I Hired a Life Coach and He Quit After Three Sessions Citing "Unprecedented Challenges"

I wanted to get my life together. I read an article that said successful people have life coaches. I am not a successful person, but I figured maybe causation works backward and if I got a life coach, success would follow. This was my first mistake. I have made many mistakes. This article is about the mistakes.

His name was Bradley. He had a website with testimonials from people who had "transformed their lives" and "achieved their dreams." He charged $300 per session. He wore blazers with no tie and spoke exclusively in motivational poster language. I trusted him with my future. He lasted eleven days.

Session One: The Assessment

Bradley asked me to describe my goals. I told him I wanted to "have my life together." He asked me to be more specific. I said I wanted to wake up before noon on weekdays, stop eating cereal for dinner, and feel like a functioning adult for more than forty-five consecutive minutes.

He wrote this down. He nodded. He said, "We can work with this."

He asked about my current routine. I told him I wake up when my body decides to wake up, which is usually around 11 AM, then I scroll through my phone for an hour, then I feel guilty about scrolling, then I eat, then I stare at my to-do list without doing anything on it, then I watch YouTube videos about productivity, then I feel guilty about watching videos instead of being productive, then I eat again, and then suddenly it's 2 AM and I wonder where my life went.

Bradley stopped writing. He looked at me. He looked at his notes. He looked at me again. "Okay," he said, slowly. "We have some work to do."

Session Two: The Intervention

Bradley came prepared. He had a binder. The binder was color-coded. He had charts. He had a "Success Pyramid" diagram that he said had helped "hundreds of clients." He was optimistic. Poor, sweet, naive Bradley.

He asked me to walk him through my finances. I showed him my bank account. He asked if this was my savings account. I said no, this was my only account. He asked where my savings were. I laughed. He did not laugh. The silence lasted too long.

He asked about my five-year plan. I told him my five-year plan was to have a five-year plan. He asked about my one-year plan. I told him my one-year plan was to survive the year. He asked about my one-month plan. I told him my one-month plan was to remember to buy more cereal because I was running low.

"Do you see how you might be... setting your sights a bit low?" he asked, carefully, like he was defusing a bomb made of excuses and poor decisions.

"I'm a realist," I said.

"You're eating Frosted Flakes for dinner," he said.

"Tony the Tiger believes in me," I said.

Bradley pinched the bridge of his nose. He closed the binder. He said we would revisit the Success Pyramid next session.

Session Three: The Breaking Point

Bradley arrived looking tired. I later learned this was because he had spent the previous night researching "clients who resist all intervention" and "when to refer to mental health professionals."

He asked if I had completed my homework, which was to create a daily schedule and stick to it for one week. I had created the schedule. I had not stuck to it. I had, in fact, lost the schedule within twenty-four hours. I found it later, under a pizza box, with a coffee ring on it that I don't remember making.

"Tell me about your week," he said, with the resignation of a man who already knew.

I told him. On Monday, I woke up at 2 PM because I had stayed up until 5 AM reading Wikipedia articles about extinct animals. On Tuesday, I decided to reorganize my entire apartment instead of doing anything productive, but I only reorganized one drawer and then got distracted by an old photo album and spent four hours looking at pictures from 2014. On Wednesday, I meant to go to the gym but instead watched a documentary about gyms. On Thursday, I had a panic attack about my lack of progress and coped by ordering $47 worth of Thai food and watching six hours of competitive baking shows. On Friday, I wrote "BE BETTER" on a sticky note, put it on my laptop, and then immediately covered it with another sticky note that said "ORDER MORE STICKY NOTES."

Bradley was quiet for a very long time.

"Have you considered," he said, very gently, "that perhaps you are not... coachable?"

I told him that was hurtful. He apologized. He said he didn't mean it like that. He said what he meant was that perhaps life coaching wasn't the right modality for my particular... situation. He recommended therapy. He recommended medication. He recommended "a long vacation somewhere with no WiFi." He did not recommend a fourth session.

The Exit Interview

Bradley sent me a formal email the next day. The subject line was "Moving Forward (Separately)." The body of the email thanked me for "the opportunity to work together" and wished me "success in my future endeavors." It was the professional equivalent of "it's not you, it's me," except we both knew it was very much me.

He refunded my deposit for the remaining sessions. He said this was "standard practice" when a coaching relationship "reaches a natural conclusion." I didn't point out that three sessions was not a natural conclusion for a six-session package. He knew. I knew. We all knew.

I Googled him a few months later. He had pivoted to corporate consulting. His new website made no mention of individual life coaching. I like to think I'm the reason. I like to think somewhere in Bradley's memory, there's a small, traumatized corner reserved for the client who broke him. I hope he's doing okay. I hope his new corporate clients have five-year plans that don't involve cereal.

Where I Am Now

I still eat cereal for dinner. I still wake up at 11 AM. I still have a to-do list I don't complete. But now I do all of these things with self-awareness, which Bradley would probably say is the first step toward change.

I haven't taken the second step. I probably won't take the second step. But I've thought about it, and I think that counts for something.

