Failure

I'm ok with the word failure, when it comes to myself.

I recognise that for a lot of people, there's a preference towards reframing failure into something positive.

"FAIL stands for First Attempt In Learning"

"I never fail, I either succeed or I learn!"

You've heard them all before, I've no doubt! And that's great - reframing can be a really powerful tool and one which I employ regularly in my own life and create space for coaching clients to do in our work together. But for me, I'm ok with recognising and holding myself accountable for situations where I've failed, especially when the blame for that failure lies squarely at my doorstep.

An arrow which has missed its target

It was Thursday September 27th, 2023 when I unbuckled my seatbelt and stood up in the aisle of the Easyjet flight as it sat on the tarmac at Edinburgh airport. The door opened and I felt the cool air of an autumn night on my face, a welcome contrast to the stuffy warmth of the recirculated air I'd been breathing in throughout the flight from Bristol. I began to descend the stairs, one hand on the railing and the other scrolling through my phone as it attempted to find a signal and catch up on what had happened in the world over the previous 90 mins. As my feet felt the firmness of the ground beneath them once again, an alert popped up and I thumbed the Gmail app to take a closer look. Two emails. Both from the International Coaching Federation (ICF), the body with whom I am accredited as a coach. I'd been waiting for these emails for over thirteen weeks, since submitting my recordings, as part of my journey towards my Professional Certified Coach (PCC) status. I'd held the ACC, their entry level qualification, for a number of years and attaining the PCC felt like a natural next step in my growth as a coach.

My body tensed as I opened the emails. Of course, I didn't read them, I simply scanned for an answer

"The ICF regrets to inform you that you did not pass"

Two recordings, both deemed not to have met their standard. I felt sick. Slice it ANY WAY you like - this was a failure. Studied the standard > made the recordings > listened back to the recordings > transcribed the recordings > submitted the recordings for review > failed. Cut and dried.

The realisation and recognition that I've failed at something is an important one for me. It draws a line under an opportunity. It puts a full stop at the end of a paragraph along my journey. There was an something there. A chance for me to progress in some way, perhaps. And I fucked it. And at this moment I get to ask myself one of the biggest and most important questions of all; what are you going to do from here?

Well the first thing for me is always a bit of reflection, but, on this occasion, the reflection didn't take me long at all. Question one: How did I get to the place where I'd received those two emails? Simple. I'd submitted two recordings that were nowhere near good enough. The feeling of sickness I felt on reading those emails was not one of surprise or disappointment at the outcome, it was one of anger. Not at the process. Not at the ICF. Squarely at myself. Because here's the truth; I knew fine well when I submitted those two recordings, in the summer of 2023 that they were shit. They were NEVER good enough to pass. There was nothing wrong with the coaching sessions which they captured, however there are things that the ICF are very clear in their markers that they want to see demonstrated in recordings, which I knew, having listened to them back and read the transcriptions, were simply not evident. And I'd spent 95 days waiting to receive two emails whose content I could have predicted when I pulled the trigger and submitted my application.

The next question that emerged for me in my reflection, was why on earth had I spent hundreds of pounds submitting something I knew wouldn't pass and then wasted three months waiting to be told that? Well I'll come back to that thought in a moment - because my bias (and this is a blessing and a curse, as you will see) is always towards action.

So what did I do next? I did three things. Firstly I went in the huff, for about three minutes. Just in my own head, and it's not a glamorous admission, but I stood on the tarmac, waiting for the bus, and had a little strop. I called myself a cock a few times for setting in motion such a glaringly stupid series of events. Then I reminded myself that this was a situation of my own making and told myself to grow up and own it.

Secondly, I made the decision to part ways with my coaching supervisor. Now I want to be ABSOLUTELY clear here - this situation was not in ANY WAY the fault of my supervisor. She had no part in the submission and so this might seem like a knee-jerk reaction and as though I lashed out at someone else for my own failure, however I know myself well enough to know that there are times in my life when I need an arm around the shoulder and there are times when I need someone to tell me to stop fucking about and do it properly and this was one of the latter. And I felt that the relationship with my supervisor at the time wasn't the right environment for me to get what I needed. So I sent two emails; one to my supervisor explaining the situation and letting her know that I was going to be ending our engagement and another to a supervisor who I have known for a number of years and who I believed that I could get exactly what I needed from.

And finally I reached out to a former colleague to offer some pro bono coaching, with the request that I record the sessions for my development, because I wanted a fresh canvas on which to create.

