Last Thursday, I started a year-long professional coaching certification program with New Ventures West. After spending nearly a year researching four different programs, I finally made my choice.
I was excited, but also pretty nervous. It’s been a long time since I’ve taken on something so new, especially something I’m not sure I’ll be good at. After 30 years in corporate America, I’m used to having experience and knowing what I’m doing. Now I’m voluntarily putting myself in a situation where I have neither.
And as I discovered on the very first day, knowing I’ll be a beginner and actually being one are two very different things.
Why I Chose This Program
What attracted me most to New Ventures West was its philosophy. About half the program will help me develop as a human beins, not just learn coaching techniques. The premise is that who we are as coaches, the presence we bring, and how we relate to others can be more important than the questions we ask or the techniques we use.
That really intrigued me. I’ve spent much of my career mentoring others and helping them solve problems. But this kind of coaching is different. It’s less about offering solutions and more about helping someone see themselves and their possibilities in a fundamentally different way.
I got my first taste of this approach when I took their Foundation of Coaching course in February. I found it fascinating, but also humbling. I watched instructors and fellow students offer powerful analogies and new perspectives that helped people rethink their situations. A fellow student coached me during the course and offered a perspective I still remember and use today.
But when it was my turn, I struggled. I understood what they were doing, but wasn’t sure I could learn to do it myself.
I was also drawn to the close-knit cohort and the opportunity to spend a year learning alongside people who were equally committed to their own development. A good friend who recently completed the program loved it, which gave me another reason to take the leap.
Even the application was thought-provoking, with questions about parts of myself I’d rarely considered. Then came the reading list, about ten books covering psychology, relationships, philosophy, and spirituality. I haven’t taken on that kind of reading since my university days over 30 years ago!
It all sounded exciting, but also intimidating.
Day One: The Discomfort Was Real
Last Thursday was the first day of the year-long program. By the end of it, I was exhausted. Not physically, but emotionally. We’d spent the day meeting our cohort, introducing ourselves, doing exercises, and beginning to explore some deeply personal questions. I was moved by how openly people shared their stories.
But I also started comparing myself with others. Some seemed so clear about why they were there and what they wanted to explore. Meanwhile, I felt like I was over-explaining. When I said I was in “discovery mode” about myself and where this program might lead me, it sounded vague and inadequate in comparison.
I was honest about my uncertainty, but internally, I was judging myself for it. I kept replaying what I’d said and wondering why I couldn’t have expressed it better.
It surprised me how quickly my performance anxiety showed up. Here I was in a program designed to help us develop ourselves, and on the very first day, I was already evaluating how well I was doing compared with everyone else. I knew I was there to learn, not to demonstrate how much I already knew. Yet knowing that didn’t stop the self-criticism.
By the end of the day, I felt pretty low.
A Conversation That Changed My Perspective
The next morning before day two started, I told my husband how exhausted and overwhelmed I’d felt. He offered a perspective I hadn’t considered.
He reminded me what a gift this opportunity was. I had spent nearly a year choosing this program because I genuinely wanted to do it. No one was making me do it, and I had nothing to prove to anyone. I was here because I wanted to learn, grow, and explore something new, even if it turned out to be difficult.
He also pointed out that the difficulty itself could be part of the gift. How often do we get to experience something genuinely new, with all the excitement, discomfort, uncertainty, and vulnerability that come with it, and give ourselves permission to experience it all, without judging how well we’re doing?
That conversation gave me an enormous sense of relief. I realized I’d been treating day one almost like a performance review. Was I doing well? Was I keeping up? Did I sound smart enough? 🤪 But what if I could simply appreciate the experience, including the uncomfortable parts? What if I gave myself permission to struggle, feel awkward, and not have everything figured out yet?
Day Two: A Different Experience
I returned for day two with a different mindset. Instead of worrying about how I was doing, I wanted to see what would happen if I simply showed up, participated, and trusted the process. And I had an amazing day.
At one point, I found myself willing to explore something much deeper and more vulnerable than I’d originally intended to share. It was uncomfortable, but I also felt surprisingly safe. I began to realize that the more honestly I engaged, rather than trying to manage how I appeared, the more I might get out of this experience.
The program hadn’t suddenly become easier, and I certainly hadn’t become a better coach overnight. But I was relating to the experience differently. I was becoming more curious about what I could discover instead of worrying about whether I was doing it right.
Welcoming the Beginner in Me
Four days into this year-long program, I’m actually more excited than when I started. I still have a lot to learn, and I’m sure there will be many more moments when I feel awkward, uncertain, or not good enough.
But I’m beginning to realize that I don’t have to be calm, confident, or comfortable with everything all the time. I can notice when I’m judging myself without judging myself even more for doing it. It’s just how I’m feeling in that moment, and the next moment can be different. I can soften, let it go, and begin again.
Lei
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