Most people who come to communication coaching do not have a communication problem. They are often intelligent, capable and perfectly articulate. They can explain complex ideas, build strong relationships and speak with confidence when they feel comfortable. But place them in a senior meeting, an important presentation or a difficult conversation, and something changes. They speak too quickly. They over-explain. They lose their train of thought. They become more cautious, mor

The moment someone is asked to speak in public, they often become intensely aware of themselves. What should I do with my hands? Am I speaking too quickly? Do I look nervous? Can everyone hear the tremor in my voice? What happens if I forget what comes next? These concerns are entirely understandable. But together, they create a problem: the speaker is paying attention to the one person in the room who should not be their primary focus. The more closely we monitor ourselves,

You enter the conversation feeling composed. Then the other person becomes defensive. Their voice tightens. They interrupt. Perhaps they accuse you of something you believe is unfair. Before long, your pace has quickened. Your shoulders have risen. You are listening less carefully and preparing your defence. Their emotional state has begun to become yours. This is emotional contagion: our tendency to absorb and reflect the emotions of those around us, often without consciousl

Fidgeting is often treated as a body-language failure, but repetitive movements usually serve a purpose. Touching your face, clicking a pen, adjusting your clothes or shifting position may release nervous energy, provide sensory regulation or help you concentrate. The more useful question is not simply, ‘How do I stop fidgeting?’ rather: How can I help my body feel settled enough that it no longer needs to work so hard? Why do we fidget when speaking? In high-pressure situati

You’re halfway through a presentation. It’s going rather well. Then, without warning, the next thought disappears. Not becomes slightly hazy: disappears. Your mind is suddenly an empty stage. You can hear the silence, feel people looking at you and become acutely aware of your own face. At this point, many of us do something that makes the situation worse: we panic, apologise and begin frantically searching for the missing words. Actors know this feeling well. Lines can vanis

No is one of the first words we learn and, for many of us, one of the hardest to use as adults. Particularly at work. We say yes to the meeting we do not need to attend, the impossible deadline and the ‘quick favour’ that arrives at 4.57pm with the approximate dimensions of a medium-sized project. Sometimes we genuinely want to help. Sometimes we are ambitious, conscientious or keen to seem dependable. And sometimes saying no feels so uncomfortable that it seems easier to agr

There was only one Dolly Parton. In an age when public figures are endlessly polished, repositioned and advised to become more palatable, Dolly remained gloriously, unmistakably herself. The hair, the rhinestones, the humour, the voice, the music, the lyrics - none of it came with an apology. Of course, the apparent contradiction was part of her genius. Her image was knowingly artificial, but the woman inside it always seemed to me at least entirely authentic. She got the jok

Here’s something I notice quite often when I’m coaching high-performing people. If I suggest they might benefit from being a little kinder to themselves, they can become slightly suspicious. They hear something differently, and respond with something like: ‘What, lower my standards? Stop pushing myself? Let myself off the hook?!’ And I completely understand this... because my own inner critic has never knowingly let a minor mistake go uninvestigated. It’s remarkably thorough.

There is a particular moment in a meeting that should worry a leader. It isn’t when somebody challenges them. It’s when nobody does. Every suggestion is greeted with agreement. Nobody pushes back. Difficult questions don’t materialise. The meeting ends smoothly and everyone leaves apparently aligned. It can feel like good leadership. It may be precisely the opposite. Because one of the peculiar consequences of becoming more senior is that people gradually become less honest w

There was a time when being distracted required a little more effort. You might stare out of a window. Doodle on a notepad. Wonder what you were having for dinner. Today, distraction comes looking for us. Emails arrive while we are in meetings. Messages flash across screens while we are talking. Watches vibrate discreetly on wrists. Phones sit face down on tables, apparently ignored, but still occupying a corner of our consciousness. And even when the technology is nowhere to

Every meeting has a hierarchy. The interesting thing is that hierarchy doesn't necessarily play out in the same way as in does on the organisational chart. The most senior person in the room may be apologetic, hesitant or desperate to be liked. The most junior may appear calm, comfortable and entirely at ease expressing a different opinion. Within minutes, we begin to sense who has authority, who wants it, who is giving it away and who doesn’t seem particularly concerned abou

No leader enjoys delivering bad news. Whether it’s a missed target, a restructuring, a cancelled project, budget cuts or simply telling a team that things aren’t going as hoped, these conversations sit on every manager’s list of things they’d rather avoid. The thing is, I’ve often found that bad news itself isn’t what damages morale the most. It’s how it’s communicated. People are remarkably resilient when they feel respected. They can cope with uncertainty, disappointment an

Few things make us as uncomfortable as silence. Someone asks a question and there’s a pause. A meeting falls quiet. A client doesn’t immediately respond to your proposal. An interviewer finishes speaking and waits. Within seconds, many of us feel an overwhelming urge to do something. We speak again. We clarify. We apologise. We add another point. We rescue the conversation. Despite our best efforts, it’s often at that moment that we weaken our message. Silence isn’t an empty

When I ask clients what they admire in great communicators, one word comes up again and again. Charisma. People picture the inspiring CEO, the captivating keynote speaker or the politician who can hold an audience in the palm of their hand. It’s understandable. Charisma is attractive. It turns heads. But here’s an interesting reflection. Many of the most influential people I’ve met aren’t particularly charismatic. They’re simply present. And there is an important difference.

Most people think a meeting begins with the first agenda item. It doesn’t. It begins the moment you enter the room. Or, if it’s online, the moment your camera switches on. Long before you’ve shared your ideas, your colleagues have started to form an impression. Not because they’re consciously judging you, but because that’s how the human brain works. We are constantly making rapid assessments based on countless subtle signals. The good news? Most of those signals are within y

One of the biggest misconceptions about great communicators is that they’re brilliant talkers. In reality, they are often even better observers. Actors learn this very quickly. We might spend weeks rehearsing a performance, but every audience is different. The script stays the same. The people don’t. Some audiences laugh more readily. Some are quieter. Some need time to trust you. Others are with you from the moment you walk on stage. The mistake is trying to force every audi

Not so long ago, I asked a client to composed an email during one of our coaching sessions. They hesitated. ‘I’d normally put this into ChatGPT first,’ they admitted. I asked why. ‘So I know it sounds right.’ It struck me this wasn’t really about writing. It was more about confidence. Over the past few years, artificial intelligence has become remarkably good at helping us communicate. It can draft emails, refine presentations, rewrite reports and even suggest how to handle d

One of the many pleasures of my work is that my office can now be almost anywhere. Thanks to online coaching, I might begin the day working with a client in Belgium, spend lunchtime delivering a face-to-face session in London, and finish the afternoon speaking to someone in the United States. Add in clients across the UK and, more recently, India, and it’s a reminder of just how much our working world has changed. Twenty years ago, coaching was largely defined by geography. T

Most people spend too much time preparing what they’re going to say. Far fewer think about how they’re going to begin. It’s understandable - if you’re about to discuss poor performance, challenge a colleague, deliver disappointing news or confront an ongoing issue, your attention naturally goes to the facts. You rehearse your arguments, anticipate objections and mentally prepare your evidence. But - in my experience anyway - the first five minutes often determine how the next

Imagine you’ve noticed one of your best people is underperforming. You know the conversation needs to happen. Instead, you tell yourself, 'I’ll wait until next week. They’re under a lot of pressure.' Next week soon becomes next month. By then, the problem has doubled. Most leaders want to be liked. There’s nothing wrong with that in itself. In fact, the best leaders tend to be warm, approachable and deeply respected. The problem begins when being liked becomes more important