Identifying tough vs. toxic coaching from the inside.
In my last post, I talked about a prevalent problem when I was growing up in sports (in the ‘80s and ‘90s) of parents and coaches misconstruing the maltreatment of athletes as just “tough coaching,” and not only tolerating it but celebrating it as a best practice. During that time, the concept of emotional abuse was not yet a part of popular consciousness. But even now, in my role as a philosophical counselor who helps recovering athletes, I regularly encounter widespread confusion about what distinguishes tough, but healthy coaching from toxic or abusive coaching. Having lived through both in my club and NCAA gymnastics career, I want to take some time to sketch this difference from the inside. I hope to highlight the contrast between tough versus toxic coaching by looking at differences in the coach’s values, the way they tend to approach their athletes, the way they create and maintain a power dynamic, and the way their actions tend to affect the mental and physical health of athletes.
But, first, I think it’s worth saying (to dispel a common myth) that coaches who created a healthy, happy, fair, and effective training environment were not “easy” coaches. They had high expectations for our effort, work, focus, and attention. We were to listen, receive and apply corrections to the best of our abilities, ask questions, discuss concerns, problem solve, bring big energy to practice, challenge ourselves to try new things, get creative, manage setbacks and frustrations with resilience, and push ourselves to “do just one more” to build strength, stamina, and consistency.
Furthermore, it was not the case that everyone got a “participation trophy” under such healthy coaches. There still was a concern with competition, and there may have been disappointments when one didn’t make “the team” whose scores would count at a meet. But, typically, the hard decisions that a coach had to make in that regard were recognized as rational and fair to those who had been watching practice (i.e., those decisions were based on objective metrics, not personal biases, playing favorites, or vendettas). And, importantly, good coaches did not abandon, ignore, or give the silent treatment to those who were still working their way up, but encouraged them to keep at it, showed they believed in them, and let them know they were still a valuable part of the team.
So, it is not the case that training environments (as I often hear it put) are either healthy and happy or tough. That’s a false dichotomy. Healthy and effective coaches were plenty tough, but they managed our work together with a kind of positivity, encouragement, respect, and care that helped athletes to feel trust, safety, confidence in our worth, motivation to strive for excellence, and in touch with our own agency, individuality, and personhood along the way. At the end of a hard practice, we were worn out, sore, tired… but not degraded and damaged.
Here are five key things that tough, but healthy coaches emphasized in comparison to toxic coaches.
1. Support, safety, and trust vs. threats, force, and fear
When tough, but healthy coaches challenged us to try new things in gymnastics — in particular, dangerous skills that lent themselves to feelings of fear and potential injury — they did so in a way that was safe and supported: with spots and soft mats as needed, with endless drills that broke down the skills into manageable parts so we could understand what we were doing, and with a calm temperament that built trust (e.g., with statements like “I’ve got you,” “I won’t let you fall,” “We’ll do it in slow motion,” and the all-important question, “Do you feel ready for the next step?”). We had a say in what we were doing with our own bodies, and coaches were there for us through the ups and downs of the learning process.
Practice moved forward at a steady pace of improvement, resulting in a sense of confidence that you were gaining mastery over foundational “basics” and new skills, and an eagerness to come back the next day to build on what you’d learned. Of course, we did have to work through moments of uncertainty and discomfort, but we did so with the support of a knowledgeable and patient coach who knew how to teach us, step by step. We could handle challenges and fears because we had a coach we could trust. By the time we got to competition, we could depend on our preparation and performance plans we’d made with the coach, and feel confident about repeating the movements we’d already done successfully in practice.
Toxic coaches, on the other hand, expected us to “throw” skills without appropriate support or safety precautions. They wanted to get us to the spectacle of the big tricks fast, without taking the time to break them down into their parts and build our understanding and confidence. They did this in order to move us into higher levels of the sport quickly and get us to perform skills worth greater points. The method? Threats. (If you don’t do it, you have to do 300 pushups. If you don’t do it, you won’t get to compete. If you don’t do it, you’re off the team.)
This approach exacerbated fears in many of us (and also led to increased injuries, on which we were expected to keep training). Practice often came to a dysfunctional standstill of yelling coaches and athletes in paralyzed “freeze” mode. The inability to throw a trick due to overwhelming fear was treated as a form of disobedience and met with punishment. Overwhelming fear, of course, was not something the athlete could control; no one “wants” to experience it, nor is it some form of defiance. Blaming and punishing us as if we were being “bad girls” who weren’t following orders when we were in “freeze” mode felt confusing, unfair, and (to me) like a betrayal.
When competition came around, coaches doubled down on the pressure that we “throw” the tricks we were terrified to do in practice (and which we had never really been taught properly). I recall a year or two in which I had no idea of what my body was going to do in competition, because I felt unstable, unsafe, and generally lost while in the air. At that point, the sports environment was one of intimidation, force, danger, and panic. It became difficult to trust anyone in a position of authority after such an experience.
