Life Coach Liz Goodchild sitting on a chair.

A portrait image of life coach Liz Goodchild.

LIFE COACHING FOR PEOPLE

WHO GIVE A SHIT

Now taking bookings.

From feeling less stuck to making decisions that feel good, it’s all about doing the things you think you can’t—with me as your life coach by your side and new confidence in your shiny red sidecar.

After all, I know what your nagging little whispers say, speaking up in the back of your mind when the world goes quiet. “I need to change something. It’s time to show up. But where do I start? Can I start? Should I? I mean, things are fine. And fine is fine. Right? Juuuuuuust fine.”

The mediocrity is sucking out your damn life force – likely with a bendy straw.

But through life coaching, I’ve learned how the heck to turn fine into fantastic.

I’ve been running a full-time life coaching practice via Zoom since 2013. I’ve worked with hundreds of people over this time, from all walks of life, helping them to shake their lives up and feel more bolder, excited, confident and content. I get frustrated that we live in a world where asking for help, or admitting we haven’t got it all figured out, is seen as self-indulgent or fucked up, when in fact, I know the exact opposite to be true. And it’s this belief that forms the foundation of my writing and coaching approach. I’m honest and say it as it is. With kindness and a dash of kick-up-the-ass.

I work with men, women and gender diverse people. I’m a certified life coach, and yet beyond the qualifications nailed to my wall, I’ve learned how to help other people lead better lives through the lessons I’ve learned by living my own. From wanting to stick pencils in my eyes while sitting at the desk of my 9-5 in a corporate career that stifled me, to running ultra-marathons, to moving to a country I didn’t speak the language of—with a 4 month old baby in tow—I know that daily life can be fucking hard.

But I also know that we can do hard things:

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Most days, it’s not motivation that gets me through, it’s the promise of feeling glad later.

Retrospective gladness.

The aftertaste of effort.

Small, quiet, steady. Mostly consistent.

The bike. The essay. The rehearsal. The post office. The walk.

Tiny things that keep my life moving in the right direction.

People often ask me what kind of clients I work with, and honestly, it’s not a very neat niche. I’m sure the business-coach corner of Instagram is sighing into their latte right now. I’ve never been great at niching myself into one tidy box.

I’d love to say “visionary leaders” (some of them are). Or “women on the brink of their next big expansion”(again, some are). But mostly?

It’s the people emptying the dishwasher at 9pm thinking, there has to be more to life than cutlery and coping.

My clients tend to be the ones who fight with the inside of their heads, say yes when they don’t want to, and can't rest without writing a to-do list about resting.

They look capable and calm on the surface. Inside, it’s a quiet sort of tiredness that doesn’t show unless you know what to look for.

If this post felt like someone quietly pointed at you and nodded and you thought, yep, that’s me, but I’ll just keep coping thanks, then hello. Come here and sit down for a minute with me.

If you’d like support without having to turn your life into a giant self-improvement project, you can book an intro call via the link in my bio.

Bring your tired brain and a cup of tea. We’ll figure it out.

Things I'll remember about this week:

The light in our house, slanting across the floor mid-afternoon. I will never not be obsessed with it.

George, a giant, gentle horse who lives on our farm, and Sandro, the teeny tiny Shetland pony who struts around like he owns the place, becoming unlikely best friends. Every time I look out and see that big soft lad following his tiny sidekick around the field, my heart lifts and I feel so happy.

The client who sat back, went quiet for a moment and said, “I think I’m finally done putting myself last.” I’ll carry that one for a while. Ooof.

My son rolling his eyes at me trying to understand the absolutely chaotic thing he built in Minecraft, and me pretending I totally get it.
Spoiler: I did not.

Pizza with friends last night here in Germany. One of them is British and it always feels like a tiny bit of home to me. Warm and easy and familiar.

The client who apologised three times in the first five minutes of our session, caught themselves on the fourth,
and whispered, “Oh. That’s a habit, isn’t it?” Yup. Noticing it is half the battle. Big moment ✨

Still collecting walnuts from our tree. I found out it’s a mast year, which is apparently when the trees produce an unusually high number of fruits, nuts, or seeds. The trees, according to an article I read, somehow all decide together to go big every few years. Nature is very cool. Anyway, I keep coming back in with pockets full of walnuts like a little squirrel.

