Can Anyone Be A Coach? w/ Jule Kim
Chris Do and Jule Kim challenge the coaching industry's lack of regulation and explore the deep ethical responsibility of a true guide.
Chris Do
Founder, The Futur™ · November 24, 2024
The Wild West of Coaching
There is a perception that anyone can call themselves a coach. In an unfiltered conversation, Chris Do and ICF-certified coach Jule Kim agree this is the heart of a very real problem. The modern coaching industry is a digital wild west, largely unaccredited and ungoverned.
“There are very young, inexperienced people who have undergone little to no training who call themselves coaches,” Do says. Armed with social media reach, they launch courses and programs, attracting clients who are none the wiser.
One or two bad experiences with a so-called coach can lead to a reasonable conclusion: it is nearly impossible for the public to tell the real from the fake. This isn't just about money wasted. It's about intensely personal experiences gone wrong.
Kim notes that within the industry itself, a dangerous half-truth circulates. “They’ll try to tell you that you don’t have to know anything about the person’s industry or about what they do for a living,” she explains. “All you have to have is the skill of coaching.”
That is only partially true.
The danger transcends coaching. Any professional service operating without an accrediting body can drift into unethical territory. There is no ethics training. No annual recertification to ensure best practices. No license that can be revoked.
Age, Experience, and the Sniff Test
Kim identifies two major red flags in the coaching space. The first is the ultra-young coach. A 21-year-old life coach doesn't pass her sniff test.
It's not that it's impossible. Younger people can have more open mindsets, less jaded by the cynicism that can set in with age. But after four years as a coach, Kim has identified one area of expertise that is almost impossible to possess at 21: experience with people.
“You have to understand how people work and how they think,” she states. “And when you’re 21, I feel like you barely know yourself, if at all, let alone how other people are.”
The second red flag is the uncertified coach. When Kim watches them work, she sees the gaps in their ability. They cannot spot the real issue. They lack the training in the specific lines of inquiry required to get to the heart of a client's problem.
Bad coaching, like bad therapy, is an experience you never forget. It’s a deeply personal violation. This is why many people write off therapy entirely after a few poor encounters, even though therapists are licensed and have undergone years of rigorous training and clinical practice.
There are still therapists of varying skill levels. Chemistry is a factor. But the core principles of the profession are grounded in a system of accountability that is starkly absent from most of the coaching world.
The Ethical Tightrope of a Stalled Client
This lack of accountability creates profound ethical dilemmas. Kim shared a story about a client she had been working with for over two years. The client clearly received value from their sessions, including emotional support and foundational guidance on boundaries and priorities. But a destructive pattern had emerged.
Whenever it came time to do the hard work, the client would simply disappear.
“I had asked her to start a Pinterest account and then never heard back for the next two months,” Kim recalls. This was a consistent theme. The client would agree to every suggestion, a constant stream of yeses that felt unrealistic. This eroded trust. But the real killer was the silence.
“There’s no follow-through, there’s no communication on your end saying, ‘I can’t do this’ or ‘I don’t want to do this,’” Kim explains. It left her in the dark, unable to help.
This wasn't just a business problem. It was an ethical one. Kim found herself at a crossroads, questioning the very nature of their arrangement. She was taking money for a service that was no longer producing results. It felt wrong. During a conversation with Do, she decided she had to have a “come to Jesus” moment with her client.
She couldn’t wait. She initiated the conversation, laying out the pattern she observed: the yeses, the silence, the lack of follow-through. Then, she drew a line in the sand.
“This has been continuing, and now I question whether I’m the right person to coach you,” she told her client. “And I don’t know if I should continue taking your money.”
The client’s initial response was understanding. But three days later, the real reaction surfaced. In a tearful, emotional conversation, the client revealed what she heard beneath Kim's words. “She heard, ‘You’re not worthy and I’m going to leave you. I don’t want to work with you anymore.’”
This is where the story turns. The client, despite her emotional turmoil, possessed the fortitude to step back. She acknowledged her own interpretation, taking responsibility for her reaction. “I know you said something else, but this is how I heard it,” she told Kim. She correctly identified what Kim was trying to say, and they found their way back to the same page.