On another note concerning safety, healthy coaches made time and space for rest, recovery, water, and nourishment. Toxic coaches would work you relentlessly, pounding joints without any thought of what was needed to maintain health, and restricting food and water because they were a “waste of time” or made you “look fat.” They tended to see the need for rest, recovery, hydration, and nourishment as signs of weakness. They would require athletes to train and compete on injuries, ignore signs of needed medical attention (just ice it!), and threaten to throw you off the team if you needed time to recuperate or heal. While good coaches understood how to keep their athletes healthy and provide a structure for longevity in the sport, toxic coaches would grind you down until you were injured, call you a faker if you ever mentioned pain, jump-start disordered relationships with food, and then make it your fault for not being able to perform at 100%.
2. Learning, work, and preparation over perfection and winning
Tough, but healthy coaches prioritized hard work and learning over perfection. Mistakes were treated as an opportunity for learning and a normal part of growth, rather than deserving of punishment. Such coaches also emphasized preparation for competitions (what we could control) over the results of competition (which we couldn’t control), and work ethic (character) over wins. Because of this, we were able to manage losses and setbacks without feeling like they were the end of the world, and we could feel a sense of success when we’d done everything we could to prepare and respond in the heat of the moment, regardless of what the final score was. A win was a bonus, not the gauge of our worth as athletes or people. This kind of thinking turned out to be crucial for longevity and any sense of fulfillment in sports (and life), which are, of course, full of ups and downs and plenty of contingencies that are beyond your control.
Toxic coaches, on the other hand, were obsessed with perfection and winning. They were ready to sacrifice everything for it (including an athlete’s physical and mental health), and utilized an array of negative reinforcement tactics when they did not get the results they wanted. After pushing us to sidestep a steady learning process, so that we’d “throw” skills of higher difficulty, toxic coaches would respond to mistakes, falls, and even injuries at competitions with anger, doling out personal insults (you’re lazy, fat, unfocused, and an embarrassment) and punishments for the team – often in the form of a publicly humiliating “chewing out” session followed by excessive numbers of pushups or laps. The point seemed to be to make us feel fear and guilt, as if that would build morale and motivate us to be more perfect. This often led athletes to feel like they were fundamentally a disappointment (as an athlete and as a human being) and “never good enough.” It also led athletes to feel afraid to perform at all (out of anxiety that they might not perform perfectly) and become caught up in behaviors of avoidance.
3. Collaboration, not commands
The most effective coaches were collaborative and worked with athletes to solve problems. We spent plenty of time in deliberative conversations. Such coaches tried to find out what worked best for each particular athlete, making room for their input. They were curious about our goals, motivations, and concerns, and we knew we could share our thoughts, struggles, and vulnerabilities. This not only built trust; it was empowering for athletes, helping us to feel our own role in everyday decisions. The training relationship was a partnership.
Toxic coaches were rigid, antagonistic, controlling, and had a “my way or the highway” attitude that disregarded athlete input or consent. Such coaches acted as if they were always right and expected compliance without feedback. They lectured, rather than discussed. Any attempt to have a conversation with a coach like this to voice concerns, solve problems, or even to try to gain clarity was interpreted as “stalling,” “insubordination,” or “making excuses,” and met with anger or retaliation. The power dynamic was a strict hierarchy of a superior “know-it-all” ruling over inferior subordinates who were to take orders in silence.
4. Positivity over negativity
Good coaches were enthusiastic not just about their sport but also about working with kids and young adults, finding us to be interesting, smart, funny, and fun, even while doing the work of guiding us to pay attention, become disciplined, and strive for excellence. Such coaches balanced criticism and corrections with praise, and made sure that their criticisms were constructive rather than personal — i.e., recommending practical changes that we could make, rather than dishing out personal insults (like you’re stupid, too big, too tall, a big baby, etc.). They encouraged us, rather than insulted, threatened, or punished us. They let us know they believed in us and they were proud of us for the work we did and the way we supported each other, rather than making us feel like a big disappointment. Their goal was to lift athletes up, not break them down.
Toxic coaches rarely uttered a positive word. Such coaches were perpetually angry, hostile, and degrading, causing athletes to feel afraid, silent, and worn down. All of this was treated as “normal.” No critical thinking about an alternate paradigm was allowed. If you couldn’t love the sport under the conditions of excessive criticism, personal insults, and threats, you were treated as “not committed enough.” Such toxic coaches seemed to be miserable working with anything less than ready-made champions, and made everybody else miserable because of it. (Tip: If this is how you feel as a coach, working with young human beings is not the right profession for you.)
