If you’d told me a year ago that I’d be holding in my hands my own book, The Ultimate Coaching Handbook: 101 Ways to Support Your Practice, I wouldn’t have believed you. Writing a book had been on my list for years (16+ to be precise), but for a long time, it stayed a background goal — a “someday” that always seemed just out of reach.
Looking back, the journey to finally putting this book together wasn’t a straight line. It was more like a winding road filled with potholes, detours, and roadblocks — yet, somehow, small moments of clarity and focus kept nudging me forward. Along the way, I learned a lot about getting out of my own way, making peace with the messiness of the creative process, and finding my voice in the writing.
The Power of Small Beginnings: How I Got Out of My Own Way
The beginning was a series of false starts and trial runs. I had jotted down countless ideas over the years, but none ever felt right, and I’d abandon them halfway through. It wasn’t until I got serious about committing to the book that I realised writing didn’t happen overnight — and certainly not with perfect prose from the start. I had to be okay with imperfect action.
I didn’t begin with a comprehensive master plan, as I had imagined I would. Instead, I started small — by carving out time to write every day; the book idea was 100 small chunks/chapters if you will… I focused on showing up and simply putting thoughts on the page without worrying about perfection; I had an overall structure, a starting and finish point, lots of ideas in my head and so it began. That first step was harder than I expected. It’s easy to assume that writing will flow effortlessly, you love what you do, so it will be easy sharing that, no? But turning that passion, learning and passion for learning into something structured and digestible for others is a whole different challenge.
The real breakthrough came during a live coaching demo as part of International Coaching Week. It was my first ever live demo, I was nervous, curious, had no clue what to expect (it was already shaping up to be a great metaphor for the experience ahead) and then to add to this the client’s feedback hit me squarely between the eyes:
Each of us has something unique to offer.
It was a profound reminder that I had years of lived experience in coaching and beyond, and that experience deserved to be shared — not just as theoretical knowledge, but as practical, actionable tips that could help others on their own coaching journeys. This insight gave me the push to really get serious about writing The Ultimate Coaching Handbook, to create something that felt grounded and real for other coaches.
Facing the Inner Critic: How I Conquered Self-Doubt to Keep Writing
Of course, the writing process wasn’t all smooth sailing. Self-doubt was a frequent visitor, popping up like an unwanted guest at the worst times. “Who am I to write this?” I’d often ask myself. It’s the kind of question that bloked me extensively, especially when I was trying to put something so personal into the world. What if no one cares? What if it’s not good enough? And so forth…
One of the most powerful tricks I learned to silence that inner critic was flipping the question on its head, and it’s one of my favourites when it comes to imposter feelings (which I have written about here): Who am I not to write this? The truth is, I want to share my learning and support the coaching industry through what I’ve learned. I realised that not writing it was a disservice — not only to myself but to other coaches who may benefit from the insights I had to offer. It wasn’t about being perfect — it was about being honest and real.
It wasn’t about being perfect — it was about being honest and real.
Editing, of course, presented its own set of challenges. It’s easy to feel attached to a version of a chapter or a section of the book that you’ve spent hours crafting. But as I worked through the process, I quickly realised that there’s no such thing as a finished draft. Every round of edits brought new insights, new opportunities to improve and tighten the message. At times, I felt like I was chasing an ever-elusive ideal of perfection. But I had to remind myself: Sometimes, simplicity trumps precision. I had to trust that the core message of each chapter would shine through, even if every detail wasn’t perfect.
Taming the Beast of Imposter Syndrome: Trusting That My Voice Matters
I have written for years — blog posts, coaching materials, social media content and copy-edited for academics in the past — but writing a book was a whole different thing. “What if I’m not an expert?” “What if I don’t have enough to say?” These questions haunted me. The deeper I went into the process, the more I realised that imposter syndrome is just another form of fear — fear of judgment, fear of failure, fear of rejection.
But every time those doubts crept in, I reminded myself of why I was writing the book in the first place: to help coaches who might feel just like I did, unsure of their next step, or overwhelmed by the complexities of their practice. I arrived at a place where I wasn’t writing to impress anyone. I was writing to connect, to share what I knew in a way that could provide value to others. And that was worth overcoming the doubts and discomfort.
I arrived at a place where I wasn’t writing to impress anyone. I was writing to connect, to share what I knew in a way that could provide value to others. And that was worth overcoming the doubts and discomfort.
The Power of Connection: How Supporters Helped Me Finish What I Started
No big project happens in isolation, and I’m incredibly grateful for the people who kept me moving forward, even on the days when I wanted to quit. Friends, family, and fellow coaches would check in, offer feedback, and remind me of my “why” when I lost sight of it. It’s easy to become wrapped up in the technical side of writing — the word counts, the structure, the editing — but the emotional side of creating this book, the purpose of it, was what kept me grounded.
One particularly meaningful moment came when I shared a chapter with a trusted friend. He read it, and sent me an email saying, “This book is going to make such a difference for so many people.” That moment of encouragement meant more to me than he’ll ever know — it was the moment I stopped viewing the book as a personal project and saw it for what it was: something that could serve others.
Riding the Rollercoaster: How Setbacks Became Stepping Stones
Of course, the road to completion wasn’t without its setbacks. The first draft felt like an enormous weight on my shoulders. I had the pieces, but they didn’t quite fit together. At one point, I felt like I was back at square one — wondering if I could really pull it off. But, like so many things in life, the setbacks weren’t failures; they were lessons. I had to trust the process, even when it felt slow, even when I was certain I’d missed my window of opportunity.
In those moments, I would lean on a key premise of coaching: Progress is not linear. Sometimes, you have to take a step back to gain perspective. Sometimes, you have to sit with the discomfort of uncertainty before the next breakthrough can happen. And that’s okay.
The Final Push: Turning Frustration Into Fulfillment
Finishing the book wasn’t the grand finale I’d imagined. There was no dramatic moment of completion — it was more like the slow realisation that the book was ready to go out into the world. At first, I thought the book would be a straightforward collection of learning and reflection. But by the time it was finished, I realized it had become much more: a guide that reflects not only what I’ve learned as a coach but also what I’ve learned about myself and about the creative process.
The book may have started as a goal on my to-do list, but it ended up becoming a reminder that every big project is built on small, sometimes messy, steps forward. Yes, there were setbacks, frustrations, and moments of doubt. But the reward is always in the process, and the small victories that push you closer to the finish line.
If this book helps even one coach feel more supported, more confident in their work, or more willing to embrace their own voice, then every late night, every bit of imposter syndrome, and every “what was I thinking?” moment was worth it. Writing this book wasn’t just a goal — it was a journey of growth, for me as the writer and I hope for the reader, too.
