Recently, I found myself crying much harder than I expected. The trigger seemed small enough on the surface: a conversation, a friendship, a memory. Yet the tears kept coming, and as I sat with them, I realised I was not simply reacting to what had happened in that moment. I was grieving a chapter of my life.
Over the years, many of the people who come to me for coaching describe themselves in remarkably similar ways. They tell me they feel stuck. They don’t know what is next. They have lost their motivation. They don’t feel like themselves anymore. Naturally, they assume the problem is one of strategy, confidence, productivity or decision-making. Sometimes it is. But often, when we slow down and listen more carefully, something else begins to emerge.
Often, what looks like being stuck is actually grief.
Not necessarily the grief of bereavement, but the quieter grief that comes when a role, a relationship, a place, a dream, or an identity that once anchored us begins to disappear. A senior executive leaves the company that shaped much of their adult life. A founder sells a business. A leader realises they no longer want the career they spent twenty years building. Children leave home. Parents age. A friendship changes. A family home is sold.
The external event varies, but the internal experience can be surprisingly similar. Something that once reflected back who we were is no longer there, and without realising it, we begin asking a much deeper question: who am I now?
What I have learned, both personally and professionally, is that identity is rarely rebuilt through force. We cannot simply replace one version of ourselves with another and call it transformation. We have to acknowledge what has been lost first.
This is often difficult for high-achievers. They are used to moving quickly, finding the answer, creating the plan, setting the goal and moving forward. Yet grief does not operate according to project plans. It asks us to pause, to honour what mattered, to remember what shaped us, and only then to loosen our grip enough for something new to emerge.
Sometimes we think we are grieving a person, when what we are really grieving is the version of ourselves that existed with them. Sometimes we think we are grieving a career, when what we are really grieving is the identity that career gave us. Sometimes we think we are grieving a place, when what we are really grieving is the sense of belonging we experienced there.
This distinction matters because if we mislabel grief as failure, weakness or lack of motivation, we end up fighting ourselves. We push harder, judge ourselves more harshly, and look for solutions to a problem that is not really there.
What if you are not broken? What if you are not lost? What if you are simply standing between two versions of yourself: one that is slowly coming to an end, and another that has not quite revealed itself yet?
This is where much of the most meaningful coaching happens. Not in helping people move faster, but in helping them make sense of who they are becoming.
So if you find yourself feeling stuck, before asking “What is wrong with me?”, consider a different question.
What am I grieving?
The answer may reveal more than any action plan ever could.