5. Relationships of respect and empowerment, not utility and domination
Tough, but healthy coaches saw athletes as whole people, not just performers. They respected us, recognizing and valuing our voices and our ability to make our own choices. They knew there were other important aspects of our lives that needed attention (education, family, a future career, mental and physical health, etc.), and they showed us that they cared for our overall best interest, not just our “usefulness” for a score or ranking. They acknowledged that we were free beings, with our own agency, and worked to empower us (rather than consolidate all power in themselves). We knew we could share struggles, vulnerabilities, and concerns, and that we would be taken seriously and met with the voice of a partner in problem-solving and an experienced mentor, not a tyrant. Such coaches who showed us care and respect quickly earned both in return and were often seen as inspiring role models.
A toxic coach rarely showed care, respect, or even basic positive regard for their athletes. They interpreted such things as “coddling.” They seemed to believe their strength as a leader was in their ability to dominate athletes — to command, intimidate, micromanage, and use us to fulfill their own goals. They tended to feed their own ego and sense of superiority by putting others down and taking out their frustrations on others. With insults, threats, and demeaning language, they aimed to make us feel fear, guilt, or shame, which they used as tools to try to bring about further obedience and submission. Any speech from athletes was construed as “back talk.” We learned quickly that anything we said would be taken as lies or excuses and used against us.
Toxic coaches were rather suspicious characters in general – regularly accusing us of lying about what we ate, cheating on assignments, and faking injuries. They perpetually blamed everyone else for their problems and scapegoated particular athletes (another way they “used” athletes for their own benefit). This allowed them to avoid any self-awareness about their own weak areas — like their inability to manage their own emotions, their tendency to play favorites and hold personal grudges, their lack of humility, and their unwillingness to learn from others. They talked a lot about other people’s “accountability” while not holding themselves accountable for their own behaviors and the effect it had on team stability and health. There was no respect in this kind of a coach-athlete relationship, only resentment, fear, and anger. In a toxic training environment, athletes typically felt like targets, not valued members of a team. Morale plummeted, talented athletes left the team, and others felt stuck and unable to find a way out.
Concluding thoughts
When I think back about the best coaches I had growing up, I can see that they had a holistic view of what we were doing in sports that went far beyond performance or winning. They wanted to get to know us – our thoughts, values, feelings – and help us become the best versions of ourselves that we could be, including self-motivated, self-disciplined, empowered, confident (yet open to what others had to say), articulate, fair, resilient in the face of disappointments, thoughtful, creative, good problem-solvers, “good sports,” supportive teammates and team players, empathetic and respectful human beings, and autonomous and authentic individuals. They were experienced, but humble, not just about sports, but about life, and they would often tell us stories about their own past, revealing their own mistakes, the mentorship that made a difference in their lives, and the wisdom that grew from it. This helped us to see that we are all works-in-progress, we all make mistakes, and we all need someone to believe in us and not abandon us, even when we screwed up.
Toxic coaches didn’t care to know us. They preferred we stay silent and follow orders. We had no voice and no choice. We were just instruments that could contribute to wins. This came out especially in the way they treated injured athletes. An injured athlete was of no more use to them, which is one reason there was so much pressure to train and compete while injured and to hide vulnerabilities. Though toxic coaches believed their master-servant power dynamic and their negative reinforcement methods improved their chances for competitive success, it was counterproductive, quickly leading to athlete burnout, alienation, damaged self-esteem, an inability to trust, a stunted development of personal autonomy and personal boundaries, mental and physical illness (including depression, anxiety, eating disorders, and suicidality, to name a few) and also the premature loss of talented team members.
In short, healthy coaches put the athlete’s overall well-being above all else and created a collaborative power dynamic in which coach and athlete operated as partners. Toxic coaches put performance, results, and wins above all else, and created a strict hierarchy in which only the coach had agency. The first system created a training environment of respect, care, transformation, and growth. The second system created a training environment of intimidation, fear, degradation, and dehumanization. In the first system, sports were in the service of humanity. In the second, humanity was to be sacrificed for sports.
What I want coaches – as well as athletes and parents to know — is this: There’s nothing about being a “tough,” challenging, or effective coach that necessitates being degrading, demeaning, belittling, or dehumanizing to others. You can have high expectations for hard work and engagement while being positive, encouraging, respectful, and even (gasp) kind. That’s not coddling. It’s treating your athletes like human beings. Though athletes are consistently gaslit to believe that they “deserve” or are “in need” of threats, intimidation, and force — as if they are some sort of “tough love” — there is no justification for such toxic training practices. They are, simply put, abuse, and they do short- and long-term damage to athletes’ bodies, minds, and spirits.
Making athletes feel unsafe, worthless, and generally miserable in the sport is not proof of a coach’s strength. It’s a failure of leadership and ethics. It means the coach is a bully, lacks personal integrity, and is in need of counseling, education, and mentorship… or, if rehabilitation is not possible, some other career path. Athletes do not need to become “tougher” in order to endure abuse better. Coaches who have become toxic need an education in ethics and an intensive personal development program so they can learn to operate with respect, dignity, and care.
