02/10/2026
I HAVE A THEATRE DEGREE AND ADHD AND I'VE BEEN COACHING FOR 11 YEARS, WHICH MEANS I'M OVERQUALIFIED TO BE WEIRD AND UNDER QUALIFIED FOR EVERYTHING ELSE.
(The theatre degree is doing exactly as much as you think it's doing.)
And for most of those 11 years I had the same problem. Not that I couldn't coach. I can coach. Put the right person in front of me and I'm sharp and funny and I see stuff other coaches miss.
My problem was that I kept misreading the room.
Someone would say "let me think about it" and I'd hear "no forever, and also you're bad at this, and also they're telling their friends right now."
Someone would ask about my pricing and I'd hear "that's too much, you absolute fraud."
Someone wouldn't reply for two days and I'd hear "it's over. You're done. Move to another state. Change your name. Grow a beard."
(I once let a lead sit in my inbox for three weeks because I saw the message, thought "I'll respond tonight," and then just... didn't. Three weeks later I'd convinced myself we were in a feud. We were not in a feud. They were busy. I was performing a one-man show called "Rejection: A Tragedy in Three Acts" and nobody bought a ticket.)
You know what this is?
This is Jurassic Park.
Your coaching practice is the park. You built it. It works. The dinosaurs are amazing. (The dinosaurs are your coaching skills. Just go with it.)
You've done the trainings, read the books, you know how to help people. The park is operational. The fences are up. Everything is designed to run.
But then there's Nedry.
Nedry is the guy at the computer who shuts off the security system because he got scared and greedy and made a bad deal. He's sweating. He's panicking. He's convinced he needs to grab the embryos and run before everything falls apart.
Your Gremlin is Nedry.
The Gremlin sits at the control panel of your brain and starts shutting off fences.
Someone says "let me think about it"? Gremlin shuts off the Follow-Up fence. "Don't bother. They said no. They're in a group chat about it. You're the topic." (They didn't say no. They said let me think about it. Those are different words.)
Someone asks your price? Gremlin shuts off the Confidence fence. "Say a lower number. Actually, say a MUCH lower number. Actually, just coach them for free and apologize for bringing up money at all." (They weren't judging you. They were asking a question. Like a person.)
Someone doesn't reply for two days? Gremlin shuts off the Patience fence. "It's dead. They didn't just ghost you. They moved. Changed their name. Started a new life. You did this." (They went to Costco. They forgot. That's it. That's the whole story.)
And now the raptors are loose.
The raptors are your inbox full of messages you never responded to. The raptors are the four-month "prospect" who's not a prospect — they're a pen pal. The raptors are the client paying half your rate because you panicked in the moment and now you're stuck with it.
(It's like that episode of Seinfeld where George can't figure out if he's dating a woman or just eating dinner with her regularly. That's half your client roster right now. You're George. Except George at least had the excuse of being George.)
The park was built to work. YOU were built to work. The coaching is good. The skills are there.
The Gremlin just keeps shutting off the fences.
And here's the part that took me years to see — the part that's either going to make you nod or make you put your phone down and stare at the ceiling for a minute:
You're not just misreading the last conversation. You're creating the next one based on how you felt about the last one.
The Gremlin doesn't just mess up one interaction. He poisons the next one. You show up to the next call a little guarded. A little apologetic. A little "please don't hurt me."
And the person across from you doesn't know why, but something feels off. So they hesitate. And you read that hesitation as confirmation.
Gremlin: "See? Told you."
It's a loop. The misinterpretation creates the energy. The energy creates the result. The result confirms the misinterpretation. And the Gremlin sits at the control panel going "told you, told you, told you" while the raptors eat your practice.
(In the movie, Nedry gets eaten by a dinosaur. I'm not saying that's what happens to your Gremlin. But I'm not NOT saying it either.)
The gap between where most coaches are and where they want to be isn't more training. You've done the trainings. It isn't another book. You could teach a college course on books about enrollment and have never enrolled anyone. (I'm not attacking you. I'm describing my twenties.)
It's learning to hear what people are actually saying instead of what the Gremlin tells you they're saying. And then doing the next thing — the follow-up, the offer, the real price, the honest conversation — before the Gremlin can shut off another fence.
The lighter you make that moment, the more likely you are to do it.
Not easier. Lighter. Big difference.
The Gremlin hates lightness. Lightness is his kryptonite. He needs everything to be heavy and serious and dramatic. He's basically a theatre kid too. All drama. No callback. Can't take a note.
(Worst kind.)
