Sprint 365 Retrospective
The letter gave me something numbers never do: the certainty that it's worth stopping and looking back honestly. It became the trigger for a year-end retro.
Sprint 365 is my private metaphor for a year of work. And like every sprint - it deserves a retro.
A retro is not a list of achievements. Not "what I accomplished." It's an honest look back - what worked, what didn't, what I'll change.
What was hard in this sprint?
A few clients where I had to say "that's outside my scope" - and it stung, because I could see the problem and I understood it. But I also knew that going in without the right preparation would have ended badly for both of us. Saying no to a client who trusts you is hard. Harder than saying no to a stranger.
A few conversations after which I felt I should have listened more and talked less. Silence in a coaching conversation is a tool - but it's also uncomfortable, and I don't always hold it long enough.
One project I finished too early. Not because the contract said so. Because I didn't have the courage to stay longer in a difficult place. I left "on time" - but not at the right moment. That's a lesson I'm taking with me.
What did I change during the year? Pace. I learned to work with a longer pause. Silence in conversation is not a facilitation error - it's a tool. When I stopped rushing to the next question, I started hearing answers I hadn't heard before. Simple to describe, hard to practice.
What am I leaving behind? The need to measure every conversation by its immediate outcome. Coaching doesn't always produce visible results right away. Sometimes seeds germinate months after the last session. I've received messages from clients a year after we finished working together - "I only now understood what we were talking about." These are anecdotal observations, not systematic data. But they keep repeating. That requires a different measure of success than a spreadsheet.
On the board instead of the therapist's couch
I want to stay with this metaphor. Without violating confidentiality, because confidentiality is the foundation of this work.
Working with a leader at C-suite level is specific. Not because these people are important - though they are. Because they're often very alone in their decisions.
The higher up the structure, the fewer people tell you the truth. The environment interprets, anticipates, manages its own image. A leader receives versions of reality prepared by various interests. They rarely receive reality itself.
Coaching at that level isn't about motivation. It's not about building confidence - that's usually not the problem at this stage. It's about creating a space where someone can say: "I don't know what to do," "I'm afraid I made a mistake," "I don't understand why this isn't working" - and not pay any political price for that honesty.
That's rare. And valuable. And - importantly - it requires one very specific thing from the coach: not doing it for them.
The difference between "supporting" and "doing it for someone" is crucial. I will always be on the side of the former. I can accompany a decision. I can't make it. I can ask a question that opens a new direction - I can't point to which direction is right, because that's always the client's call.
The client wrote that he's on the board instead of on the couch. That means the decision was his. The work he did during that time was his. I was just alongside. Accompanying.
That's exactly why I do this.
What actually drives coaching
Not a mission. Not certificates. Not the number of LinkedIn followers.
What drives me is the moment I see something shift. When someone who spent three sessions answering my questions with defensiveness and explanations suddenly stops and says: "actually... I don't know. Can I say something honestly?"
You always can.
What drives me is curiosity. Every organization is a different ecosystem with its own rules, history, traumas, and successes. Every leader is a different story. No two projects are the same - even when the scope descriptions look identical.
What drives me is that this work leaves a mark that only becomes visible over time. Not always immediately. Not always in any measurable way. But - and this is the most important thing - a mark that someone decides to confirm. To write in fountain pen. To put in an envelope. To send.
Nobody had to do that.
What I'm carrying into the next sprint
No list of resolutions. No declarations that will require public accounting a month from now.
I want to work with fewer clients, but go deeper. I want to say no more often to projects that only look like mine - because the topic is familiar, but the context and the client's need don't match what I can genuinely offer. I want more silence in conversations. And I want to write - because writing helps me think, and thinking helps me work better.
The note is on my desk. Not in the archive. Not in a folder. On my desk - where it's visible.
That's my own "why."
When did you last receive unexpected feedback - and what did you do with it?