This post is the third in a six-part series exploring the invisible barriers that keep people from seeking coaching. From cultural resistance and self-doubt to confusion and cost, we’ll explore what stops people from getting support and how that can shift.

When you hear the word coaching, what pops up for you? For a lot of people, it’s the sports field. A Ted Lasso figure, arms waving, giving a pep talk before the game. Others imagine a therapy scene: two people in a quiet office, one on a couch, the other scribbling notes behind glasses. If you’ve been following this series from Part 1, you’ll know coaching is still largely invisible. Most have never tried it, so they fill the gap with whatever they do know: sports or therapy. Close, but not quite.

When I was doing my Master’s in Coaching Psychology, Dr Michael Cavanagh used to describe coaching as a kind of third reflective space. Imagine two people, both messy, complex, full of experiences,  coming together. What emerges between them isn’t just conversation, it’s something bigger. A bit like when two instruments improvise. Alone they’re fine, but together they produce a sound neither could make solo. That’s what coaching does: it creates a space where people hear themselves differently, often for the first time.

The idea of three reflective spaces captures how coaching operates. System 1 is the coach, who brings training, ethics, and presence. That’s not just about qualifications or ticking the ICF competency boxes. It’s about the lived history and worldview a coach brings with them. A coach who has worked across industries will see different patterns than one who has spent their life inside a single corporate system. Some carry scars from failure, some carry wisdom from years of leadership, some bring both. All of that shows up in the way they hold space.

System 2 is the coachee, who brings their lived experience, dilemmas, and hopes. It might be a new manager thrown into the deep end, a seasoned professional trying to decide whether to jump careers, or someone quietly wondering whether they’re even in the right field at all. Their stories, fears, and expectations shape the session from the very first word. No two clients ever bring the same mix, which is why coaching never becomes a formula. It’s unpredictable, and that’s part of its strength.

And then there’s System 3, the engagement itself. This is where something genuinely new happens. It’s the spark that forms when coach and client step into that reflective space together. Sometimes it’s quiet, a pause that suddenly feels pregnant with meaning. Other times it’s a burst of laughter that breaks through tension. At its best, System 3 feels like a mirror that not only reflects but slightly refracts, offering back an image you hadn’t quite seen before. It’s the difference between thinking in your own head and thinking out loud with someone who is deeply listening yet not invested in pushing you toward their agenda. This is why clients often say, “I’ve never said that out loud before” or “I didn’t even realise I thought that until just now.” That’s System 3 at work.

And this is where the confusion comes in. Coaching works because of a few built-in tensions. It’s not therapy, not mentoring, and not just a chat. It’s non-judgemental, but that doesn’t mean anything goes. It’s non-directive, but that doesn’t mean aimless. It’s focused on moving forward, but not in a way that bulldozes over what’s really going on. Striking that balance is tricky. Add cultural background into the mix, where directness is welcomed in some places and taboo in others,  and suddenly the “what does a coach actually do?” question makes sense.

Take non-judgement. The idea is simple: clients are seen as capable, resourceful, whole. But what feels like curiosity to one person can feel like criticism to another. Some expect blunt honesty; others hear that same bluntness as a slap. It’s a fine line.

Or take the non-directive bit. Coaching avoids giving answers. That can be unsettling, especially if you grew up in cultures or workplaces where the boss, teacher, or elder always provides direction. I’ve had people stop mid-session and ask, “So… when are you going to tell me what to do?” Fair question. But that’s not what coaching is for.

And then there’s being solution focused. Coaching isn’t endless navel-gazing. It’s about action. But move too quickly and it can feel like you’ve dismissed the relationship. Move too slowly and it looks like you’re wasting time. There’s no formula here,  it’s more like finding the right rhythm with whoever’s sitting across from you.

When these tensions are held well, something shifts. Clarity sharpens. Confidence builds. Momentum starts. But it doesn’t happen in a vacuum. It’s shaped by culture, context, and personality. Coaches don’t just ask, “What’s the problem?” They also have to sense, “How does this person expect me to be with them?”

And sometimes, even with the best intentions, it goes sideways. I once worked with a senior manager spiralling in self-doubt over a project. After listening for a while, I asked, “Are you sure the problem is your capability, or could it be that you’re holding yourself to an impossible standard?” They froze. “It feels like you’re judging me. I thought coaching was supposed to be supportive.” What I meant as gentle reframing landed as criticism. For them, it stung. For me, it was a lesson. Coaching is delicate. What helps one person feel stretched can make another feel unsafe. That’s why trust, contracting, and pacing matter so much.

Organisations often get this wrong too. They think coaching is only for executives, or worse, only for “fixing” someone who’s struggling. But the reflective space applies at every level. A frontline manager trying to handle their first direct report. A senior leader working through ingrained patterns that shape culture, even teams who need to have conversations they’ve been avoiding. In all these cases, the coach isn’t delivering answers. They’re holding a space where different thinking can surface.

It is said that “seek and you shall find”, sometimes the most profound discoveries come from what is lost. At first, what’s missing may feel like a problem but its absence can open the door to unexpected insight. Yet, this is only one side of the story. As the Cantonese saying goes, 牛不喝水，唔揼得牛頭低, you can’t force the cow to drink if it doesn’t want to, because no matter how carefully a coach holds the space, there’s one truth you can’t get around: it takes two to tango.

These two ideas together reveal the heart of coaching: sometimes disruption is the gift, but progress always depends on the client’s willingness. Coaching only works when there’s even a flicker of willingness to change. That willingness, however small, is the spark that turns a reflective conversation into something transformative.