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Hi! I'm Mollie

I don’t have all the answers,
I’m fiercely imperfect,
and I’m definitely not
enlightened —not even
fucking close.

Here's Why

That's a Good Thing

I’m not here to be your Guru, I’m here to be your fiercest ally.

Let’s agree on one thing: enough with putting coaches on pedestals. I’ll never pretend I have it all worked out. I coach as a student of the human curriculum — I am as fiercely committed to my own evolution as I am to yours. The only difference between us is that I have the luxury of perspective.

So when I call you out on your bullshit, it’s not because I’m more enlightened, more brilliant, or more self-aware than you. I’m able to offer clarity because I’m doing this work alongside you. And I can promise you one thing — I’m the most dedicated student in the whole damn class.

So scoot over and make some room for me on your comfy couch. LET’S GET TO WORK.

I’m not here to sit passively and pose vague questions.

I’m here to hold your feet to the fire and
say what you desperately need to hear.

I’ll kindly tell you when you’re full of shit.

I won’t sit back and wait for you to figure out the patterns I can already see. I’ll tell you when you’re recycling your own opinion, and I’ll call you out when you’re operating from fear. It’s called directive feedback and it’ll change your life.

I’ll challenge everything you think.

Because a healthy ego requires us to be willing to ask, “Is it possible there might be another way to see this?” The answer is always yes. Curiosity and evolution go hand in hand. Around here, no thought is too sacred to challenge.

I’ll share my own wreckage.

My credibility as a coach doesn’t come from my Master’s degree — it comes from my human experience. The blood I left on the field is blood I left so you don’t have to. I’ll be as vulnerable with you as you are with me, because I’m a student of this work, too.


Before I was a life coach, I was a licensed therapist who was constantly biting my tongue.

There were so many things that I couldn’t say because they weren’t clinically appropriate. I couldn’t ask challenging questions, offer personal insight, or say the hard thing — even when it would have unquestionably changed the game.

As a therapist, I found myself diminishing so many parts of myself that I knew could be valuable contributions — my doggedness, my fierceness, and my vulnerability. Every time I bit my tongue, I had a (not so quiet) voice in my head saying, “But THAT’S what would take this conversation so…much…DEEPER!”

It wasn’t until my own coach told me, “Mollie, stop pretending to be a therapist!” that I was hit with the hard truth. I felt choked as a therapist because I wasn’t meant to be a therapist.

I was always meant to be a coach.

This is what it looks like to have a coach doing the work right along side you

Meet the lessons I’m still learning every day.


The identities you’re holding onto are holding you hostage.

My own coach once said to me, “Mollie, do you want to be a smart coach or do you want to be an effective coach?” And damn, he nailed me right there. Because the identity I’ve spent years clinging onto is “I’m smart, and that’s what makes me worthy.”

But as a coach, there is no license. There’s no tangible proof that you know your shit. And that was hard for me. It took me a long time to realize that being the coach with all the answers isn’t always valuable. Sometimes, you need someone to sit with you in the discomfort of not knowing.


Betting on yourself is fucking terrifying. Do it anyway.

When I first started working as a clinical life coach, I was working for someone who took advantage of my talent…a lot. Countless friends and family members told me to leave and start my own coaching business. But I couldn’t stop thinking: “Who am I to do that?”

And it was that thought — that fear — that eventually made me realize I had to take action. Because if you want the fear to be wrong, you have to take action as if it is wrong. So I bet on myself. And I’ve kept betting on myself ever since. (And it’s still fucking terrifying!)


If you take your suffering too seriously, you’ll miss what else is true.

For decades of my life, I was desperate to “solve” my anxiety and loneliness. I tried diets, shrinks, and shamans. I cycled through antidepressants, went to therapy, and attended silent Vipassana retreats. I even signed myself up for in-patient treatment—twice.

But it wasn’t until I began coaching that I realized that constantly trying to “fix” myself was validating the idea that I was broken. Liberation wasn’t about ending my suffering. It was about demystifying it. And luckily for us, that work gets to be playful. We’ll be irreverent with our thoughts, find humor in our humanity, and swear as much as we damn well please.

Ready to stop fighting who you are and start working with it?
Let’s get to work.

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