What No One Wants to Admit About Coaching

(And Why I Won’t Charge You $10K for Work Only You Can Do)

I’ve spent the money. I’ve learned the lessons. I’ll never be that “coach.”

I started investing heavily—in coaches who I thought would help me get to where I wanted to go. Not because they showed me a roadmap, but because I projected onto them exactly what I wanted to believe.

Jung would’ve had a field day with me. It was projection 101—and I own that.

I left my job and pursued what was next. I don’t regret the career shift for a second—I made the leap with more hope than clarity. I was listening to what sounded like guidance, but lacked the depth I needed. That’s on me.

The referral fees. Massive, undisclosed commissions behind the scenes for connecting clients with other coaches. I’m grateful for the connections—some of them were life-changing. But that kind of commission structure changes things: what they tell you, what they don't, how they show up, what they steer you toward. There's no room for pause, no speed bumps, no "just think about it". It's no different than when a doctor starts speaking for a drug and changes their views or recommendations. Thirty years in Pharma—I know. And it didn’t stop there.

Let me also say—I’ve had some great coaches. A few people truly helped me move forward in ways I’ll always be grateful for. One helped me understand what good looks like with clarity, skill, and zero ego. Another reignited my love for writing. And yet another helped me bring my story to the stage—and ultimately, to you. Those connections became turning points and friends. They met me where I was at and walked beside me. Gratitude for the great doesn’t mean silence about the harm. And it doesn’t make what’s happening okay.

One coach I paid—without a contract, unfortunately—delivered nothing. Promising brand-building support and hands-on strategy. What I got was a total absence of value. If we’re being real? It felt criminal.

Then came the AI. Using artificial intelligence to do what they should be doing. Acting like they are offering insight—when really, they’re just standing in between the client and ChatGPT. They’re not coaches. They are middlemen.  And while I could be angry—and yes, I am—I’m more committed than ever to making sure you don’t get pulled into that game.

What finally pushed me over the edge wasn’t just my own frustration. It was seeing it happen to people I care about. Friends spending thousands, being told what they’d be “great at,” instead of being seen for who they are. That was the alarm bell I couldn’t unhear.

Too many people are spending money—sometimes money they don’t even have—believing a coach will have the answers. But most of what’s being sold? It’s not guidance. It’s emotional safety, surface-level validation, and reshaped personal branding that serves the coach more than the client.

Chris Williamson said it best:

“Toxic compassion is the prioritization of short-term emotional comfort over truth, reality, long-term outcomes, or flourishing. It optimizes for looking good rather than doing good. And it’s everywhere.”

Elon Musk echoed the same truth in fewer words:

“I care about the reality of goodness, not the perception of it. But I see people who care about looking good while doing evil.”

And I’m seeing it too.

I’m seeing virtual assistants charging ridiculous rates for doing nothing—then paying people pennies to do the actual work. I’m seeing follower counts built through incestuous online circles of other VAs and coaches, pretending they’re bringing “engaged audiences” when it’s really just a smoke-and-mirrors circle.

I’m seeing entire businesses built on reshaping your story into something marketable, instead of helping you uncover what’s actually true for you. Because they know: if you believe your story matters, you’ll hand over your money. And they’re counting on it.

Oh—and let’s talk about the summits. They pitch these “coaching summits” like a buffet of opportunity. Dozens of coaches. Shiny videos. A showcase of experts. What they don’t tell you is that you’re paying an entry fee, using your best content, and you’re promoting them to your list. Just to have your video housed in a lineup no one watches. The only person it builds? The person organizing the summit.

You know what I won’t do? I won’t take $10,000 from you for something that requires you to do the work. I won’t promise you clarity, confidence, or transformation unless you’re ready to show up for it. And I won’t pretend that logging into a Zoom call is the same as walking beside you when your whole life feels like it’s unraveling.

This is also why I don’t use the word coach. Coaches tell people what to do—and that’s not what I do. I’m a guide. And a guide is someone who’s walked through it, not just talked about it. That’s the difference Nick Saban tells you exactly what to do. I'm not Nick Saban. I'm the one helping you figure out why you're still standing on the wrong field.

Someone once said my authenticity wasn’t real. That it was just for show. That stung—until I saw it for what it was: projection. They weren't describing me—they were describing themselves. The part they couldn’t own was what they saw in me. I get it. I've done it too. I once projected all kinds of goodness and wisdom onto someone else, only to realize I had those things inside me all along. And so do you. That's what projection does. It blinds you to your shadow—the dark and the light.

I’m not sure how much more real it gets than to walk away from being a white, mostly conservative guy—a Harley-riding, cattle-ranching, gun-carrying professional sales exec—and step into a journey of fashionista, speaker, author, and guide helping people uncover what’s buried inside. When I sit across from someone, I’m not a bit confused about who I am or why I’m there.

Here’s what I believe and I say it in my talks:

“This is about you—about the thing inside of you that has been buried, stirring, maybe even screaming for your attention.”

“You can keep defining yourself by what you do, or you can finally step into who you are.”

“Indifference is freedom. Freedom to be yourself without a fear of judgment.”

If I cared what people thought, I never would’ve transitioned. If I wanted to play it safe, I would’ve stayed in the role I was trained for, doing the thing I was praised for.

But I don’t care about optics. I care about doing the right thing—helping others bring out what's buried inside of them, the dark and the light, so they can step into who they were meant to be.

That's the work. And it's worth doing.

Andrea Leigh