I’m confident in what I do. I’ve been teaching and coaching long enough to know that I’m good at it, that it helps people, and that what I teach can help. Occasionally that confidence has a wobble.
Yesterday was one of those days.
There wasn’t a single moment that triggered it. No harsh comment. No awkward session. It was a gradual, quiet erosion that happens sometimes.
I’ve got two courses running at the moment. One is lively, there are questions and shared videos, some energy. The other feels flat. Almost silent. I can’t imagine signing up for something and not joining in, but that’s me. Others are different. Some are shy or unsure of themselves, some are simply overwhelmed, and some are probably battling their own self-doubt. A few come across as rather overconfident and it can be hard to give them feedback they might not want to hear. All of this, the silence, the effort of balancing everyone’s needs, the constant emotional investment, can bear down on you. Even when you love what you do.
It isn’t imposter syndrome. I know my subject. I know I’m a good teacher, even if others sometimes think I’m wrong or want to challenge how I teach. That’s part of the job. I sometimes forget how much of myself I put into the work, how much energy it takes to hold space for people, even when they don’t, or can’t, meet halfway.
Patrick always says, ‘Give up, retire, you don’t need this.’ Technically he’s right. I don’t need it. But the truth is, I do. Helping people help their horses isn’t just a job, it’s part of who I am. It’s what makes me, ‘me’. It’s the best kind of reinforcement, a proof that what I do matters.
When doubt creeps in, I try not to jump immediately to thinking I’m not good enough. Usually that isn’t even close to the truth. Sometimes I’m just tired. A late-night board meeting on Sunday that goes on until half past midnight can wreck my Monday. Sometimes the energy dips simply because I’ve been giving too much without topping up my own reserves.
When that happens I try to step back and look at what’s really going on. Maybe my students are tired too. Maybe they’re shy, nervous, or busy. Maybe something in their own lives is getting in the way. Or maybe they simply don’t like my approach, and that’s fine. Nobody is liked by everyone all the time and that’s just a fact of life. What matters is that I keep going with ‘my’ brand of honesty, patience and generosity. I remind myself of what’s working, of the moments of progress, of the people who are engaged and thriving.
At the moment, the memory of my Professional Trainers course is what brings me reinforcement. Their dedication, their progress, their willingness to support each other has been a real reminder of why I do this. It’s proof that the effort is worth it. Low days don’t mean we’re failing, they’re simply part of the rhythm of the work. They remind us that caring costs something, that being invested can make us vulnerable. Especially when many of us are self-employed.
Yesterday was a low day. Today isn’t. The tide turned, as it always does. I’m not writing this for sympathy. Low days are a nuisance, but they pass. I’m writing it because I know I’m not the only one who feels like this sometimes. If you teach, coach, or train students, you’ll have those days too. Days when you start reading the silence and wondering what it means. You haven’t lost your touch. You’re still good enough. The people you help might just be fighting their own battles, quietly and invisibly. So, take a breath, remember what’s working, and keep going.
