There's a particular kind of discomfort that shows up in experienced coaches.
Not the discomfort of being new — that one is well documented and widely discussed.
This is quieter and more confusing, because it arrives after competence.
After the wobbliness of early practice has settled.
After sessions have started to feel manageable rather than terrifying.
It's the discomfort of not knowing whether what you're experiencing is growth or its absence.
Familiarity and stagnation feel similar from the inside.
Both involve a reduction in novelty.
Both involve doing things you've done before.
Both can produce a low-grade sense that something is missing.
Though what's missing is different in each case.
Getting this wrong is costly in both directions.
Mistaking depth for stagnation leads coaches to abandon things that are working and restart cycles they've already been through.
Mistaking stagnation for depth leads to years of practice that plateau early and stay there.
So how do you tell the difference?
What deepening actually feels like
"An opportunity came up."
"People seemed excited about this other thing."
"Speaking was getting more traction than coaching."
And now, having tried everything, she was back at the beginning — except more exhausted and less certain.
None of those pivots were wrong, exactly.
Exploration is part of building a practice.
But there's a difference between exploration that generates useful data and movement that's driven by something else — and it's worth knowing which one you're doing.
What deepening actually feels like
Deepening doesn't feel like progress in the way that learning something new does. It's subtler than that, and easier to miss.
When a practice is deepening, sessions still surprise you.
Not constantly, and not dramatically — but the work remains alive in a way that keeps you genuinely present.
A client says something you didn't anticipate.
A conversation goes somewhere unexpected.
You notice something you wouldn't have noticed a year ago, and you're not entirely sure how you noticed it.
That quality of surprise — quiet, not alarming — is one of the clearest signals that depth is still developing.
Deepening also tends to produce a growing sense of what to leave out.
Early in practice, coaches often do too much.
They ask too many questions, offer too many reflections, fill silences that would have been more useful empty.
As depth develops, the work becomes more selective.
Less feels like more.
Restraint starts to feel like skill rather than withholding.
And deepening tends to make you more honest about what you don't know.
Paradoxically, the more genuinely skilled coaches become, the more comfortable they are with uncertainty in session.
They've learned that not knowing is often more useful than knowing — and that sitting with a client in uncertainty is sometimes the most skilled thing they can do.
What stagnation actually feels like
Stagnation has a different texture.
Sessions feel predictable in a way that has stopped being useful.
You know roughly how things will go before they start. You're moving through familiar patterns — not because those patterns are serving the client particularly well, but because they're the ones you know.
Feedback — when you seek it — stops being surprising.
You hear the same things you've heard before.
Not because you've integrated them, but because you've stopped looking for anything new.
And perhaps most tellingly: you find yourself explaining your approach more than you're examining it.
When someone asks about your coaching, you have a fluent answer — but the fluency has become a barrier rather than a bridge.
You're describing a practice rather than inhabiting one.
None of this is permanent or irreversible. But it is worth recognising.
A Practice: The Depth Audit
This isn't a test. There are no right answers — only useful ones.
Set aside fifteen minutes, preferably after a session while it's still fresh. Work through these questions honestly.
When did I last feel genuinely surprised in a session?
Not alarmed, not thrown — surprised. If you can't remember, that's worth noticing.
What did I leave out today that I might have included a year ago?
If the answer is nothing — if sessions feel about the same in scope and movement as they always have — restraint may not be developing.
What did I not know in today's session, and how did I work with that?
If you find yourself filling uncertainty rather than working with it, something is worth examining.
If I had to identify one thing I'm still learning from my client work, what would it be?
A specific thing — not a general orientation toward growth. If nothing specific comes, it's worth asking whether the work is still teaching you.
When did I last receive feedback that surprised me?
Feedback that only confirms what you already believe isn't feedback — it's reassurance. They're useful for different things.
The question underneath all of this
The coaches I've worked with who develop the deepest practice over time share one quality that I've come to think of as essential: they remain genuinely curious about their own work.
Not anxious about it. Not endlessly self-critical. Curious.
They treat their own sessions as data.
They notice patterns without immediately explaining them away.
They stay interested in what's happening in the room rather than what's supposed to be happening.
That curiosity is what keeps familiarity from becoming stagnation.
It's also, I think, what makes the quieter kind of mastery possible — the kind that doesn't look like much from the outside, but that clients feel immediately.
It can't be performed. It can only be cultivated.
And the place it gets cultivated is in the work itself — session by session, over time, with enough honest attention to notice what's changing and what isn't.
If this way of thinking resonates with how you want to build your practice, the SWITCH Coaching Collective might be worth exploring.
It's where I work with coaches who want to develop the kind of professional judgement that comes from going deep rather than wide.
