I’m a Researcher at Heart (And That’s Why I Coach the Way I Do)

I was listening to an episode of the Smartless podcast the other day where they were interviewing Andrew Huberman.

Let me just say the obvious. That man is smart. Like really, really smart. The kind of smart where you’re listening and thinking, wow, my brain does not fire that fast. But it wasn’t anything technical he said that stuck with me. It was something really simple.

At one point he said, “I’m a researcher, not a clinician.”

And I don’t know why, but that sentence stayed with me.

He wasn’t minimizing himself. If anything, it clarified his role. He studies. He investigates. He looks at the data. He tries to understand what’s actually happening. And then he teaches what he finds. He’s not positioning himself as the person who treats or fixes. He’s positioning himself as someone who wants to understand.

And as I was listening, I had this quiet realization.

Oh.

That’s me too.

Over the last few years, especially since my health completely unraveled, I’ve started to understand that I’m a learner at heart. Not in the “let me collect degrees to feel important” kind of way. More in the “I need to know how this actually works or I’m going to lose my mind” kind of way.

I don’t like vague explanations. I don’t like surface-level answers. I want to know why something keeps happening. I want to see the pattern. I want to understand what’s underneath it. There is something really grounding about understanding. Especially when you hit that moment in life where you realize no one is coming to save you.

That sounds dramatic, but it’s not meant to be. It’s actually freeing. When you really accept that your body, your health, your energy, your decisions… they’re your responsibility, something shifts. Learning doesn’t feel optional anymore. It feels empowering. Research becomes less about curiosity and more about taking ownership.

When I was diagnosed with severe ulcerative colitis, everything got very real very fast. It wasn’t a gentle wake-up call. It was more like my body saying, we are done doing this your way.

In the middle of that, I decided to go back to school. Which, on paper, probably looked insane. Who signs up for more work when their health is falling apart? But I couldn’t just sit there and not understand what was happening inside my own body. I enrolled at the Institute for Integrative Nutrition because I needed to learn. I just couldn’t tolerate being confused anymore. I remember thinking I had two options. I could hand everything over and stay in the dark. Or I could start learning about stress, inflammation, gut health, nervous system regulation, and the way my lifestyle had quietly been adding up for years.

So I chose to learn.

And in that process, I remembered something about myself. I’ve always loved learning. I just don’t love learning everything. I love learning the things that actually grab me. I love connecting dots. I love when pieces start making sense.

Looking back, it makes sense that I ended up here. I played sports my whole life. I was a collegiate athlete. I majored in Exercise Physiology. The foundation was always there. I just had to circle back to it in my own way.

Listening to that podcast also made me rethink how I see coaching.

I don’t see coaching as someone standing at the front of the room with all the answers. That never felt right to me. I don’t want to pretend I know everything about someone else’s life or body.

To me, coaching is noticing patterns. It’s doing the research. It’s understanding the nuance. And then sitting with someone and helping them see what they might already sense but can’t quite name.

It’s less about telling people what to do and more about helping them understand what’s happening.

I’ll be honest, coaching is an unregulated industry, and that can get messy. Anyone can call themselves a coach. That’s part of why I chose to get certified. I wanted structure. I wanted depth. I wanted to know that I had actually studied this, not just decided I liked talking about it.

And yes, sometimes coaches can get preachy. I’ve caught myself doing it. And it’s not because I think I know better than anyone else, but because when you’ve pushed your body to the edge and paid the price, you don’t want other people to have to learn the hard way.

But the truth is, no one responds well to being pushed. People respond to clarity. They respond to feeling understood.

That’s why I care so much about understanding over motivation.

Motivation fades. We all know that. You can feel fired up on Monday and completely drained by Thursday. Willpower comes and goes. But when you really understand why your nervous system feels fried, or why inflammation keeps flaring, or why you keep saying yes when you mean no, something changes. You stop fighting yourself. You start adjusting the pattern.

And that’s the part that lights me up.

I’m not trying to be someone’s savior. I don’t want to be the loudest voice in the room. I am someone who studies, connects dots, and then helps translate what’s going on in a way that feels usable.

I’m a learner. I’m a researcher at heart. I pay attention. I notice patterns. I care about what’s happening beneath the surface.And then I sit beside someone while they decide what to do with that understanding. Because no one is coming to save you.

But you are absolutely capable of understanding yourself. And honestly, that’s where real change starts.

And if you ever want help seeing your own patterns more clearly, that’s literally what the Whole Life Health Audit™ is for.

It’s just a structured way of slowing down long enough to understand what’s actually happening across your life instead of guessing.

Sometimes clarity is the most powerful starting point.