This is the work. It is not about being a hired friend. Kim reminded her client of the ethics she is bound to as an ICF-certified coach. The International Coaching Federation’s Code of Ethics explicitly states a coach’s duty is to the client’s goals. When a client veers off path, the coach *must* intervene. This wasn’t their first such conversation, but it was the most impactful.
Then the client offered a beautiful lesson. She said, “I pour my heart and soul into the work I do. I bring so much love to the work I do. And I pay you from the money I earn, not from the money that my husband earns. This is my money, and I’m giving it to you.”
Kim realized the transaction was an exchange of love. The client was giving love and receiving it in return, then passing that same energy to her coach. Kim’s response was simple and profound: “All I’m looking for is for you to honor that exchange and make sure that you’re honoring that for yourself as well. You’re giving me the love, but where’s the love you would show yourself?”
That was the missing piece.
The Caretaker's Trap
Would another coach have acted this way? Kim is doubtful. “Given all the coaching communities that I’m in, I would say that someone… it’s like less than a 50% chance for other people to handle this.”
The reason is not greed. It is something deeper, an occupational hazard for helpers of all kinds: the caretaker personality. Kim notes that in personality assessments common in coaching schools, the caretaker archetype is consistently the strongest trait among coaches.
This impulse drives them to want to “save” every client. It creates a massive fear of conflict and a tendency toward people-pleasing. They see coaches who struggle with basic boundaries, like getting paid upfront. If a coach cannot handle that, Kim argues, there is a very low possibility they can navigate the complexities of a relationship teetering on codependency.
They don’t say anything. Not for the money, but because the dynamic feeds their need to be needed. “Somebody really needs me right now, and I can’t turn my back on them,” is the internal monologue.
Do admits he has this attribute in spades. “Middle child,” he says with a knowing laugh. He didn't recognize his own caretaker tendencies until his therapist, Joan, pointed them out. She analyzed his family structure and birth order to build a psychological profile, a practice that revealed a core pattern in his professional life.
“I was more concerned about employees who disagreed with me in their mental welfare than my own mental welfare,” he admits. He would acquiesce in the moment, avoiding a fight, but resentment would build up inside him. A passive-aggressive cycle.
The turning point for Do was internalizing a principle from researcher Brené Brown: Choose discomfort over resentment.
Do explains the framework:
- It is uncomfortable to say no to a request.
- It is uncomfortable to set a boundary.
- It is uncomfortable to express a dissenting opinion.
But that momentary discomfort saves the relationship from the slow-growing cancer of resentment. Resentment is the endpoint. It leads to disappearances, to ghosting, to the silent retreat that Do himself used to practice. “Eventually I just get tired of people,” he says of his old pattern. “I recede into the background.”
Like an addict who is never fully “cured” of alcoholism, Do knows his caretaker tendencies are always there. He has simply developed the mindfulness to manage them. He has done the inner work required to set boundaries before they are catastrophically breached. This work is a prerequisite for anyone hoping to build an authentic brand, a topic he covers in his masterclass on personal branding.
The Hidden Violence of 'I'm Proud of You'
This deep self-examination leads Do to challenge even our most common and seemingly innocent phrases. One of the most charged is “I’m proud of you.”
The topic arose when his wife asked why he was so “thrifty” with giving praise to their high-achieving 20-year-old son, Otto. Do began to unpack the discomfort he felt with the phrase. In a conversation with a friend, he explained why he avoids it, especially with his children and even his friends.
The logic is sharp and disarming. “If I say I’m proud of you, that means there are times when I’m not proud of you,” he states. This creates a conditional dynamic. You are proud when they get good grades, study the “right” subject, or give to charity. The praise becomes a lever of control.
Do’s philosophy is rooted in a different principle: unconditional love. This is not a passive feeling but an active practice. He has told his children since they were barely old enough to understand: “I want you to know that I love you and that there is nothing that you could ever do to make me stop loving you. You don’t need to do anything different than to be you for me to love you.”
