A coach let me publicly roast his pinned Instagram post

"My story," but not really (and the rewrite to fix it)

This shit can’t stand.

This is a post from the same dude I talked about in my last post. I saw it the other day and asked him if he minded me busting his unattributed balls. He didn’t mind. So here we are.

Below is a pinned post from his Instagram, labeled “My Story.”

After reading someone’s “My Story” post, I should know this person a little better than I did before, right? I should learn something. Feel like I understand who this specific human being is, at least a little more than I did. That’s the whole point of a “My Story” post.

If I could mark this up on Substack and highlight all of the abstract language that means nothing because it could mean anything, almost the entire thing would be underlined.

I bolded the few parts that could have actually worked. Read it so you can see what I’m talking about, then I’ll tell you why almost none of it does anything.

---

Five years ago, I was stuck in a soul-crushing corporate job, just going through the motions. Every day felt like Groundhog Day. Empty, draining, and unfulfilling.

Deep down, I knew I was meant for a bigger purpose, but I had no idea what that looked like.

The burnout and anxiety were heavy. There were mornings I couldn’t even get out of bed because looking at the future felt like staring at a dead end.

Then, the universe gave me a wake-up call.

A toxic breakup, burning the candle at both ends, numbing myself on the weekends, and eventually… a trip to the ER for a stress-induced panic attack.

I hit rock bottom. I knew I couldn’t keep living on autopilot.

So I made a massive shift:
I cut out toxic habits.
I started meditating.
I dove into self-development books, hitting the gym, hiking, and even teaching myself French.

I got fiercely intentional about my growth.

Eventually, I packed up my life and moved from Ohio to Austin for a fresh start.

But even then… I still felt empty.

Despite doing all the “right” things, I was still trading my time for money. I was waking up angry that I was building someone else’s empire while ignoring my own potential.

I kept searching for external validation until I realized I needed to do one thing:

Look inward.

I finally stopped listening to society and tuned into my highest self.
When I did, I realized I’d been hiding from my true calling.

I’ve always been the person people come to for advice. I realized my pain was actually my purpose. I was meant to help others break free, too.

That’s when I decided to become a coach. It’s where my passion and my mission finally aligned.

So I went all in. I took courses. I invested in myself. I worked late nights on my laptop. But it didn’t drain me, because for the first time, I was in total alignment.

Of course, my limiting beliefs flared up.
What if I fail?
Who am I to do this?

I almost let imposter syndrome win. But then I asked myself:
”How can I expect my clients to step into their greatness if I stay in my comfort zone?”

So I faced the fear.I stopped playing small.
I committed fully to my own vision.

The result?
A life of total freedom, true impact, and abundance.

Are you ready to stop playing small and step into your purpose? Click the link in my bio to book a discovery call. 🚀

---

Fuck. That’s brutal stuff. Like an online coach character’s Instagram in a mainstream sitcom. Except it’s not a sitcom. It’s his actual pinned post. His “My Story.”

The comically predictable hero’s journey arc with precisely zero surprises doesn’t help, for sure.

But why does this happen? He’s a cool guy. Stands out at the gym ‘n shit. And it’s not that this post is like, overtly “bad.” The problem is that it doesn’t do anything. It’s boring. It’s predictable. It’s immediately forgettable.

Okay, fuck, it’s bad. But I think I know why it’s bad.

Every abstract word and phrase in this post could be swapped into anyone else’s “My Story” post and no one would notice. That’s the problem. After reading the whole thing, I don’t know this person any better than I did before I started.

I could give you at least 12 reasons why people make content that sounds like this. Maybe another time. For now, the simplest way to see what’s wrong is to walk through it.

It starts in the first sentence.

“Five years ago, I was stuck in a soul-crushing corporate job, just going through the motions.”

Every. Single. Word.

“Stuck.” “Soul-crushing.” “Corporate job.” “Going through the motions.”

What do they tell me about this specific dude? Nothing. They’re placeholders. They’re abstract enough to describe anyone who’s ever been unhappy at work, which is basically everyone.

“Soul-crushing.” What does that mean? I’ll tell you. It means fucking nothing because it could mean anything.

“Corporate job.” Okay, this is like a 4 out of 10 on specificity. It’s not just “job.” I can kinda see a stuffy, suit-and-tie type place. But just say it. Just tell us what the job was. Were you doing data entry at an insurance company in Columbus? Were you in pharmaceutical sales driving a company Camry to doctor’s offices? Just tell me. I have no idea. And neither does anyone else reading this. If you told me what it actually was, I’d see something. Right now I see nothing.

“Every day felt like Groundhog Day. Empty, draining, and unfulfilling.”

Three adjectives. Zero information. I learn nothing about what his days actually looked like. Nothing about what he did at 2pm when the aforementioned soul was being crushed. Nothing about the specific moment he realized he hated it. Just... adjectives.

“Then, the universe gave me a wake-up call.”

Fuck me. Does he ever run out of this shit?

