Climate Coaching at ICF CONVERGE: A Comedy of Uncomfortable Silences

Or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Elephant in the (Overheating) Room

By Someone Who Clearly Didn't Read the Room (Three Times, With Feeling)

When I packed for ICF CONVERGE 2025—the reason I drove from the East Coast to San Diego in 4 days, presented on climate coaching, and drove back in 6—I had dreams. Beautiful, Egyptian licorice tea dreams of connecting with coaches dying to discuss saving our shared planet from becoming uninhabitable.

What I didn't expect was to become the human equivalent of someone asking "But what about feelings?" at a tax seminar.

Three times. In three days.

Spoiler: I regret nothing.

Act One: Breaking New Ground (And Everyone's Comfort Zone)

Fran Smith from Brazil and I presented "Breaking New Ground: Exploring the Landscape of Climate Coaching."

The irony wasn't lost on me—permafrost is literally breaking new ground right now, releasing ancient carbon like Earth's worst time capsule ever.

We prepared like our lives depended on it. Slides! Frameworks! A Canva-to-PowerPoint presentation so beautiful it could make a sustainability officer weep!

And provoke we did. I watched several attendees' faces go through the five stages of grief in real-time.

But here's the beautiful part: there were allies. Fran brought the Brazilian perspective—climate change isn't sci-fi, it's now. Communities flooded. Crops failing. People migrating. Her passion was contagious. Some folks leaned in instead of toward the exit.

We had attendees who got it. Who understood that climate coaching isn't "negative"—it's coaching for the world we actually live in.

Act Two: The Nature Metaphor Incident

Later, at a table of ten brilliant coaches exploring nature-based metaphors for coaching, the energy was gorgeous:

"Coaching is like a river, always flowing!"

"Coaching is like a seed, planting potential!"

"Coaching is like a mountain, providing perspective!"

I was enchanted by this botanical slam poetry. Then, with the self-preservation instincts of a lemming, I raised my hand.

"What if the prompt had been for metaphors for climate coaching?"

The temperature dropped forty degrees.

One brave coach broke the silence: "That feels... negative."

I wanted to hug her for her honesty. I also wanted to say, "You know what else feels negative? Seven of nine planetary boundaries being breached!" But I didn't. Because listening.

The conversation pivoted faster than you can say "carbon offset" to how coaching is like sunshine—warm, illuminating, and nothing to do with us getting catastrophically too much of it these days.

I thought: We're professional discomfort holders. We help people navigate difficult truths. And yet...

Act Three: The Thousand-Person Question

Final plenary. A THOUSAND COACHES. Having just heard Nilofer Merchant's brilliant keynote on her twenty-four "Nuances."

When Q & A opened, I stood. Heart racing. Palms sweating.

"Of your twenty-four nuances," I asked a thousand slowly-turning heads, "which might speed and scale climate coaching with urgency?"

The silence had texture. You could spread it on toast.

To Nilofer's credit, she handled it with grace. But everyone was thinking: "We came for coaching excellence, not existential planetary crisis!"

The conversation moved on. Arctic-ice-melt fast.

The Sascha Moment: When Everything Made Sense

Confession: I drove 8,000 miles for this. Yes, I've done the carbon math. Yes, I feel the irony. Flying would've been worse. Moving on.

By day three, I was questioning everything.

Then Sascha hunted me down at the closing party while Fran and I danced. (Coaches party harder than anticipated.)

Sascha—my friend from TEDxSummit Banff 2017, back when we were more optimistic—was breathless and determined.

"I need to talk about the climate crisis. What can I do? How do I infuse this into my coaching?"

We found a corner and dove deep—unpacking assumptions about responding to our interconnected crises. Typical Friday night conference chat.

Then Sascha cried. Real tears. Turning-away-so-no-one-sees crying. Grieving the animals we're losing. Species disappearing forever.

There I was, having driven across a continent, watching my friend's heart break over polar bears and monarchs and all the beings we're failing.

So naturally, because I can't read emotional moments, I started talking about trees. How they're migrating—actually walking—to cooler climates. How forests are trying to outrun our heat.

Then we were both crying. Two professional coaches at a closing celebration, weeping about ambulatory trees.

It was the most honest, beautiful, necessary conversation of the entire conference.

Saskia left with renewed purpose and a framework for climate-aware coaching. I left knowing 8,000 miles wasn't too far. Because when someone chases you down asking "What can I do?"—that's why you show up.

Even if it means public tears about migrating forests.

What I Actually Learned

The conference promised "like-minded individuals." I found dozens! They were everywhere—hiding like coaching ninjas, waiting for someone to say it first.

Here's the truth: The coaching profession is stuffed with brilliant humans who genuinely want to help people thrive. We're just collectively pretending we can help people build their best lives without mentioning the house is on fire.

But people are starving for these conversations. They've sat through "building resilience" and "navigating uncertainty" while experiencing climate anxiety, eco-grief, and existential weather dread—but nobody's saying it out loud.

They just needed someone to go first. The awkward pioneer. The kid in "The Emperor's New Clothes" pointing out the obvious thing everyone's ignoring.

So I'll keep being that person. The conference weirdo. The climate-mention-er at welcome receptions. Because if we coaches—professional space-holders, change-navigators, "lean into discomfort" evangelists—can't model hard conversations about humanity's literal future, what are we even doing?

Are we just expensive cheerleaders with better questions?

Besides, someone's got to break the ice.

(While we still have some.)

An Invitation (Join the Climate Coaching Resonance)

To my fellow international coaches and emerging women leaders on this beautiful, resilient, increasingly-on-fire planet:

Your clients are already having climate breakdowns. They're calling it "Sunday scaries lasting until Thursday" or "why do I cry during weather reports?" or "that slow-motion-cliff-driving feeling."

Your communities are already adapting. They're calling it "unprecedented weather" (third year running) or "maybe don't build near the coast?" or "why does my insurance company laugh when I call?"

You're thinking: "But I'm not ready! I don't know enough! What if I say the wrong thing?"

Honey, the house is actively burning. We're past party etiquette. You're hired.

Climate coaching isn't negative—it's coaching that acknowledges reality. The one where glaciers melt faster than my resolve to avoid climate puns, where "100-year floods" happen every other Tuesday, and where "just focus on what you can control" feels like rearranging Titanic deck chairs. After the iceberg. While the band plays on.

Let's help clients and our communities build nature-positive, resilient lives while we still have nature to be positive about. Let's prepare communities for climate risks sprinting toward us like extremely motivated wolves. Let's talk like our planet depends on it.

Because it does.

Our clients and communities deserve coaches who hold space for the full catastrophe—including starving polar bears, the Amazon becoming savanna, and all of us pretending this is fine while internally screaming.

I'll bring it up at inappropriate times.

I'll ask uncomfortable questions.

I'll absolutely cry about migrating trees.

Who's with me?

(The trees are literally evacuating. If trees are leaving, maybe we should talk?)

With gratitude to Fran Smith for courage and partnership, Nilofer Merchant for grace under awkward questioning, Saskia for the chase-down that made 8,000 miles worth it, and that brave coach who said "that feels negative"—your honesty opened a door I'll keep wedging my foot in.

P.S. Want to integrate climate awareness into your leadership? Find me. I'm the one who won't shut up about it. Easy to spot.