All coaches work from a set of assumptions. We might describe these as the fruits of our experience, or the product of years of study and observation. Whether we are able to describe these assumptions clearly or not, they surely exist for all of us. It might be helpful for you as clients or consumers of coaching to know what the four main models or assumptions are and to know from which model I work. The four models are:

Clinical Model- The clinical model stems from psychological counseling and assists the client in changing self-perception and personality (as they relate to the coaching issue). The clinical model often gathers data about the client’s history and family, and can include more of the client’s experience than her work experience in order to progress toward goals. The clinical model fits well for clients wanting to explore a specific need or goal within the context of their whole life rather than just within their job or relationship. If an executive or management coach uses this model in an organization where the organization is paying for the coaching and expects periodic reports, the coach must clearly define boundaries about personal information and the organization must agree to these boundaries so that client/coach confidentiality is protected.

Behavioral Model- The behavioral model is an evolution of Pavlov’s and Skinner’s experiments and assists the client in changing problem behavior by role play, experimentation and self-observation. This model works exclusively with what the client does or doesn’t do and helps the client to act in different ways, to “act as if” he were the leader, singer, father, parent he wants to be. This model works well when the behavior change is fairly simple and the results of behavior change are fairly quickly discernible. A difficulty with this model might be that the client can change behavior with the coach’s support but cannot sustain that change after coaching has ended.

Systems Model- The systems model aligns individual parts to a whole system (an organization, family, or some larger, more complex entity) and assists the client in aligning her own personal vision with the vision of the larger entity (her company, for instance). This model positions the client in a larger context and acknowledges the forces over which the client may have little control. It allows the client and coach to assess the system as well as the parts of the system over which the client may have influence or control and tries to affect the system through these efforts. The systems approach works well for clients who want to understand the complexity of their situation (and feel some relief to know that an organization’s culture is bigger than their part in it) and can look toward long-term impact.

Social Constructionist Model- The social constructionist model stems from the belief that we humans make our own reality through the stories we are told and the stories we tell. This model assists the client by allowing him to tell his story and to align that story with the stories others tell in his organization or environment. This model also acknowledges an environment larger than the client and coach, and assists the client in discovering her unique story so that she can see if it is the truth for her or an outmoded story she has told out of habit. This model works well with clients who are looking for ways to change that are independent of fixing problems and dependent on emphasizing strengths and skills. The liability of this model may be that the story the client ultimately tells is out of sync with the stories told by others in his environment.

I work from a social constructionist model. I’m particularly interested in how you “story” yourself, that is, how you describe yourself and your situation. As I work also from a particular social constructionist model, appreciative inquiry, I also will look for the ways in which your story expresses self-appreciation and recognition. Many tell stories about themselves that are sourced in parents’, teachers’, or boss’ pronouncements about negative attributes. I look for ways to help clients tell more powerful and empowering stories about themselves. When client’s stories seem to be at odds with the story others around them tell (and this happens to all of us), I invite the client to stand in the other’s shoes, to see from the other’s eyes, and then to reauthor their story to incorporate, or at least consider, the story of the other.

As you think about your own experience as a coach of others in your life—your children, peers, direct reports, or friends—think about what model you use with them. What comes most naturally to you? What would you like to try? What do you think would be the most effective model for you as a client?

I got some feedback from one of my coaching clients that the last post about personality wasn’t entirely clear. Let’s see if I can elaborate on yesterday’s post. Simply, I’m suggesting that when we have an intuition about something someone else says to us, we make that plain to the other person–not in a judging or “I’ve got the answer” way, but in an “I’m noticing that I’m thinking about this” kind of way.

If I keep thinking about my mother when you are telling me a story of your success with your cooking class, this may mean no more than I’m remembering what a terrible cook my mother was. Or it may mean something entirely different to you, that relates to your story. If I say, “That reminds me that my mother was a bad cook,” we may take the conversation off to my mother. This is not what I’m suggesting by putting more of your personality into coaching. What I am suggesting is that I say something like, “I keep thinking about my mother as you are telling me this story. Do you see any connection to mothers in your story, or maternal behavior, or any connection you have?” Then we have the chance to explore what might be a fruitful direction. Or not. If you look at me as if I’ve just spoken Swahili, well then maybe my mother has nothing to do with this and I’m distracted.

But these links can be important and we can’t explore them unless the coach makes explicit what is going on in her head, or in her body. If I get a headache listening to your story about a work situation, maybe there is more tension for you than you are revealing, or than you are aware is there for you. I think you are beginning to get the idea.

I’m taking a writing class as I do periodically. I’m looking to get feedback in two areas. Most of my published writing has been fairly impersonal, and I’d like to write a more personal piece. The other reason is that I like to get feedback from other published writers/instructors about my work. This week we talked about putting more of ourselves into our writing—not our deep, dark secrets, necessarily–but our personality. I thought immediately that I wanted to write something about this for you.

