I Used to Think Healing Meant Fixing People
I used to believe that if someone sat across from me in my office, it meant they were broken. That’s the unspoken contract of therapy, isn’t it? You come because something’s wrong. You’re anxious, depressed, stuck. I’d listen, reflect, gently nudge. We’d trace the roots of their fear back to childhood, unpack the defense mechanisms, and slowly, painstakingly, rebuild their inner world.
It was meaningful work. I saved lives. But after fifteen years, I started noticing something unsettling: the world outside my door kept moving faster than the people I was helping.
I’d walk out into the hallway and hear executives laughing in the waiting room, talking about funding rounds and product launches. They weren’t there because they were broken. They were there because they were brilliant—and they wanted to be better. And I realized I’d spent my career helping people get back to baseline, while they were trying to break past it.
I didn’t leave psychology. I just stopped using it to fix.
The Myth of the Broken Leader
Here’s the lie we tell ourselves: leaders need therapy because they’re stressed. Or burnt out. Or lonely.
No.
The best leaders aren’t broken. They’re overperfoming. And that’s the problem.
Think of elite athletes. Usain Bolt didn’t go to a sports psychologist because he was broken. He went because he wanted to shave 0.02 seconds off his time. He wanted to be the fastest man alive—and he knew he needed someone who understood the science of peak performance, not the science of pathology.
That’s what executive coaching is. It’s not therapy with a suit. It’s the same psychological insight, repurposed for a different goal: not repair, but elevation.
I used to treat depression. Now I treat blind spots.
I used to help people manage anxiety. Now I help CEOs manage their own influence.
The tools are the same—empathy, curiosity, pattern recognition—but the target has shifted from the individual’s inner world to the systems they inhabit.
The Boundaries Are Gone. And That’s the Point.
In therapy, boundaries are sacred. You don’t meet your client for coffee. You don’t know their kids’ names. You don’t get invited to their kid’s birthday party.
In coaching? I’ve eaten at their dining room tables. I’ve sat in their boardrooms while they argued with their CFO. I’ve been on Zoom calls with their spouses when they needed to explain why they were working late again.
The hierarchy collapsed. And I didn’t mind.
Because here’s the truth: when you’re coaching a CEO who’s made $200 million, who’s led teams of 500, who’s stared down venture capitalists and won—you don’t sit across from them as the expert. You sit beside them as the mirror.
They don’t need advice. They need clarity.
And sometimes, the only way to give them clarity is to stop being the therapist and become the witness.
Leadership Isn’t About Skills. It’s About Systems.
I used to think leadership was about charisma. Or vision. Or decisiveness.
I was wrong.
Leadership is about systems.
It’s about how a single comment from a CEO in a team meeting ripples through an org chart and turns into silence. It’s about how a manager’s hidden insecurity about their own competence causes their direct reports to stop speaking up. It’s about how a culture of “no mistakes allowed” kills innovation before it even has a name.
Coaching isn’t about teaching a leader how to give feedback.
It’s about helping them see how their silence is the feedback.
I don’t teach techniques anymore. I map patterns.
I watch who speaks when. Who’s interrupted. Who’s deferred. Who’s praised and who’s ignored. And then I say: “That’s not a communication problem. That’s a power problem.”
And suddenly, the CEO sees it. Not because I told them. Because they saw it in the room.
The Middle Ground Between Advice and Analysis
Here’s what I learned: advice alone doesn’t change behavior.
I’ve sat with founders who’ve heard the same advice ten times: “Delegate.” “Trust your team.” “Let go.”
And they still micromanage.
Why?
Because advice doesn’t address the underlying fear.
The fear that if they let go, they’ll be exposed.
The fear that they’re not as smart as everyone thinks.
The fear that without them, the whole thing falls apart.
That’s not a skill gap. That’s a psychological wound.
So I stopped giving advice.
I started asking questions that cut deeper: “What happens if you don’t check their work?” “What’s the worst thing you imagine?” “Who taught you that your value was tied to control?”
And then—slowly, painfully—we built a new story.
Not about leadership. About identity.
The Most Powerful Word in Coaching Isn’t “Change.” It’s “See.”
I used to think my job was to help people change.
Now I know: you can’t change someone.
But you can help them see.
See how their tone shuts down a room.
See how their silence is a signal.
See how their need to be right is keeping their team small.
The moment someone sees it—the real, unvarnished truth—that’s when the shift begins.
Not because I fixed them.
Because they finally saw themselves.
And that’s the only kind of change that lasts.
I’m Not a Therapist Anymore. I’m a Mirror.
I used to think my role was to heal.
Now I know: I’m here to reflect.
To hold up the mirror so leaders can see what they’ve become.
Not what they want to be.
Not what they think they are.
But what they actually are.
And sometimes, that’s terrifying.
But it’s also the only thing that makes leadership real.
I didn’t leave psychology.
I just stopped trying to fix people.
And started helping them see themselves.
And that? That’s the most powerful thing I’ve ever done.
The Source of This Shift
This transition didn’t happen overnight. It was a slow unraveling.
I started by selling my first behavioral health startup. Then another. Each time, I found myself more drawn to the leaders—the founders, the VPs, the C-suite—who were trying to scale not just revenue, but culture. And I realized: I didn’t want to treat their anxiety. I wanted to understand why their culture was collapsing.
The Psychology Today article by Martin Dubin (2026) crystallized what I’d been feeling: that coaching isn’t therapy with a better suit. It’s a different discipline entirely.
Dubin writes: “Executive coaching lies somewhere in the middle, between mere advice on one end and psychotherapeutic techniques on the other.” That’s exactly it.
Therapy asks: Why are you like this?
Coaching asks: What do you want to become?
And the answer to that question? It’s never in the past.
It’s in the system.
I still use psychodynamic principles. I still notice defense mechanisms. I still track transference.
But now I apply them to org charts, not childhood memories.
And that’s the difference.
I didn’t abandon my training.
I upgraded it.
Why This Matters Beyond the C-Suite
This isn’t just about CEOs.
It’s about how we think about leadership at every level.
If we keep treating leadership as a skill to be taught—like public speaking or time management—we’ll keep missing the point.
Leadership is a mirror. It reflects the culture. It amplifies the fears. It exposes the blind spots.
And the best leaders aren’t the ones who have all the answers.
They’re the ones who can sit with the questions.
And the best coaches? They’re not the ones who give the advice.
They’re the ones who help the leader see the reflection.
I used to think I was helping individuals.
Now I know: I’m helping organizations.
And that’s why I stayed.
