The Alchemy of Coaching: Critical Moments

Critical moments in coaching are like flashes of alchemy. They don’t arrive with fanfare but seep into the space like sunlight breaking through heavy clouds. They aren’t predictable, nor are they something I consciously orchestrate. Yet when they happen, they leave an indelible mark, both on the client and on me.

These moments tend to emerge toward the latter part of a coaching journey, after trust has deepened and the layers of defence have fallen away. It’s not about skilful probing or precise questioning. It’s about the relationship itself—a space where co-regulation allows us to dance on the edge of clarity. These are spaces of pure, unfiltered humanity. Defences dissolve, illusions collapse, and truth steps forward, naked and undeniable.

I recall one session: we were circling a familiar topic when I asked, "What is it that you’re not willing to let go of?" Silence hung thick between us before the client burst into laughter—big, uncontainable belly laughter. It wasn’t amusement; it was realization, pure and raw. The laughter broke the tension and shattered the box they’d constructed for themselves. “Damn, you’re a good coach,” they said, grinning. I smiled, but inwardly, it didn’t feel like skill. It felt like alchemy—an intangible weaving of intuition, presence, and trust.

Another time, it was a single question that unravelled it all: “When did you stop trusting yourself?” The air in the room shifted. A sharp intake of breath. A long exhale. And then, emotion, like a wave cresting and breaking all at once. It wasn’t tears, not exactly. It was the sound of something breaking open—a release. We sat in that emotion together, breathing into it, giving it the time it demanded. “This is important,” I reflected back, quietly. “This needs space.” We didn’t rush. Moments like these don’t need fixing; they need holding. And when the wave passed, the client knew exactly what to do next. There wasn’t much left for me to say. Sometimes, that’s how it ends—clean, resolute, complete.

These breakthroughs aren’t orchestrated, nor can they be manufactured. They come from a kind of alchemy—using myself as an instrument, tracking the subtle contradictions in a client’s words, noticing the pull of my own curiosity, or catching the thread of something unsaid. It’s a dance between intuition and practice, trust and surrender. I follow the trail with no promises, no guarantees, and then, suddenly, we’re there. The release, the realization, the beautiful moment of clarity.

What fascinates me is how, after these moments, the work feels complete. The rest—formalities, planning, action steps—seems almost perfunctory. The client doesn’t need my guidance anymore; they’ve found their own direction. In these moments, coaching feels less like a process and more like a shared discovery, a temporary partnership where, for a little while, we create something transformative together.

These critical moments—bursting laughter, a spontaneous sob, the sharp gasp of understanding—remind me why I do this work. They are raw, powerful, and deeply human. They can’t be rushed, and they can’t be faked. But when they arrive, they unlock something extraordinary. And in their wake, there’s a quiet knowing: we’ve reached the end of this part of the journey.