Obstacles on Your ICF Credentialing Journey

When coaches start preparing for their ICF credential, something strange often happens. They suddenly forget that they can already coach. These are people who have had wonderful conversations with clients for months or years, who have helped others move forward, who bring presence and curiosity and lightness into the room. And then, the minute the word “recording” appears, everything tightens.

Instead of meeting a client, they meet a mental checklist.

Instead of a conversation, they try to produce “the perfect coaching.”

Instead of presence, they slip into performance.

This shift is incredibly common, and it makes complete sense. Performance evaluations trigger the same dynamic as job interviews, exams, music auditions, even driving tests. Suddenly the thing you can do becomes the thing you think you must prove. The mind jumps into the foreground, and the natural competence that lives in the body, intuition, and relational skills gets pushed aside.

And then the lightness goes. Coaches start treating every session as if it needs to be worthy of submission. They monitor themselves. They “listen from above” as if taking notes on their own performance. They try to play the role of the “ICF-aligned coach” instead of simply being who they are. They try to tick markers rather than follow the client. And because the pressure is high, they may even get frustrated if the client brings a topic that doesn’t feel “suitable” for credentialing. Suddenly, a perfectly valid coaching agenda, for example, “I want a plan,” “I need structure,” “I’m stuck on a practical decision” feels like an obstacle rather than an invitation.

This frustration, of course, blocks presence even more.

But the good news is that these obstacles are normal. And they are solvable.

So what helps?

One of the most liberating moves is to stop trying to “record a tape.” The more you aim for a perfect performance, the less likely you are to create one. Instead, record a lot. Record ordinary sessions, real sessions, sessions where you are not thinking about assessment at all. Later, you can listen back and simply select the ones that truly reflect your coaching. The pressure shifts from “I must perform now” to “I will choose later.” That alone already changes the quality of the conversation.

It also helps to distinguish between recordings meant for mentor coaching  where you want to experiment, stretch, and get feedback and recordings meant for evaluation. They are not the same category and trying to make them overlap usually increases stress. Mentor coaching is learning. ICF assessment is assessment. You don’t have to treat both as both.

Another helpful practice is to notice when you are centering your own need to perform rather than centering the client. This is not a moral failure. It is a human response to being evaluated. The trick is simply to become aware of it. When you notice that you’re listening for “markers” rather than for the human in front of you, gently shift your attention: What is the client really wanting? What difference would be useful to them right now? What kind of relationship are we building?

And remember that not every client or every topic lends itself to a recording that suits an ICF performance evaluation. That’s okay. There is nothing unethical or artificial about vetting clients and topics in advance, especially if you are working pro bono. Some conversations are simply better suited for demonstrating coaching competencies than others. That is a practical reality, not a commentary on your skills.

Finally: stop trying to “hit markers.” They are not intended as a checklist. Instead, focus on improving one thing at a time. For example, experiment with asking shorter questions. Or with giving more space. Or with exploring outcomes in more detail. But don’t try to overhaul everything at once. Coaching grows in small, embodied shifts.

And at the end of all this, we arrive at the strangest part of the ICF credentialing journey: the ICF double bind. You must perform, but you must not try to perform. You must demonstrate your competence, but the moment you try to demonstrate it, it evaporates.

So how do you do the impossible?

Perhaps it helps to borrow an image from the stage. A dancer doesn’t “perform for evaluation.” A musician doesn’t “play to pass a test.” A theatre actor doesn’t go on stage thinking about rubrics. They perform for flow, for connection, for expression. And ironically, that is exactly when their competence becomes visible. Not because they are trying to show it, but because they are living it.

What if you treated your performance-evaluation recordings like that?

Not as something to prove, but as something to inhabit. Not as a test, but as an encounter. Not as a performance in the evaluative sense, but as a performance in the artistic sense: a moment where you bring all of yourself and meet another human being with curiosity, presence, and trust.

Because at the end of the day, you don’t need to become a different coach for your credential. You only need to remember the coach you already are.

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