Sim Chen Xing

Some clients come to coaching with goals, timelines, and clear action steps. Others arrive with something else entirely—an unspeakable weight, a dilemma that defies resolution. Perhaps it’s the loss of a loved one. Perhaps it’s a faith crisis. Or perhaps it’s a situation at work that cannot be fixed—only endured. They know, somehow, that they must take the next step. But they do so in fear and trembling. And in that moment, a different kind of coaching is required.

The Uncommunicable Struggle

When Søren Kierkegaard wrote Fear and Trembling in 1843, he offered a radical portrait of faith—not as belief in doctrine, but as the anguished, paradoxical movement of a person who steps into the unknown without certainty, only trust. His meditation centered on the story of Abraham, who was commanded to sacrifice his son Isaac.

Abraham obeyed—not because it made sense, not because it was ethical, but because he trusted something beyond reason. He walked forward in fear and trembling, a movement that no one could understand. Not Sarah (his wife). Not Isaac. And even if someone were to be standing right beside him on Mount Moriah, even he would not be able to understand his struggles.

So too, some coaching clients carry dilemmas that no one else can fully grasp. The decision they face cannot be reasoned through by logic or mapped out with a SMART goal. It is not a matter of willpower or strategy. It is a spiritual act, even if they wouldn’t name it that.

And the coach? The coach is called to accompany them—not as problem-solver, not as advisor, but as something far rarer: a silent witness.

What should a coach do in this context?

The core theme of Kierkegaard’s Fear and Trembling is that faith is incommunicable. It is not something you can explain to others. It cannot be justified in universal or ethical terms. It is a solitary act of the self before the Absolute.

This has profound implications for coaching.

When a client is in a space where the things they bring to the table is uncommunicable—when their anguish cannot be spoken or made sense of—the coach’s job is not to fix, but to hold. To create a container where the uncommunicable can be witnessed with reverence.

Here’s what this might mean in practice:

1. Holding Space

The coach becomes a container—not for solutions, but for sacred struggle. This is the art of presence: staying with the client in their pain without trying to change it.

2. Not Rushing to Positivity

Optimism can be violence when offered too quickly. Allowing space for despair, doubt, and grief without bypassing is one of the most respectful things a coach can do.

3. Honouring What’s Real

The coach recognizes the full humanity of the client—not only what they feel, but the context in which those feelings arise. The struggle is not “just in their head.” It is real.

4. Reflecting the Sacredness of the Internal Struggle

When a client is wrestling with the unresolvable, their pain is not weakness—it is holy. The coach reflects this back, reminding them that even their doubt is a sign of depth.

5. Focusing on Meaning, Not Just Outcomes

In these moments, the question is not “What do I do?” but “Who am I becoming?” The coach helps the client mine their struggle for meaning—not to escape it, but to be transformed by it.

6. Not Undermining the Tension

The coach does not try to dissolve the paradox. Sometimes, life presents us with tensions that must be held, not solved.

7. Not Pulling the Client Back Into the Ethical or Universal

Kierkegaard warns that others may try to reduce Abraham’s act to moral or rational categories. But faith, like the client’s struggle, resists reduction. The coach should resist the temptation to impose frameworks that flatten the client’s unique journey.

Why This Is Ethical and Powerful

Far from being passive or disengaged, this form of coaching—one that honours the uncommunicable—is deeply aligned with the ICF Code of Ethics and Core Competencies. It may appear quiet from the outside, but it is in fact one of the most profound ways a coach can serve.

Holding space for the client is an act of cultivating trust and safety. When a client carries something unspeakable—something so personal or sacred that even they struggle to articulate it—the coach’s role is not to probe or fix, but to create a container where the client can simply be. This aligns directly with ICF Core Competency 4, which emphasizes the creation of a safe and supportive environment where the client is free to share without fear of judgment. In such a space, silence is not emptiness but sanctuary. The client may never fully verbalize the depth of their struggle, but they will know they were not alone in it.

In these moments, maintaining presence becomes a courageous act. The coach does not retreat from the client’s despair, ambiguity, or dread. Instead, they remain grounded and open—fully conscious of the sacredness of what is unfolding. This is the embodiment of ICF Core Competency 5, which speaks of being flexible, confident, and attuned to the client’s state without needing to direct the conversation away from discomfort. Presence is not about having the answers. It is about being unafraid to accompany the client through the fog.

And when transformation does come, it does not arrive through analysis or strategy. It surfaces subtly, often in the form of meaning rather than resolution. The coach does not rush this process, but instead gently holds space for reflection. Through silence, metaphor, or even a well-timed question, the coach helps evoke awareness that the client may not have accessed alone. This echoes ICF Core Competency 7, which speaks of facilitating insight through tools like metaphor and analogy—not as gimmicks, but as invitations into deeper understanding.

Ultimately, this kind of coaching isn’t about outcomes or performance. It’s about honouring what is real and sacred in the client’s experience. It is a form of accompaniment in its purest sense—standing with the client not to remove the weight they carry, but to witness it with reverence, and to trust that even fear and trembling can be the ground of transformation.

The Best Thing a Coach Can Do

When a client is walking their own Mount Moriah, even if you’re standing right beside them, you cannot fully know what they carry. But you can walk with them.

You can honour their fear and trembling as the sign of something sacred. You can hold the space for them to step forward—not because the path is clear, but because the step is true. And in doing so, you become a witness to the mystery of transformation—not as one who understands, but as one who reveres.