Which Hat Am I Wearing?

After many years in the contact centre industry, I'd say I know a thing or two about a thing or two.

I've often been asked for an answer on something call-centre-ish.

In fact, in one of my last corporate roles, I was hired specifically because I had experience running large-scale contact centres.

Some might even call me an expert.

I've built them from the ground up in previous roles and, on a considerably smaller scale, I've even built the telephony experience for Coach James.

Workforce management.

Customer experience.

Telephony.

Quality.

Performance.

Operations.

I've accumulated a fair few grey hairs learning what works — and what definitely doesn't.

So if someone came to me and said:

"James, I'm building a contact centre. What should I do?"

I could probably give them a pretty good answer.

But should I?

That's where things get interesting.

Coaching, Mentoring and Consulting

Over the years, I've become fascinated by the differences between coaching, mentoring and consulting.

Before I started studying the craft of coaching more deeply, I probably would have conflated all three.

And I'm certainly not alone.

We tend to use the words interchangeably.

"I'm coaching them through it."

"She's been a great mentor."

"We brought someone in to help."

Often we're describing completely different things.

Humans have a wonderful tendency to find the path of least resistance, particularly with language.

I've long been fascinated by the way children growing up in multilingual homes can naturally move between languages, selecting the word or phrase that most easily expresses what they're trying to say.

In a much less sophisticated way, I think we sometimes do something similar with coaching, mentoring and consulting.

The words become interchangeable.

But the work isn't.

And understanding the difference can completely change the conversation.

A Very Cool Man

Early in my journey of learning to coach, I had the opportunity to learn from an incredibly successful, intelligent and, quite frankly, downright cool man.

For around six months of each year, part of his work involved preparing doctors for the United Nations before they entered war zones around the world.

These were people preparing to support peacekeeping forces and communities experiencing circumstances most of us would struggle to imagine.

So when he spoke, I listened.

Around this time, I'd also made a decision about my own development.

If an opportunity came along that could help me grow, I was going to put my hand up.

Even if it felt awkward.

Even if it meant being uncomfortable.

So after he'd spent time developing our team in coaching techniques, he asked whether anyone wanted to experience the approach personally.

In front of the room.

A room containing about 20 of my staff and peers.

My hand went up.

Of course it did.

The story isn't actually about what happened during that coaching session.

It's about something he taught us around it.

Because he gave me one of the simplest ways I've found to think about coaching, mentoring and consulting.

And it started with learning to drive.

The Back-Seat Driver

He explained that when we learn a new skill, we tend to move through four stages of awareness.

Think about learning to drive.

As children, we watch our parents driving and it looks incredibly easy.

Steering wheel.

Accelerator.

Brake.

How hard could it possibly be?

We're experts from the back seat.

We don't yet understand everything that's happening because we don't even know what we're missing.

We are unconsciously incompetent.

Or, put more simply:

We don't know what we don't know.

Then comes the first driving lesson.

Suddenly you're trying to coordinate the clutch and accelerator, change gears, watch the mirrors, indicate, steer, monitor your speed and somehow avoid bunny-hopping the car down the street while your instructor quietly questions their career choices.

Now you know.

Driving is harder than it looks.

You've become consciously incompetent.

You know what you don't know.

Eventually, things improve.

You can change gears without terrifying everyone.

You check your mirrors.

You maintain your speed.

You can drive competently, but you're still thinking about what you're doing.

You're consciously competent.

You know what you know — but you still have to think about it.

Then, after enough experience, something strange happens.

You arrive home from work and realise you barely remember the drive.

Not because you were asleep.

Hopefully.

But because so much of the process has become automatic.

You're unconsciously competent.

You know what you know without having to consciously think about it.

And that's when he connected it to coaching.

Teaching Me to Drive

He told me that if I didn't know how to drive and he did, he could teach me.

He could show me where the clutch was.

Explain when to change gears.

Tell me to check my mirrors.

Correct my technique.

Share the things he'd learnt from years behind the wheel.

That's mentoring.

The mentor has travelled some version of the road before you.

They bring experience.

Knowledge.

Lessons.

Mistakes.

Shortcuts.

They can say:

"Here's what I've learnt. It might help you."

That's incredibly valuable.

But then he changed the scenario.

What If We're Going to the Moon?

What if instead I told him:

"I want to land on the moon."

Slight problem.

He'd never been to the moon.

He didn't know how to land there.

So pretending otherwise wouldn't make him a mentor.

It would make him dangerous.

But that doesn't necessarily mean he couldn't help me.

He could coach me.

What are you trying to achieve?

Why does it matter?

What do you already know?

What resources do you have?

Who might you need around you?

What's stopping you?

What assumptions are you making?

What's the next step?

He doesn't need to have landed on the moon to help me think more clearly about how I might get there.

That's coaching.

The coach doesn't need to possess the answer.

Their role is to help you explore, challenge and develop yours.

And that distinction stayed with me.

Then There's Consulting

Consulting is different again.

Imagine I don't want someone to teach me how they learnt to build a rocket.

And I don't simply want someone to help me think through whether I should go to the moon.

I have a specific problem that requires expertise.

I need someone who understands propulsion systems to examine mine, tell me what's wrong and recommend what needs to change.

That's when I want a consultant.

A consultant is generally engaged because they bring specialist knowledge to diagnose a problem, recommend a solution, design something or perhaps help implement it.

The expertise itself is part of what you're buying.

Which brings me back to contact centres.

I Know the Answer. Should I Give It to You?

Imagine a leader I'm coaching says:

"James, I'm struggling with the performance of my contact centre."

I could immediately switch into expert mode.

I've spent years doing this.

I could start talking about workforce planning, quality frameworks, demand modelling, customer journeys, leadership capability, performance metrics and half a dozen other things before they've finished their sentence.

And perhaps that's exactly what they need.

But perhaps it isn't.

Maybe they don't need my answer.

Maybe they need to work out why they've been avoiding a performance conversation with one of their leaders.

Maybe the operational problem isn't really an operational problem at all.

If I jump straight into giving advice simply because I know something, I might solve the wrong problem.

That's why one of the most important questions isn't:

"Do I know the answer?"

It's:

"What does this person need from me right now?"

Which Hat Am I Wearing?

Today, I think about coaching, mentoring and consulting as three different hats.

As a mentor, I can say:

"I've travelled a similar road. Let me share what I've learnt."

As a consultant, I can say:

"You've brought me in for my expertise. Let me help diagnose the problem and recommend what I think you should do."

As a coach, I'm much more likely to say:

"What do you think?"

None is inherently better than the others.

They simply serve different purposes.

And sometimes a conversation genuinely moves between them.

The important part is knowing which hat you're wearing — and why.

Because giving someone the answer can feel incredibly helpful.

It's fast.

It's satisfying.

And when you've accumulated enough experience, it's tempting.

But sometimes the most useful thing I can do with everything I've learnt...

is resist the temptation to tell you what I know.

Because you might not need me to teach you how to drive.

You might be trying to land on the moon.

And if that's the case, perhaps my job isn't to tell you how to get there.

It's to help you discover your own way.