Sim Chen Xing

When I was still early in my coaching journey, I often found myself stuck in coaching conversations. I felt the weight of responsibility to help the client—sometimes even to understand them completely—before we could make progress. I would listen intently, dissect their words, and search anxiously for a solution or a breakthrough moment.

But as time passed, and I matured in my understanding of coaching, something shifted. I began to see that the power of coaching doesn’t come from grasping or fixing, but from letting go. Letting the client lead. Letting the session unfold. Letting insight emerge—not through force, but through flow.

Coaching became lighter. Not easier in terms of skill, but more graceful. I stopped trying to understand everything. Instead, I started noticing subtle things—key phrases that carried emotional weight, micro-expressions that betrayed deeper tensions, or shifts in tone that hinted at something beneath the surface. These became my guideposts. They were not loud or obvious, but like soft echoes from the unconscious—remnants hidden in plain sight. Often, it was these quiet traces that unlocked the deeper layers of the session. And in those layers, insights began to bloom.

It’s been my practice for a long time now. But I’ve never thought of it in any structured or philosophical sense… until recently.

During a recent conversation with a fellow coach, a heartfelt question was raised:

“How do you handle situations when it seems impossible to manage?”

Without thinking, I replied:

“Nothing. I do nothing.”

That was when it struck me: this wasn’t just a technique. It was a way of being. A philosophy. A posture.
It was non-doing—or, in Taoist terms, 无为 (wuwei).

The Way That Flows

Though I’m a Christian, I’ve long been fascinated by Lao Tzu (老子) and the wisdom of Taoism. At the heart of Taoist thought is the Tao (道)—the “Way” (or the “Word”) the source and pattern of all things. Everything flows from the Tao, and when we are aligned with it, we find harmony, peace, and clarity.

One of the most profound Taoist principles is wuwei (无为), often translated as non-doing or effortless action. It doesn’t mean doing nothing in the lazy sense. Rather, it means not forcing things—not acting against the grain of life.

A classic metaphor is that of water. Water doesn’t push. It flows. It takes the shape of its environment, nourishes everything it touches, and finds its way to where it needs to go—not through force, but through persistence and softness.

As Laozi says in Tao Te Ching, Chapter 78 (D.C. Lau, trans.):

“There is nothing in the world more soft and weak than water, and yet for attacking things that are firm and strong, there is nothing that can take precedence over it — for there is nothing that can take its place.

That the weak overcomes the strong, and the soft overcomes the hard, everyone in the world knows, but cannot put into practice.”

Coaching as Water

This concept translates beautifully to coaching.

Say a client comes to you with a specific topic—perhaps a goal, a dilemma, a struggle. At first glance, the coaching may appear to be about strategy or performance. But beneath the topic often lies something deeper: a value, a fear, a wound, a hope. As coaches, we’re trained not just to address the surface, but to follow the current downward—toward meaning, growth, transformation.

But here’s the paradox: we don’t get there by force.

Just like water, the coach listens to the natural flow of the conversation. We notice where there’s ease, and where there’s resistance. We observe how the current moves—where the sediments settle and where the rocks block the stream. We don’t chisel away at the rock. We flow around it, gently inviting insight to emerge.

The coaching space is the riverbed. The coaching conversation is the water. And the client’s story is the terrain. When the conditions are right, the flow cuts deep—slowly, softly, yet surely—to uncover the bedrock.

A Christian Perspective on Non-Doing

You might be wondering: But I’m a Christian—should I really be borrowing from Taoist philosophy?

Personally, I believe the answer is a resounding yes.

Though the Bible doesn’t explicitly teach “non-doing,” it is filled with postures of surrender, trust, and alignment. Take for example:

“Be still, and know that I am God.” – Psalm 46:10a.
“The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.” – Exodus 14:14, NIV.
“I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” – John 15:5, NIV.
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” — Matthew 11:28, NIV.
“Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?” — Matthew 6:26, NIV.

These are not calls to inaction, but invitations to rest in divine alignment, to let God lead, to release the illusion of control. In many ways, they echo the Taoist understanding that when we let go of the anxious striving, life begins to flow more naturally.

In Tao Te Ching, Chapter 34 (D.C. Lau, trans.), it says:

“The great Tao flows everywhere,To the left and to the right. All things depend on it for life,And it does not turn away from them.”

This flow is not coercive. It supports everything without dominating anything. Similarly, in Christian theology, we believe in God’s sovereign rule over all creation—not as a distant force, but as a loving Father who guides, sustains, and transforms.

So while Taoism sees the flow as a natural order, Christianity sees the flow as governed by a sovereign, loving God. The differences in how coaches sees the natural order may have implications on how they might want to prepare for the coaching session. For example, a Taoist coach may prepare the coaching space by ensuring stillness and harmony with the flow. A Christian coach, on the other hand, may begin with prayer, asking for God’s presence and wisdom. However, regardless of the differences, the spiritual posture is not far apart: let go of control, trust the process, and let deeper wisdom emerge.

Final Thoughts

In the end, whether you’re Taoist, Christian, believer of other faiths, or a free-thinker, the heart of coaching remains the same: The client takes the lead. The coach follows the flow.

Wuwei reminds us that power isn’t always found in effort, but in presence. Transformation doesn’t always come from pushing, but from trusting. And that some of the most profound shifts happen—not when we do more, but when we do less.

So the next time you’re tempted to help, fix, or figure it all out for your client, remember:

Sometimes, the most powerful thing you can do is nothing at all.

Let the flow do what it does.
Let the river flow.