Now look at the parts I bolded. These are the only moments in the entire post where anything starts to happen.

“A trip to the ER for a stress-induced panic attack.” That’s the first time I can see something. An actual place. An actual event. It’s still not great. “Stress-induced panic attack” is clinical and distant, but at least something happened to a real person in a real place that exists in the physical world.

“Teaching myself French.” This is the single most interesting detail in the entire post and it gets three words buried inside a list. Why French? Were you watching YouTube videos at 1am? Did someone in your life speak French? Did you get a Duolingo streak going? I have no idea, but for the first time, I’m actually curious about this person. Because it’s specific and I didn’t predict it.

“Ohio to Austin.” Ohio and Austin are real places. They exist on a map. Those two words tell me more about this person than every “soul-crushing” and “total alignment” and fucking “highest self” in the post combined.

“I’ve always been the person people come to for advice.” This hints at actual experiences. But he doesn’t give me any. Which friend? What advice? What happened? Without one real example, it’s another abstract claim that could be copy-pasted into any coach’s shit.

“I took courses. I invested in myself. I worked late nights on my laptop.” Courses in what? Which ones? What was on the laptop screen at midnight? Like, I can see him trying to paint the picture, but he’s stopping short.

See what I’m talking about? The only moments that do anything at all are the ones closest to specific and concrete. And even those are still too far away. He gets close enough to almost show me something, then pulls back into abstraction every time.

It’s not that you can’t use abstract language. “I hit rock bottom” is pretty fucking abstract, but it can work.

It can work if you’ve already shown me what the bottom actually looked like. The abstraction lands when it’s sitting on top of concrete details. Without the details underneath, it’s just fucking words, floating in space.

I’d rather hear about why the fuck he wanted to learn French. I’d rather know what “numbing myself on the weekends” actually looked like for one specific weekend. I’d rather hear about one of those mornings he couldn’t get out of bed. Not “mornings,” plural, described with adjectives. One morning. What did the ceiling look like? Was his phone buzzing? Did he call in sick or just not show up?

Tell me about one and I’ll understand ‘em all.

I’m not saying every post has to be some literary short story where you describe the color of the couch and the way the light came through the window. That would be its own kind of douchey. Like, you sir, can also eat a dick. I’m just saying be more concrete. Get closer to the thing that actually happened. Say the name of the job. Say the name of the city. Say what was on the screen. You don’t have to do it every sentence. Just do it more than zero times.

The abstract version of a story does not help a stranger on the internet know you. 'Stress-induced panic attack' is a medical term. 'Sitting in the ER waiting room in basketball shorts and no shoes' is an actual person."

Tl;dr More specific, unexpected details or GTFO.

PS - here’s what he could have done. I’m making up a bunch of shit, but he has the correct ones:

Five years ago, I was an operations analyst at a third-party logistics company in Dayton. My days were spreadsheets, conference calls about container shipments, and eating Chipotle at my desk because leaving for lunch felt like too much.

I kept telling myself it was fine. The salary was decent. I had a 401k match and a parking spot with my name on it. But most mornings, my alarm went off at 6:15 and I’d just lay there bargaining with myself. “Just get through today.” Some mornings I’d call in sick and sit on the couch watching YouTube until I felt guilty enough to open my laptop.

I was dating someone who kept telling me I had “no ambition,” which was fun. We broke up over text on a Tuesday. I started drinking more after that. Fridays became a six-pack on the couch and half a bottle of whiskey by midnight. Saturdays I’d sleep until noon and do it again.

One night in October, I woke up at 3am and my heart was pounding so hard I could hear it. I couldn’t breathe. I drove myself to Kettering Medical Center in basketball shorts and no shoes. They told me it was a panic attack. I sat in the waiting room for four hours and drove home at sunrise.

I started small. Downloaded a meditation app. Went to the gym at 6am because if I waited until after work I wouldn’t go. Started reading. Atomic Habits first, then a bunch of others. I picked up French on Duolingo because a girl I matched with on Hinge was from Montreal and I wanted to impress her. We never went out, but I kept the streak going for 400 days.

Six months later, I packed my Civic and drove to Austin. Didn’t know anyone. Got a sublet off Riverside and spent the first two weeks eating breakfast tacos alone and wondering if I’d made a huge mistake.

But even after all that, I was still sitting in a cubicle. Different city, same feeling. One night my buddy Jake called me about a problem with his girlfriend and I talked him through it for two hours. When we hung up he said “dude, you should do this for a living.” It wasn’t the first time someone said something like that, but it was the first time I took it seriously.

I signed up for an ICF coaching program and started building on the side. I’d finish my day job and work on my site until 1am. It took eleven months before I made enough to quit.

I’m not gonna pretend I have it all figured out. But I work with people now who are where I was, staring at a spreadsheet, bargaining with their alarm clock, wondering if this is it. If that sounds familiar, link’s in my bio.

PPS - It’s not even “good writing.” It’s just specific.