quiet the noise & reclaim the work
Let’s just get this out of the way: Instagram is not your mentor.
We are living in a time where every swipe, every reel, every clip is trying to tell us what to do. Aesthetically pleasing exercises. Condescending voiceovers. Catchy language that pretends to be wisdom. Everyone's got a "system," a "hack," a method. It's addictive. It's constant. And it's becoming dangerous.
Let me be clear: this is not a dig at the amazing coaches out there doing the work, sharing generously, and putting out thoughtful, real content. They exist. I see them. I learn from them. But their voices are getting buried in noise—lost in a sea of fads, shallow takes, and shiny distractions.
We have a flood of people giving information, but very few living it. Even fewer are questioning it. Fewer still are failing with it, adjusting, re-testing. That is learning. That is coaching. That’s the messy, slow, frustrating, deeply rewarding process of doing the work.
Too many are stuck in passive learning. And passive learning in coaching is like watching someone swim and thinking you’re getting better at swimming. Until you jump in and realize you’re drowning in your own assumptions.
I see it everywhere. Coaches who won’t move. Athletes who copy a drill but don’t feel it. Performance staff who prefer to observe rather than engage. You can’t "understand" breath regulation, proprioception, or recovery modalities by sitting and nodding. You have to do. You have to try.
And to be clear—this doesn’t mean every coach needs to demonstrate or physically perform everything. Some coaches can’t, and that’s not a barrier to excellence. Engagement and embodiment aren’t just physical. They’re about showing up, staying present, staying curious, and connecting with the process in your way. Movement isn’t the only form of participation—critical thinking is.
This is why I go back to my mentors. To people who challenge me, who show me frameworks but not absolutes. People who teach from failure and experimentation, not dogma. I intentionally seek out those I don’t always agree with—because growth doesn’t happen in an echo chamber. It happens when you’re forced to think.
And for every concept I bring into my programs, I test it. I live it. I try it in different contexts, with different athletes, under different pressures. I reflect. I debrief. I adapt. I want to know not just if something looks good, but if it works. And for whom. And why.
Because our field cannot afford to be led by noise.
We need active learners. Critical thinkers. Curious explorers. Coaches who try, screw up, laugh, adapt, and try again.
But this isn’t just about coaches. This is also about athletes.
We can’t keep spoon-feeding them. We can’t just bark commands, hand them a routine, and expect long-term development. If we want thinking players, resilient players, adaptable players—we have to let them explore. They need to understand what something feels like. They need to give feedback. They need to know when something works, when it doesn’t, and why.
And that only happens when we stop controlling and start collaborating. Autonomy isn’t a luxury—it’s a requirement for growth. If we keep raising players to just follow directions, they won’t know how to lead themselves. And that applies to us too.
Because when coaches simply parrot the latest trend or tool without ever engaging with it critically, they’re doing the same thing they criticize their athletes for: being passive, compliant, and disconnected.
So let’s stop outsourcing our thinking. Let’s stop assuming the algorithm is smarter than our intuition. Let’s stop pretending we can coach from a highlight reel.
Your body is your lab. Your coaching environment is your testing ground. Get in it. Move. Question. Feel. Sweat. Fail. Learn. Repeat.
This is why I’ll keep teaching from lived experience. From experimentation. From embodiment. Because the goal is not to be a content consumer. It’s to be a coach who thinks. A coach who lives the work.
You want real insight? Get off the scroll and get on the floor.
