By day three of my men’s immersion in November 2015, I was exhausted. Not from coaching and leading the group, which I loved, but from the constant monitoring and thinking. I used to think that my job as a coach was to provide all of the value my clients received. I reasoned that this was what they were paying for. If someone signed up to work with me, then it must be my responsibility to ensure that every insight, every breakthrough, and every moment of transformation came directly from me. When I first started running immersion programmes for men, I carried this same assumption with me. Looking back now, it had me become a bit of a control freak.
This didn’t really show up in my one-to-one coaching, but it came out strongly when I was running group experiences. I would micromanage or overthink the flow of the days, the exercises, the timing, and the energy in the room. I was constantly monitoring whether people were “getting value.” Were they engaged enough? Were they opening up enough? Were they having the kind of experience that would justify them being there? It was exhausting. And although I may not have been over-preparing, that internal monitoring never really switched off during the immersion itself. I can see now that it showed, even if I didn’t realise it at the time.
Underneath that behaviour was fear. Or more precisely, a lack of understanding that the feeling of fear was a reflection of my innocent but inaccurate thinking. Which was ironic, given that I was coaching people using my understanding of the Three Principles of Mind, Thought, and Consciousness, principles that point to our feelings not reflecting reality itself, but our moment-to-moment thinking. I was still relatively early in my coaching career, and I was putting a huge amount of pressure on myself to make it work. I was afraid that if people didn’t feel they were getting value, they might give me negative feedback, and that somehow this whole profession I cared so deeply about would come crashing down. It felt fragile. And because it felt fragile, I tried to hold it all together myself.
Around that time, Steve Chandler shared something with me that shifted the way I saw my role entirely. He spoke about his experience teaching his coaching school and what he had observed over the years. He noticed that if he brought a group together and people were talking, enjoying each other’s company, and spending time together, that in itself was enormous value. He hadn’t “delivered” that value in the traditional sense. He had created the space and the opportunity for it to happen.
He told me about another coaching school he was aware of, one that had a high number of clients renewing year after year, even though many of those clients weren’t going on to build coaching practices themselves. From the outside, it might have seemed puzzling. But when you looked more closely, it made perfect sense. The people loved being together. The leader of that school had created a strong sense of community, and people wanted to remain part of it. That insight struck me, not as a threat to how I was working, but as a missing piece of the puzzle. I didn’t have to be the source of all value for my clients. There was real power in stepping back and allowing them to connect with each other.
Over time, this became something I consciously encouraged in any group programme I ran. I would invite clients to spend time together over lunch, during breaks, and even outside the formal structure of the programme. I knew that the more time they spent together, the safer and more open they were likely to feel in the group, and that openness allowed for deeper transformation.
This is also why I don’t cram the days in my coaching school or in my men’s immersions. I deliberately create space. Space for conversation. Space for reflection. Space for people to simply be with each other. Sometimes this happens informally, and sometimes it’s through smaller breakout groups as part of an exercise. Either way, it’s intentional.
There was a time when, had a client told me that their biggest takeaway from a programme came from something another participant said in a small group, I would have felt uncomfortable. It might even have felt threatening. If I believed it was my job to deliver every insight and every transformation, then feedback like that could easily be interpreted as me falling short. Now, I say this upfront. I let clients know that some of the most powerful moments may come from listening to each other. And I invite them to bring their most open listening, not just to me, but to everyone in the room.
This honours an important coaching distinction: information versus transformation. Most of my clients already have more information than they know what to do with. They know that going to the gym would be good for their health. They know what they “should” be doing. And yet, knowing doesn’t change much on its own. Transformation happens when something shifts in how we live, not just in what we understand. My role as a coach is not to add more information, but to facilitate the conditions in which real change can occur.
If I’m honest, I didn’t stop monitoring whether people were “getting value” overnight. I’d love to say there was a single breakthrough moment where everything suddenly became easier, but the truth is it was a gradual process. Bit by bit, as I loosened my grip, I became calmer. I showed up more relaxed in my leadership. I trusted myself more, and I trusted the work more. And in doing so, I discovered that the space itself carried far more value than I had ever allowed myself to see.
Looking back now, it’s clear that when I stopped trying to be the sole provider of insights and transformation, my clients went deeper. And perhaps just as importantly, I enjoyed my work more. My fledgling coaching practice became more sustainable. I was more human. And, somewhat paradoxically, the work became more powerful.
With love and appreciation,
Ankush Jain
Coach and Author of Sweet Sharing – Rediscovering the REAL You