As a coach it is important to give my full attention to you, to hear what you have to tell me, and not to impose my own views, or opinions on you. It is also important to be transparent. Transparency is a word and concept that seems to be way overused in business these days (in my opinion). What I mean by it here is that I owe you as partner in our coaching the courtesy of speaking my truth. So if something keeps occurring to me as you are speaking, I have the obligation to notice it out loud. If, for instance, you are telling me a story of how your boss does not give you her full attention, and you would like to learn how to solicit that attention respectfully, I may hear a story of my own experience with a former boss, or I may have an intuition about your other relationships. In order to be your best coach, I think I should notice out loud that my own situation keeps coming up and I tell you about it, not to impose it, but to see if there is anything helpful to you in there. Or I ask you about your relationship with you son, or your best friend—which might seem to come out of nowhere. This is putting my personality into our coaching.

The more of your personality you put into our relationship, the better we can SEE each other and therefore can co-create something that really works for you.

1. I love to hear a new or potential client’s story. Our stories are powerful, vivid, and give shape to who we have been, who we are, and who we want to become. When I hear these stories, I feel like I have been given a precious gift.

2. When I am coaching, I am reminded of both the fragility and the strength of all of our selves. I don’t mean by this that we are delicate, but that we are changing all the time and that our fragility relates to who we are in any given moment. At the same time, we are all strong beyond our own understanding. Each of us has places where we stand up for what is important to us, where we give more than what we are required to give, and where we remain true to unpopular people and ideas.

3. When I am coaching, I see my own vulnerability more clearly than I can at many other times. I see the importance of being present for another, and of being present to my own experience of that other. I also see my tendency to be judgmental, advice-giving, and a know-it-all, and I am humbled by these tendencies. My awareness sometimes prevents the voicing of judgment, advice, or pronouncements, but not always.

4. When I am coaching, I see how hard it is to change. I see how hard it is to change myself, and therefore, how hard it must be for any other person to change.

5. When I am coaching, I wonder at client’s courage to start something new at 20, or 50 or 70! I am joy-filled when I hear them describe dancing, or painting, or learning to risk a relationship for the first time.

6. After I have coached, I feel better about the world and myself.

7. After I have coached, I see possibilities that I have not seen before, and I see people in the street or in the next office with new and more appreciative eyes.

8. Coaching helps me to pay more attention to my adult daughters, my grandchildren, my husband, and my friends for I know just how wonderful they are, and I also know how tolerant they are of my foibles and shortcomings.

9. Coaching has brought me to writing, to meditation, and to singing, in an effort to be a better coach.

10. Ten is an arbitrary and and somewhat contrived place to finish. So at ten I end for now with the observation that there are very few coaches I admire. This may be because I believe clients deserve better than what I and others currently provide, and that I, for one, want to provide coaching that helps clients see their own possibilities with greater clarity, and their own paths to these possibilities with enthusiasm and commitment.

Often, what gets me into trouble is thinking. I depend on my ability to think. I make my living thinking, and I write to think (as many extroverts do when no one else is around). But thinking can be a liability as well as a gift. If we are too dependent on thinking, our selves are big heads and atrophied bodies and spirits. So my tools for today have to do with my body and spirit.

The first tool is a mantra. Mantras are words (Peace), sounds (Ohmmmmm), or phrases that, when repeated over and over, have the effect of focusing our busy minds away from thinking. A mantra provides a no thinking zone for overthinkers like me. My mantra is a rather long one, but one you’ve probably heard before: God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. This is the serenity prayer of Alcoholics Anonymous and the prayer of many overthinkers. When I say this mantra/prayer over and over, I internalize three words, accept, courage, and change. I don’t necessarily think about these words, but together they change the feelings in my body somehow. I am calmer, less caught up in my own thinking, and better able to focus on what will move me to a happier, more productive place.

The second tool is related to the first. It is meditation. Mediation requires sitting or lying down in a place that is quiet, closing your eyes and concentrating on one thing. There is walking meditation, of course, and this requires a soft eye focus (you don’t want to get run over by an approaching bus), and concentration on the rhythm of your steps. Some meditation practices depend on a mantra. Some ask simply that the meditater observe her breathing and let all thoughts go by without attaching to them. This, of course, is easier said than done. When I meditate, if I can let even one thought go by, it is a small victory. I have even used a meditation teacher. She was gentle and persistent with me. The results of my meditating were instantly recognizable. I had less fear in me and about everything outside of me. I meditated for months, and then I stopped. Why, you might ask? I feel sheepish telling you that it was because I didn’t have enough time. But I have time to worry, you might say. Yes, and I am determined to reinstitute my meditation practice if only for five minutes a day. Ask me about this and hold me to it, please.

