Ten minutes into the session, I knew exactly what she should do.

She was describing a conflict with a peer, and the pattern was obvious. She was over-communicating, explaining her decisions in painstaking detail, which was coming across as defensive and making the relationship worse. The solution was clear: she needed to practice brevity and trust.

I could feel the advice forming in my mouth. I wanted to help. I wanted to show her I understood. I wanted to be useful.

And then I caught myself.

Because I've learned this the hard way: The moment I offer a solution is often the moment I stop the real work from happening.

The Seduction of Having the Answer

There's something deeply satisfying about being helpful. As coaches, we're helpers by nature. We see patterns. We've worked with dozens or hundreds of people through similar situations. We know what worked for them.

So when a client is struggling, every instinct screams: "I can help! I know what to do!"

And maybe we do know. Maybe our advice would be solid. Maybe it would even work.

But here's what I've learned over years of coaching: When I give advice prematurely, I'm solving my discomfort, not their problem.

I'm uncomfortable watching them struggle. I'm uncomfortable with silence. I'm uncomfortable with the uncertainty of not knowing where this conversation will go. So I jump in with a solution, and in doing so, I rob them of the chance to discover it themselves.

What Gets Lost When We Jump to Solutions

In the GROW model, we move through stages deliberately. Goal. Reality. Options. Will. There's a reason we don't skip straight from Goal to Will.

The Reality stage—where we deeply explore what's actually happening—is where insight lives. It's where clients start to see patterns they haven't noticed. It's where they connect dots they didn't know were related. It's where the real problem reveals itself, which is often different from the presenting problem.

When I offered advice ten minutes into that session, I was solving the problem as I understood it. But I didn't yet understand it. Not fully.

If I had jumped in, I would have missed what emerged thirty minutes later: that her over-explaining wasn't really about this peer. It was about a pattern from childhood where she'd learned that her perspective didn't count unless she could exhaustively justify it. The peer conflict was a symptom. The real work was about learning to trust that her voice mattered without the explanation.

If I'd advised about "practice brevity," we would have been working on the wrong thing.

The Questions That Save Me From Myself

I've developed some safeguards to prevent premature advice-giving:

"What else?" - When I think I understand the situation, I ask this. And then I ask it again. And often again. Because there's almost always more beneath the surface.

"Tell me more about that." - When something feels significant, I slow down instead of speeding up toward solutions.

"What have you already tried?" - This surfaces their existing wisdom and prevents me from suggesting things they've already ruled out (often for good reasons I don't yet understand).

"What would it mean if this worked? What would it mean if it didn't?" - This helps me understand what's really at stake, which is often different from what I initially assumed.

These questions do something important: they keep me in a place of genuine curiosity instead of premature knowing.

When Advice Is Actually Helpful

I'm not suggesting coaches should never share observations, patterns, or suggestions. There are times when it's appropriate and valuable:

• When a client explicitly asks for input or feedback

• When they're missing information that would help them make an informed decision

• When we've thoroughly explored the situation and they're ready for options

• When I'm offering it as one possibility among many, not the solution

But even then, I'm careful about how I frame it:

"I'm noticing a pattern. Can I share what I'm seeing?" is different from "Here's what you should do."

"In my experience, some people have found X helpful. Does that resonate?" is different from "You need to do X."

The first invites them to consider. The second tells them what to think.

The Coach's Anxiety That Drives Premature Advice

Here's what I've had to confront in myself: I give premature advice when I'm anxious.

Anxious that I'm not being helpful enough. Anxious that the client will think I don't know what I'm doing. Anxious that we're not making progress fast enough. Anxious that silence means I'm failing.

This anxiety isn't about the client. It's about me.

And when I act on it, when I jump in with advice to ease my own discomfort, I'm putting my needs ahead of theirs. I'm prioritizing my comfort over their growth.

Learning to tolerate my own anxiety has been one of the most important parts of becoming a better coach. Sitting with not knowing. Trusting the process. Believing that the client has wisdom I haven't accessed yet.

What This Means for Organisations

If you're evaluating coaches or coaching programs for your organisation, pay attention to this. The best coaches aren't the ones with the most advice. They're the ones who can stay curious the longest.

Ask potential coaches about their process. How do they handle a situation where they think they know what the client should do? How do they distinguish between helpful input and premature advice?

And if you're being coached yourself, notice whether your coach is genuinely curious about your situation or is subtly (or not so subtly) steering you toward their preferred solution.

Good coaching should feel like thinking with someone, not being told what to think.

The Irony of Patience

Here's the irony: When I slow down and resist the urge to give advice, we usually get to solutions faster. Not in that session, perhaps. But in the overall arc of the coaching relationship.

Because when clients discover their own insights, those insights stick. When they generate their own options, they're invested in trying them. When they arrive at their own conclusions, they don't need to be convinced or motivated; they're already there.

Premature advice shortcuts this process. It feels efficient in the moment, but it's actually the slowest path to sustainable change.

The Bottom Line

The fastest way to slow down progress in coaching is to offer solutions before you fully understand the problem.

It feels counterintuitive. It requires tolerating discomfort, both yours and theirs. It means sitting with uncertainty longer than feels natural.

But it's the difference between solving today's problem and building someone's capacity to solve all their problems.

And that's worth the wait.

Have you experienced this as a coach or client—the tension between wanting quick solutions and allowing time for real understanding? What helps you stay curious instead of jumping to answers?