usually pays to let the light of your intelligence shine brightly. But a coaching relationship is not about you or how smart you are. Rather, it’s about unlocking and unleashing the brilliance of the person you’re coaching. And even though we know this, sometimes it feels almost impossible to hold back that little scholar who just wants to be the smart person in the conversation. When you throw in the fact that the client is paying you for coaching, it’s even more tempting to come across as smart. After all, why would they pay you to be dumb? Of course, they are not paying you to be dumb, they are paying you to be helpful, and as counterintuitive as it feels, showing up as the smart one is not helpful in a coaching situation.
#3 – I should make the other person comfortable.
Often, making others comfortable is a good approach. Exercising “emotional intelligence” and demonstrating the personality trait “agreeableness” tends to work pretty well in most circumstances other than clearly conflict situations. Coaching is not a conflict situation, yet aiming to make the other person comfortable is a less-than-useful habit. Why? Because as coaches our priority is to support the client and the client’s agenda, which often requires the client to get uncomfortable. When our client needs to be challenged, the old reliable pattern of making the other person comfortable gets in the way.
Coaching is not like riding a bicycle. It’s more like unlearning how to ride a bicycle. When I hopped on the bicycle in Hilton Head, pedaling, steering, and balancing were second nature skills that helped me make progress down the bike path toward my destination. These skills worked for me in large part because I trusted them. But as a coach, some of the skills that I have grown to trust in life work against me (and against my clients). It’s hard work to break old, reliable patterns, but the work is worth it. Telling, being smart, and making others comfortable do not lead to progress in a coaching relationship. Asking questions, drawing out the other person’s creativity, and supporting the client in the midst of discomfort are the skills needed. If you’re new to coaching (and maybe even if you’re not all that new) the coach approach might feel awkward and be nowhere close to second nature for you. But don’t fret. Give it time. Be patient with yourself. And do the work needed to keep deep patterns in the background while you develop and deploy the new skills of coaching. The reward is worth the work.
