As a writer, and just as a person who loves language, coaching can drive me crazy. It introduces all kinds of new, and seemingly unnecessary, words and phrases.
An obstacle is “relanguaged” to become a challenge, and “relanguaged” again to become an opportunity.
I’m not making these words up. They exist in the coaching milieu. And most of you – writers especially – are cringing at the words, and at the glossing over of the experience. A skinned knee must have its moment to be painful, before it is rushed into becoming an obstacle to walking, much less a challenge or an opportunity to show your grit, and limp home bravely.
I held onto my language snobbery for a very long time. And with good reason. (As you can see, however, I’m not much of a grammar snob. I love incomplete sentences.) Language is important and coaching phraseology can be stilted at best, and downright corny at worst.
When I repeat what a client has told me, I try not to rephrase her statements, I mirror them and ask, Tell me where I’m wrong. This is an awkward way of saying it. Normally, one would say, Is that right? or Am I right? and then you’d sound human. But when you rephrase it to Tell me where I’m wrong, the client is subtly invited to correct specific misstatements or assumptions that might be inherent in how you stated her problem (AKA challenge/opportunity.) It directs her brain not to assent, out of politeness, but to seek minor corrections that put coach and client into better understanding of one another.
When you’re thinking about what you “have” to do, you say, “I have to (fill in the blank.)” And you mentally begin to gird your loins. You steel your resolve to do the thing. If you reword the phrase, to “How Might I (fill in the blank)?” your brain is halfway to solutions and ideas for how to (fill in the blank.) I call this Mighty Language, and it’s a simple and powerful tool. You can read more about it here.
Even if the coaching language is stilted and corny, there’s a method to the madness. You’re priming your brain for success.
Well, I’m here to report on the success of one of the coaching phrases I recently made up, and that I’m using with great success. I am on a 30-day EAT-FUN. I am not on a diet. I am not eating low-carb. Though of course, I am. And though, I could never keep my brain from ever uttering the very familiar word, diet, I can replace it, with EAT-FUN whenever I notice “diet” in my thoughts. The word “diet” is probably one of my most frequently used words, right after breathing and sleeping, and possibly chocolate. Hell, I’ve been on a diet most of my life. That is one of the reasons my whole body sags when I hear that word. Diets don’t work says the chorus in my head. So, I might as well eat Oreos, says my inner brat. I can’t diet ever again. I promised my body I wouldn’t, and your body hears everything you think.
If I’m going to lose weight, it will have to be done with the complete support of my needy, little body. My poor compulsive body is the whipping post of my crazy, lazy, baby brain of fear and anxiety. How can I face the certainty that I’m not good enough without an emergency dose of french fries? How can I write through anxiety, without a constant supply of popcorn? It was not going to lose weight the usual way – through RESTRICTION. It had to be achieved in a happier way.
Like any crazy, lazy baby, I took my fearful brain by the hand, and gained its trust. Once again, I promised we would never diet. I promised this toddler brain that it would have complete access to what it needed to cope. I prevented the tantrum it was gearing up for, without the aid of brownies or ice cream.
We were embarking on a 30-day EAT-FUN. This is not just a trick. It is a promise. Made to a child. Or at least to a childlike part of my brain. And I’m keeping it. I get to eat whatever I want within the confines of the EAT-FUN playground of foods. Meats, cheeses, nuts, veggies, fruits, dairy. That means, I can waste foods that don’t appeal to me. (I don’t have to eat those leftovers.) I can go out for lunch or breakfast whenever it suits me to have a new food offering. If I want a burrito, I can open up three and eat their innards, and discard their wraps. If I want pizza, I can eat the toppings without regard for what’s going to happen to the crust. This is an EAT-FUN, not a boring lesson in home economics.
Not for nothing, my EAT-FUN leads me to foods I look forward to eating (or I seek other options) and I’ve lost 5 new pounds since starting with this crazy phrase on February 21st. I’m on Day 14 of 30 and we’re still having fun.
What are you trying to achieve? how might you rephrase it to gain your brain’s happy compliance?