The “I Thought It Was Other People‘s Problem” Moments

There are moments in life when you realize you were completely wrong about the problem in front of you. You thought it was one thing, but in truth, it was something else entirely.

As a coach and as a founder, I’ve had more of these moments than I can count. At first they sting—they feel like failures, embarrassments, mistakes I should have been smart enough to avoid. But over time I’ve realized that these moments are actually the most valuable lessons I’ve ever received. They reshape the way I see not only my athletes and my employees, but also myself.

I call them my “I thought was right, but it turns out I was complete arsehole ” moments.

Let me share a few.

1. Coaching: It wasn’t technique. It was alignment.

Every coach has had that one athlete who just doesn’t seem to “get it.”

In the early days of my coaching, I sometimes thought my clients were simply stupid. No matter how many times I explained, demonstrated, or changed my cues, their bodies didn’t respond.

One athlete in particular stands out. He could never finish his extension in the snatch. Every time, he tilted his ribs and swung the bar away. I shouted over and over: “Push the floor away! Extend harder! Stay patient with the arms!” But nothing changed.

I grew furious—at him, for not understanding, and at myself, for not being able to make him listen.

I thought it was a technique problem. I assumed he wasn’t applying my cues correctly, or maybe he wasn’t focused enough, or lacked discipline.

But athletes like him always had their pelvis stuck in posterior tilt. Their glutes were already squeezed tight, locked and dead like a rock. And a rock cannot contract any further. With their butt already “used up,” they had no choice but to compensate with the rest of the body.

So when I told him, “Squeeze harder, extend more,” he literally couldn’t. His only options were to tilt his chest or pull early with his arms—the exact mistakes I kept yelling at him not to do.

It wasn’t until I injured myself and spent two years studying biomechanics and alignment that I finally understood. He wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t ignoring me. He wasn’t lazy. The problem wasn’t effort. The problem was structural.

And that’s when I realized: the real clown was me. I had been shouting louder versions of the wrong answer.

Later, once I learned how to restore posterior space in an athlete’s hips, everything changed. With the structure freed, the extension became natural. The bar stayed close. His timing improved. The “technique problem” disappeared—because it was never a technique problem to begin with.

That was my first big lesson: never assume the visible failure is the real cause.

2. Leadership: It wasn’t personality. It was system.

When I built my company, I swore I would never create a 9-to-5 culture. I hated the idea myself. I wanted freedom. I didn’t want anyone sitting in the gym just for the sake of being there. I wanted my coaches to have flexible hours and to feel trusted—as humans first, employees second.

But freedom without structure comes at a cost.

One Monday, we held our weekly team meeting—the only day we the entire staff gathered together. One day, one coach asked me to cover her evening class so she could leave early. In practice, that meant she could show up briefly for the meeting, leave right after, and still get paid for the day.

I felt betrayed. It seemed like she was putting her own convenience above the company. Worse, it felt like I was working for her—covering her class so she could leave early.

But when I confronted her, she simply said:

“Gabby, you never said we couldn’t do this. It’s not in the protocols.”

In that moment, I was shocked. My first instinct was to think, “Who is the boss here—you or me?” But slowly I realized she was right.

The problem wasn’t her personality. It wasn’t her loyalty. It wasn’t her work ethic. The problem was me. I had created a system with no boundaries, then got angry when people operated inside the freedom I had designed.

I wanted to believe that being “human-centered” meant offering endless flexibility. But I learned the hard way that respect doesn’t grow in a vacuum. Freedom without structure quickly turns into chaos.

That moment forced me to shift my thinking: if I want to protect both my people and the company, I need rules, not just trust.

So I began working with a lawyer to draft real company policies—not because I wanted to control people, but because I finally understood that structure is what protects humans, not what restricts them.

That was my second big lesson: don’t confuse being human-centered with being boundary-less. Systems are what make freedom sustainable.

3. Operations: It wasn’t trust. It was procedure.

Another lesson came from something as ordinary—and as costly—as a visa application.

One of my coaches needed a visa for a company trip abroad. I trusted him completely. I asked if he needed help with the documents. He smiled and said, “No, I’ve got it.” So I left it at that.

A few days later, I learned—through another colleague—that his application had already been rejected. The dates on his paperwork didn’t even match. He had gone to the visa center once, been told to fix the problem, but never told me. He was embarrassed, so he tried to hide it.

At first, I was furious. How could you mess up something so basic? How could you not even check your dates? How could you keep this from me—knowing I had already paid for your flights, accommodation, and everything else?

But once my anger cooled, I saw it differently. Yes, he had his problem. But I—and the company—had our own.

I had no procedure for preparing and checking documents. No checklist. No verification. Nothing. I thought trust was enough. But trust without systems isn’t leadership. It’s negligence.

He didn’t fail the visa. I failed to build a process that made success inevitable.

That was my third big lesson: trust doesn’t replace systems—systems protect trust.

Conclusion: Seeing What’s Really There

Looking back, all three of these stories share the same thread. I thought the problem was one thing—technique, personality, trust. But each time, the real issue was hidden deeper—alignment, system, procedure.

The visible failure was never the real cause.

That’s the hardest truth I’ve had to learn as a coach and as a founder: I cannot fix people. I can only fix the structure they’re in.

An athlete with a locked pelvis will never extend properly, no matter how loudly I shout. A coach without clear rules will always follow her own convenience, no matter how much I value “freedom.” An employee without a procedure will fail the paperwork, no matter how much I trust him.

Effort doesn’t overcome broken structures. Shouting doesn’t fix the wrong cue. Trust doesn’t replace systems.

The only way forward is to keep asking: what am I not seeing? What’s hiding beneath the surface failure? What structure is missing?

And when I finally see it, I have to face the truth: it was never them. It was me.

That’s how I grow. That’s how my athletes grow. That’s how my company grows.

And if sharing this helps you see something in your own work a little sooner than I did—then it was worth writing.