Initially, he would phrase it as a question: “Do you know Daddy loves you?” His therapist advised him to make it a statement. It is not up for debate. “Dad loves you.”
Therefore, he doesn't need to be *proud of* them. He is proud *that they are* his children, always. The state of being is enough. Their performance, choices, and even their mistakes do not alter his fundamental love for them. This approach to communication is itself a form of strategy, a concept Do relates to positioning in the business world, as detailed in his talk on building an authentic brand.
He extends this to his friendships. “What did I really do to claim that I’m proud of you?” he asks. To him, it's a parental phrase that establishes an unspoken hierarchy. It is a subtle power play.
“You're saying I have power over you. My opinion, my authority, my approval matters to you,” Do argues. “It is violent language.”
He recalls the yogi Sadhguru’s idea that children are born perfect, and it is parents who mess them up. Innocent statements, moments of frustration where a parent calls a child clumsy, or moments of praise where they say “I’m proud of you,” all become data points. The child learns, “This is what I must do to earn love.” They begin to externalize their self-worth, looking to others for the approval they should be generating internally.
Kim’s reaction to this philosophy is visceral. “The first time I heard you say this, I almost balled my eyes out,” she admits. It triggered a powerful emotional response because, like many, she questions whether her own parents’ love is truly unconditional. The idea of a parent being so explicit and deliberate about it was overwhelming.
Words matter. They shape our reality and define our emotional landscape. Using the wrong words can inadvertently shift your feelings. This is why having emotional granularity, as Kim puts it, is so crucial for clear communication and self-understanding. Clear language is foundational for the art of listening and communication.
The Genealogy of Your Beliefs
When people resist these ideas, often with the defense that “that’s not how people normally use the words,” Do pushes back. How do we know what is normal? And even if something is normal, if it is bad, should we continue doing it?
This leads to a powerful challenge for anyone listening.
First, write down ten things you hold to be true. Ten core beliefs.
Second, do what author Austin Kleon calls a “genealogy of your ideas.” For each belief, trace it back to its origin. Where did you first learn it? A parent? A teacher? A book? A TV show?
Finally, ask yourself a series of critical questions about that source:
- How reliable is this source of information?
- What was the context in which I learned this?
- If someone told me this for the first time today, as an adult, would I still believe it?
This is where everything can start to unravel. Our minds are filled with programming from childhood that we have never consciously examined. We operate on assumptions about what is “normal” based on a finite, often biased, sample size of personal experience. This lack of critical examination is a major hurdle in personal development, but tackling it is a core part of finding your purpose, as in an Ikigai workshop.
The Currency of Respect
This self-interrogation shapes another critical concept: respect. Kim puts Do on the spot, asking how one earns his respect. The question is less about gaining Do’s approval and more about understanding the foundation of a healthy professional or personal relationship.
Do makes a critical distinction. He can respect the *way* someone does something without necessarily respecting *them* as a person. The two are not the same.
He offers an example: inbound versus outbound business development. Do’s entire platform is built on an inbound philosophy of creating valuable content and attracting an audience. Others, like sales leader Neil Dhingra, achieve massive success with a relentless outbound approach of cold calls and direct messages. These are polar opposite strategies.
Do respects that Dhingra's method works. He does not, however, have to adopt it himself. The mere thought of it makes him want to crawl back in bed. Both realities can be true. One is not inherently better; they are simply different paths to a goal. This is a crucial lesson for anyone trying to get their first customers.
Respect for a person, however, is built on something else. It is built on accountability, on character, on how someone handles their responsibilities. It is earned over time as you gather more data points and see past your initial prejudices.
We all make snap judgments. It is an efficient, if sometimes flawed, cognitive shortcut for navigating the world. But true understanding requires staying in the conversation long enough to prove your initial assumptions wrong.
Ultimately, a relationship, whether with a coach, a friend, or a colleague, cannot thrive without mutual respect. And respect cannot exist without accountability and a willingness to engage in the uncomfortable, ethical, and deeply human work of being honest with yourself and with others.
That is the real work of a coach. And a human.
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“It is violent language because you're saying I have power over you.”
— Chris Do
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