The last tool is making art. This can be knitting, cabinet making, scrapbooking, gardening, or painting. You don’t have to be an artist, you just have to love doing whatever it is you love doing with your hands, and you have to love it enough to get lost in it. So what if you won’t be asked to hang the finished product in the Metropolitan. So what if you drop a stitch and your scarf looks more like a cobweb made by a drunken spider than an article of fashion. If I can get lost in the rhythm of the insertion of knitting needles into the growing mass of my creation, if I can feel the softness of the shawl emerging in my lap, if I can look into the depth of the colors I’ve chosen, I stop thinking for a blessed while and my body and spirit grow to equal the size of my overused mind. I am integrated, peaceful, and refreshed.

I don’t know where I got the idea that if I try hard enough, I can always make a situation better.  This wasn’t something either of my parents emphasized as a positive behavior, nor do I think I learned it in school or my communities.  Perhaps it is a woman thing.  Yet I know many women who don’t have this obsession - and it sometimes feels like an obsession.

What does this look like in real time?  I’ll get cross-wise with someone- my husband, my step-children, a colleague, and the minor disagreement turns into a major feud.  I keep thinking about it, trying to figure out, first, where I went wrong in my communication, then what I could do to make it better.  My thinking usually goes something like this, “If I could only explain what I think the problem is in such a way that the other person would understand (not agree but understand), then we would be able to begin to break up the log-jam of our feud.  So I circle back, call the person or arrange to see them and do my best to describe what I think has locked us in combat.  Sometimes this works.

More often, though, I just make whatever it is worse.  The other person is tired of hearing what I think, or doesn’t care.  I know I’m assuming their motivation as I write this, so let me say that this is what the other person’s reaction looks and sounds like to me.  Some people would rather stay mad than resolve or explore a disagreement.  Some need time to process their own thoughts and feelings and my bombardment of thoughts just adds more information they may not want or need. 

This morning, after trying to resolve a current disagreement of some months’ standing with a colleague, I asked myself why I felt compelled to do all of the resolving?  It seemed almost comical to me, the image of my entering and reentering the ring of conflict without invitation or interest on the part of my colleague.  Who asked me to be the one to do this?

I believe that I ask myself because the existence of ongoing conflict is so painful for me, and I feel so burdened by my really awful history in resolving it with others, that I want to prove I can make it (whatever it is) better now after studying and writing about conflict for years.

Sometimes I can’t do this.  It takes two, or three, or a community, or a country or a continent to want to come together in honest exploration of an issue.  If I see myself as Palestine or Israel I can keep trying to reopen the exploration, and I may keep getting rejected or bombed, or relocated.  I know this is a simplistic comparison.  I also know that if I’m hurt enough, or angry enough, I may decide, or the other person may decide that conversation isn’t worth it.  I’ve described such a situation above.  Do you have ways that have worked for you to manage your own feelings in conflict?  What actions seem to have worked for you when in the middle of conflict with another?

My personal experience with conflict has been long and rough.  My scholarly interest and research (which is sourced in and fueled by this personal experience) has focused on ways to transform conflict into collaboration, as I passionately wish to do most of the time.  But we cannot do this alone.  Partners and colleagues must want our relationships more than they want to be right. 

Wanting a relationship that has been hurtful and damaging is hard.  Sometimes we have to let go in order to see how hard we were hanging on to righteousness, or to see the other’s perspective clearly.  Walking away from a marriage, a profitable business, a coaching relationship, or a friendship feels like failure.  It also feels like giving up on wonderful possibilities (greater profit, renewed love, effective collaboration) just because we are unhappy in the moment.  Why can’t we make things right between two people who know about conflict, and know about love?

In my own desperation to try to understand another’s hurtfulness, a friend asked “What makes you think you are not as important as anyone else in this conflict?”  My “not important” comes from trying to twist myself around the other’s assurance that they are right.   The resulting mental muddle only makes me less sure of what to do in the conflict.

I am reading a novel about a white man who lived among Indians in the early part of the 18th century somewhere in the southern U.S.  It wasn’t a pretty time in our history with Indians nor was it a happy time in the life of the protagonist.  He repeatedly loses the woman he loves to another man, the changing times, or his own neglect.  Yet, he is a good man, perhaps a great one.  I thought to myself as I was reading today that none of us gets through this life without some disregard for others, and without conflict.

In a recent conversation with my 87 year old mother, she mused that she didn’t understand why people left marriages just because of infidelity.  I immediately realized that it took me two husbands to understand that there wasn’t a perfect one waiting somewhere for me.  I said to her, “If you believe that there is a perfect person, then you would not put up with or accept the obvious imperfection of infidelity.  If you believe that we all have good and bad whirled together to make us unique beings, you might be inclined to value the relationship more than being right and stay to see if you could work it out.”  Some of us hold onto the possibility of perfection, our own or other’s, for long years into our adulthood.  Then we cannot forgive another for not being perfect.

That forgiveness and acceptance takes two.  Two countries, groups, or people.  One can’t do it.  One can’t kiss and make up, or bury the hatchet.  Both have to give up needing to be right at the expense of the other.  Both have to value the relationship above past hurts.  Only then is collaboration possible.