The Stories We Tell Ourselves as Coaches (and What Else Might Be True)

Melissa
Jun 24, 2025
5 min read

As coaches, we know that thoughts aren’t facts.

We know that our inner critic can be loud, persistent, and convincing.

We know how powerful the stories in our heads can be, and how quickly they shape our sense of who we are and what we’re capable of.

And yet…

Even with all that awareness, we’re not immune.

We still make up stories like:

“I’m not experienced enough to coach that client.”
“They said no because I’m not good enough.”
“Everyone else has this figured out except me.”
“If I was a better coach, I wouldn’t feel like this.”
“I need another qualification before I put myself out there.”

These stories aren’t facts.

They’re not the truth.

But they feel true.

And when something feels true, it has power. It can shape our decisions. It can shrink our courage. It can whisper doubts into moments when we most need to feel grounded and bold.

I know these stories well, because I’ve told them too

A while ago, I was invited to speak at an event for a group of experienced coaches. My immediate response?

“Why me?” “Surely there’s someone more qualified?” “What if I don’t live up to their expectations?”

Even though I knew these thoughts were fear-based stories, they still landed hard. And for a moment, I wanted to retreat—to politely decline, to step away, to stay small.

But I’ve been doing this courage-building work long enough to recognise when these stories are most likely to show up: when we’re on the edge of something meaningful. When we’re stretching. When we’re moving closer to our values.

So instead of backing away, I got curious.

What else could be true?

Maybe I was invited because of what I bring—not in spite of it. Maybe the nerves meant I cared, not that I wasn’t ready. Maybe this was a moment to practise what I teach.

Brené Brown calls this “the story I’m telling myself…”

In her Rising Strong process, Brené Brown explores what happens when we’re faced with discomfort, uncertainty or failure. She says that in the absence of data and information, we often fill in the blanks with a story, usually a first draft written by our fear.

She writes, “The brain’s job is to make up stories. And the brain rewards us for stories that make sense—even if they’re not true.”

We tell ourselves these first-draft stories as a way to make sense of what we’re feeling. But we don’t have to stop there.

We can reality-check the story. We can ask what else might be true. We can write a different ending.

That moment of naming “the story I’m telling myself is…” gives us space between the narrative and ourselves. And in that space, we can choose something more grounded, more generous—and often, more accurate.

We don’t just make up stories in anticipation—we make them up in hindsight too

It’s not just before a big moment that our stories show up. They’re just as powerful after something has happened, especially if it didn’t go how we hoped.

Take this example: a coach finishes a session and doesn’t feel the client had a breakthrough. There was no lightbulb moment, no visible shift. The coach expected more and leaves the Zoom call with a niggling sense of discomfort.

Cue the inner critic:

“That session was flat—maybe I didn’t ask the right questions.”
“I’m not making an impact.”
“They probably regret working with me.”
“I’m not cut out for this after all.”

We’ve all been there.

And yet, when we really explore these post-session spirals, they’re often built on assumption, not fact. The client may have been processing quietly. They may have needed time. They may even email the next day saying, “That session really landed—I’ve been thinking about what we discussed ever since.”

But by that point, the coach may already be caught in a shame loop, assigning meaning to the experience that chips away at their confidence.

Again, naming the story—“The story I’m telling myself is…” helps us interrupt that spiral. It opens up the possibility that maybe the session was more valuable than we thought. Or maybe it didn’t go perfectly, and that’s okay too. We’re still learning. Still growing.

The power lies not in believing the story, but in noticing it

The question isn’t, “Do I believe this?”

The more helpful question is: “What else might be true?”

That’s where the shift happens.

That’s where we reclaim our agency.

Maybe the client wasn’t ready. Maybe your approach was exactly what they needed—but it just hasn’t landed yet. Maybe your doubt is not a red flag, but a sign that you care deeply about the work.

And maybe… just maybe… everyone else is figuring it out as they go, too.

Coaching ourselves with compassion

We’re so good at helping our clients untangle their stories.

We listen. We reflect. We help them notice when fear or old patterns are at the wheel.

But do we offer that same generosity to ourselves?

Self-awareness is crucial—but it’s not enough on its own. Without self-compassion, it can quickly turn into harshness. “I should know better.” “Why do I still get stuck in this?” “What kind of coach still struggles with this stuff?”

Kristin Neff talks about fierce self-compassion—the kind that says, “This matters. I matter. I’m doing the best I can, and I can keep going.”

We need that voice too.

Especially when the old stories feel loud and sticky.

Reclaiming our courage

When we can notice our story, offer ourselves compassion, and choose to show up anyway—that’s where courage lives.

It’s not about eliminating the stories (wouldn’t that be nice?). It’s about learning to see them, question them, and not let them define us.

Courage doesn’t mean never doubting ourselves.

Courage means saying, “I hear that story… and I’m showing up anyway.”

A few gentle questions to take into your week:

What’s a story I’ve been telling myself lately?
Where might that story be shaping my confidence or decisions?
What else might be true?
And what would courage look like here?

We all carry stories. That’s part of being human.

But they don’t get to decide what’s possible for us.

When we learn to hold those stories lightly, we create space for presence, self-trust, compassion—and ultimately, courage.

So… what story are you telling yourself right now?

And what else might be true?

Finally

If you like some help with writing the ending to your own stories, you know where I am.

About Me

I'm a coach, supervisor, and courage cultivator, supporting coaches to lean into vulnerability, embrace their humanity, and show up with courage in their coaching practice and businesses.

Through my work—including The Courageous Coach Programme launching in November 2025—I help coaches move beyond collecting tools and techniques, and instead build the inner foundations needed for transformational coaching.

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