Keeping the small promises I made to myself: Moving my body when I said I would, taking Vitamin D, drinking loads of water. The simple things that help.

I've been noticing recently that the good things in my week aren’t usually big and shiny.

I find them in the ordinary stuff, the bits I almost overlook. Light sneaking under the dining table, a huge horse choosing a tiny pony as his best mate, someone quietly deciding they matter too.

Tiny shifts. Soft steps forward.

That’s what I’ll remember.

Wishing you a steady week ahead x

P.S. I’m writing more about the tiny, ordinary bits of life in tomorrow’s newsletter. If you want to get it, the link’s in my bio.

By lunchtime today I’d already had three clients say the same thing: “I don’t know what’s wrong with me this week.”

They’ve been talking about feeling over-tired, flat, emotional, and like they just can’t get it together.

And it’s only Tuesday.

It’s easy to blame ourselves or the news (and to be fair, the news really doesn’t fucking help), but I think a lot of it has to do with the clock change.

“It’s only an hour,” we think, but that tiny mofo of a shift messes with everything: the light, the dark, our eating, our sleeping, our focus, our mood. It’s a full-body disorientation that we’re somehow meant to shrug off in a day.

I never do. It takes me days to recalibrate. So I’m slowing down a bit this week, letting things feel off, and allowing myself to wobble through it. For me, that’ll probably mean more walks and bingeing season 2 of Bad Sisters (yes, I’m a late adopter, yes, I know it’s been out forever).

Go easy, friends.

This morning I dragged myself out of bed at 5:30, bleary-eyed and slightly grumpy, to get back on my spin bike. I haven’t worked out in a couple of weeks because I pulled a muscle in my back, and honestly, it had got pretty comfortable not working out anymore. I'd got to the point where the not-doing had become its own routine. Ugh.

Last night I had a little talk with myself, the kind of talk that starts with “You’ll feel better if you do this, and it’ll be uncomfortable, and that’s okay.", and ends with me setting the alarm before I can argue. I tell my clients this every single day, that discomfort is part of the deal. They make a face when I say it. I get it. I made that exact face this morning at my alarm.

And look, this isn't just about exercise. It's about all of it. It's the difficult conversation you've been putting off. It's choosing to cook something decent instead of getting a takeaway again. It's sitting down to do your accounts when you'd rather do literally anything else. It's reaching out to someone when you're struggling instead of pretending you're fine. It's saying no to something you don't actually want to do. Whatever your version of "getting back on the bike" is.

This isn't about anything other than doing the next right thing, which is sometimes just the slightly-less-comfortable thing. The thing that takes a bit more effort than the easy option that's sitting right there, so available, practically begging.

I'm not saying don't make room for easy things, I absolutely do. Rest matters. Taking time off matters. But today the right thing and the easy thing weren't the same thing, and I chose the right one. Barely. And tomorrow I'll have to choose again.

I set the alarm. I got up. I showed up for myself even though every part of me wanted to stay in bed. That's it.

I've got a full day with clients and farm work ahead. I'm glad I did this first.

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“I found the whole process a million miles away from a stereotypical “therapist’s couch” and got a funny and engaging person who threw down the right questions to get me thinking.
Just what I needed.”

James

“If you’re wobbling in life and need a practical, helping hand, Liz is absolutely the person you need in your corner.”

Sarah

LIFE COACHING FOR PEOPLE

WHO GIVE A SHIT

“I found the whole process a million miles away from a stereotypical “therapist’s couch” and got a funny and engaging person who threw down the right questions to get me thinking.
Just what I needed.”

“If you’re wobbling in life and need a practical, helping hand, Liz is absolutely the person you need in your corner.”

FEATURED IN

SPEAKING AND INTERVIEWS

LIFE COACHING FOR PEOPLE

WHO GIVE A SHIT

“I found the whole process a million miles away from a stereotypical “therapist’s couch” and got a funny and engaging person who threw down the right questions to get me thinking. Just what I needed.”

“If you’re wobbling in life and need a practical, helping hand, Liz is absolutely the person you need in your corner.”

FEATURED IN

SPEAKING AND INTERVIEWS

“I found the whole process a million miles away from a stereotypical “therapist’s couch” and got a funny and engaging person who threw down the right questions to get me thinking.
Just what I needed.”