Tony the Tiger still believes in me. And honestly? That's enough.

Total Cost: $900 in coaching fees, $47 in panic Thai food, and whatever remains of Bradley's faith in humanity.

My Student Loans Have Gained Sentience and They're Angry

I took out $87,000 in student loans in 2008 to get a degree in Communications. I have paid $94,000. I still owe $112,000. Math stopped working somewhere around year seven, and now I'm being hunted by a number that grows like a tumor made of compound interest.

Every month, my loan servicer sends me an email that feels like a threat wrapped in customer service language. "Your payment is due!" it says, cheerfully, as if we're friends. We're not friends. You're an entity designed to extract wealth from my future until I die or reach a magical forgiveness date that keeps getting pushed back like a concert nobody wants to attend.

Things my student loans have outlasted:

- Two relationships
- Three cars
- One career change
- My faith in the American dream
- The original loan servicer (they went bankrupt, ironically)
- My hairline

I recently did the math on how long it would take to pay off my loans at the current rate. The answer was "until you are 67 years old." I'll be paying for a Communications degree while collecting Social Security. I'll be explaining my "entry-level" qualifications to Saint Peter at the gates of heaven.

My loan has seen me through every major life event. It was there when I got my first real job. It was there when I lost that job. It was there when I moved cities, changed apartments, started side hustles, and questioned every decision I've ever made while staring at a ceiling at 3 AM.

The loan will be at my funeral. It will outlive me. It's in my will. My children will inherit my debt along with my inability to save money. This is the gift that keeps on taking.

The worst part? My Communications degree taught me how to write about my problems effectively. So at least I can articulate my financial ruin with proper paragraph structure.

I Put My Emergency Fund in a Coin Called "SafeMoonRocket" and Now I Live in My Car

It was supposed to go to the moon. It went to zero. I went to a 2014 Honda Civic that I now call home.

Let me explain how I got here. In 2024, I had saved $14,000 for emergencies. Boring money. Safe money. Money earning 0.4% APY in a savings account like a responsible adult. Then a guy I barely knew from high school messaged me on Instagram with three fire emojis and a chart going up.

"Bro. SafeMoonRocket. It's the next Bitcoin. Get in now or cry later."

I got in. I cried later. I'm still crying.

The coin did great for exactly eleven days. I was up 340%. I told everyone. I posted screenshots. I started planning what I'd do when I was a millionaire. I was insufferable. Then the founder "pivoted" to a new project, which is crypto-speak for "took the money and ran."

The Five Stages of Crypto Grief:

1. Denial: "It's just a dip. Diamond hands. HODL."
2. Anger: "WHO IS SELLING? STOP SELLING!"
3. Bargaining: "If it just gets back to my entry point, I'll sell everything."
4. Depression: Refreshing the wallet every 30 seconds while the number gets smaller
5. Acceptance: Moving my belongings into my car

The Civic isn't bad, actually. I've gotten used to sleeping in parking lots. The gym membership I kept for showers is the best $30 I spend each month. I've learned which gas stations have the cleanest bathrooms and which McDonald's have the most lenient overnight parking policies.

The guy from high school? He sold at the top. He bought a boat. He posts pictures of the boat. I see them while I'm connecting to free WiFi at Starbucks before they ask me to buy something.

SafeMoonRocket is still technically listed on one exchange. It's worth $0.0000000047. I still own 4.7 million of them. Do the math. Don't do the math. The math will only hurt you.

My Wedding Cost More Than My House Down Payment Would Have Been

We budgeted $15,000 for the wedding. We spent $67,000. We're still married, barely, but now to each other AND to a credit card statement that arrives like clockwork every month to remind us of our one perfect day.

How does a wedding go from $15,000 to $67,000? I'll tell you. Slowly, then all at once, like falling in love but in reverse and with your finances.

It started with the venue. The "affordable" venue we wanted was booked. The next one up was $4,000 more but had "better lighting." We needed better lighting. How could we get married in bad lighting? What are we, animals?

Then came the dress. Then the suits. Then the flowers that apparently need to be arranged by someone with a "certification." Then the DJ who charges per hour like a lawyer specializing in vibes. Then the photographer. Then the videographer. Then the second photographer because what if the first photographer misses something?

Actual things we paid for:

- $800 for a unity candle set we lit for exactly twelve seconds
- $2,400 for centerpieces nobody looked at
- $1,200 for a cake that everyone agreed was "fine"
- $3,500 for a band to play during cocktail hour (we don't even drink cocktails)
- $600 for chair covers because apparently naked chairs are offensive

The wedding was beautiful. The photos are beautiful. We look beautiful in the photos. We also look like two people who don't know they're about to spend the next eight years paying for a six-hour party.

For the cost of our wedding, we could have put 20% down on a house in the suburb we now can't afford to move to. Instead, we have an album. And the memories. And a lingering resentment every time we write that minimum payment check.

If I could do it over, would I do it differently? Absolutely. Would my wife agree? She's reading this over my shoulder right now. She says "probably." That's growth. That's marriage. That's $67,000 worth of learning.