By the time the bus reached the terminal building (and Edinburgh airport is not a big place, so it wasn't long), all of those messages were sent and the mechanical part of the process of growth was underway. I felt steadied by that knowledge and I could see a path emerge in front of me. I knew that as a coach I was more than capable of achieving my PCC accreditation and I also knew that doing so was something that mattered to me. It was time for another attempt, with all the benefits derived from the first.

And so began the reflection as to why I'd done what I'd done. Walking through the airport, waiting outside for the bus to the car park, driving home in the darkness, I dissected the steps that had led me to the failure. Why did I submit recordings that I knew weren't good enough? And why hadn't I, knowing this, continued to make and review recordings in the intervening months in order to build up a bank of possible recordings for the inevitable resubmission? Because, to use a great Scottish word, I'd scunnered myself of the whole process. I'd manufactured several deadline for submission, failed to meet them and put so much pressure on myself that rather than just trusting the process and letting things come to me, I'd tried to force it and got to the stage that I was burnt out. I'd had enough of it all and I wanted rid of the 'PCC submission' note on my to-do list so much, that I submitted a pair of sub-par recordings to make it go away. And while I knew that I'd get those emails eventually, I'd given myself a quarter of a year where I could forget about it because my recordings were in and under review.

Now I appreciate on reading that back that it sounds like a remarkably stupid thing to do! After all, coaching accreditation is entirely voluntary! There was literally ZERO external expectation on me to achieve PCC accreditation; and I don't just mean in that time frame, I mean AT ALL. Nobody who is a coach has to do any accreditation of any kind, if they don't want to. Yes, it's true that some of the associate firms and clients I work with require me to be accredited, but many others don't and I'd bet that a huge percentage of clients don't even know the process exists. So I could have just sacked the whole thing off and gone along with the rest of my life. But I believe that accreditation is important - not only in keeping myself sharp, but as an external marker that I take what I do seriously, so I'd set myself a goal and built the pressure internally to achieve it. And by chasing the goal instead of trusting the process, I'd caused myself to fail.

Amusingly (on reflection!) I started off my second attempt, almost making exactly the same mistake as I'd made the first time. The ICF gave a 6 month window for resubmission at a reduced fee and I decided that I wanted it done by then, the end of March 2024. So I approached it with vigour and aggression and , in truth, those are not good things with which to approach a task like this! I was forcing it again. But through excellent supervision and reflection, I started to look at my journey through fresh eyes and got back to the process over the goal. Do meaningful work, review the work, have another person (who I deeply respect) review it for perspective and challenge me on it, and slowly, step by step, see the progress. The goal will come, don't try to force it. I told Fay, my supervisor, not to be nice. I wanted my recordings dissected and I wanted a focus on all the areas of opportunity. High challenge. Let me know what I'm doing well, but don't dwell on that stuff, that's not what I need right now. And she met me exactly where I was and provided the feedback that helped me grow. And my eyes and ears sharpened in my coaching sessions and I knew that as the weeks and the months went by, the quality of my work was steadily rising.

I allowed my drive towards accreditation to take a back seat for much of last year, again preferring to focus on the work itself, however, at the end of February this year, the topic rose in my mind again and I felt like the time had come to resubmit my application. This time I felt very differently and submitted by recordings, proud of the portfolio I was sharing and how it represented the work I do.

Fast forward to Monday 28th April 2025. I walked out of the PearsonVue testing centre on Queen Street, Edinburgh, with a piece of paper in my bag, a smile on my face and my headphones in my ears, blasting My Friends Over You by New Found Glory. Why? Well firstly because that song is a certified banger. Secondly, because the sun was shining and Edinburgh looks beautiful in the springtime sun. And thirdly, because the piece of paper confirmed that I'd passed my credentialing exam (the final stage of accreditation after you submit two recordings which meet the ICF standard) and achieved my PCC! A very different feeling to that night nineteen months previous and one which was grown from a failure which I owned, reflected upon, regrouped after and overcame.

Everyone responds differently when they face setbacks. And not everyone likes to use the word failure. But for me, it's important. It generates accountability and action and a little bit of fuel to pick myself up and show up differently. The language we use with ourselves is as important as the language we use with others and I'd encourage everyone to reflect on what that is and how it's serving you.

As always, thanks for reading and I'd love to hear your stories of challenge and failure and learning and redemption so please, get in touch!