She entered the session looking composed. Beautiful. A calm smile. Carefully done makeup. Every word she spoke was thoughtful, measured, mature. But just ten minutes in, while talking about the unresolved conflicts in her team, she paused and suddenly laughed: “I don’t know what’s happening to me. All morning, I just wanted to sit on a park bench somewhere, eat a baguette, and not be a mother, a boss, or a good person anymore.” I didn’t say anything. Just held the silence. A moment later, she began to cry—not a dramatic breakdown, but the kind of quiet tears that come from someone who’s been holding it all together for too long, and now, finally, has just enough strength to let a little go. At the end of the session, she said: “It’s been so long since I felt like I had the right… to not be okay. And strangely, I don’t feel weaker. I feel lighter. And maybe even… able to laugh again.” One coaching session didn’t solve everything. But it allowed her to lay down 15 years of constant holding. And that alone, was a powerful return to herself.

He entered the session with strong energy. His voice was firm, his gaze direct and unwavering. He said there were problems within his team: lack of initiative, unclear communication, and dishonesty. He often found himself getting angry — even though he knew he shouldn’t. After about fifteen minutes of sharing, his tone sharpened: “I hate the feeling of being disrespected.” I gently asked, “When they don’t meet your expectations… who do you see yourself as?” He went quiet. For quite a while. Then he said, “I see a child — trying to scream: ‘Don’t let me fail again.’” No more anger. No more defense. Just a man who had long trained himself to stay strong — to succeed at all costs. At the end of the session, he said: “For the first time, I saw my anger not as strength, and not as a flaw either — but as a signal pointing to a deep fear inside me.” One coaching session didn’t teach him to control others. It helped him realize: what he truly needed was to hold space for himself first.

He sighed and said, “I know I have advantages. I know I’m lucky. But I have no idea what kind of life I truly want to live.” He shared that he had always done well in school, handled many things, earned trust, and been offered opportunities. But strangely, nothing held him for long. He would start something, then lose interest. Doubt would creep in. Inspiration would fade. And eventually, direction would disappear. I asked, “Was there ever a moment when you felt fully like yourself — and had no regrets about it?” He paused for a long time. Then he recalled a time when he was deeply engaged in building connections between domestic and international businesses. He worked hard, but he wasn’t exhausted. He felt alive. Then he said, “I keep watching what other people are doing and trying to copy them. I thought that was what success looked like.” “And even when I do hear something from within… I don’t trust it. Because there’s no proof. No guarantee it will lead anywhere.” One coaching session didn’t give him all the answers. But it helped him realize what is uniquely his — and start learning to trust his own intuition again.

I met him through a former client. His family was worried — not because anything dramatic had happened, but because he had stopped talking. He still went to school regularly, showed up on time, did his work… but barely said a word. We began the session gently. And little by little, it unfolded: he had just transferred from a private school to a public one — right in his final year. The new environment felt completely unfamiliar. The way teachers taught, how classmates interacted, the pace, the classroom culture — none of it felt like before. Though he showed up every day, inside, he felt lost. He didn’t want to worry his parents, so he stayed quiet. He didn’t want to seem weak, so he hid the confusion and overwhelm. When we gave his experience a name — not “failure,” but a “shock of transition” — I saw his shoulders relax just a bit. He wasn’t falling behind. He was simply adjusting. In the second half of the session, we brainstormed a few small ways to connect with classmates, ask questions without feeling awkward, and try re-engaging with the material in a way that felt more his own. He chose one or two things that felt safe to try. A few weeks later, his family shared that he had started talking again at dinner. He had made a new friend. And something in his energy had shifted. One coaching session gave him a small bridge — to begin finding rhythm in a new world, and to take the first few steps in it, on his own terms.

He was the one who built a startup from the ground up. Processes, details, performance — everything had to be in his hands to ensure survival. And he did that exceptionally well. That’s why he was promoted to a higher position within the parent corporation. But ever since stepping into the new role, he’s been struggling — feeling isolated. “I get the sense they’re intentionally shutting me out. I don’t feel like I belong there. I’ve even thought about quitting.” When I asked, “Is there any recurring abnormal signal you’ve noticed when joining this new environment?” He paused, reflected, and then said, “Complaints about micromanagement?!” And that’s when it hit him: a strength that once helped him survive and thrive in a startup, may now be damaging relationships in a place where survival isn’t the goal anymore. Growth is. He was stunned. One coaching session didn’t instantly change his leadership style. But it helped him recognize that what once worked so well in the past might now be holding him back — and that awareness alone began to loosen the grip of his old success story.