Good coaching is worth paying for. But look closely at what the money buys and a lot of it is surprisingly simple. Someone asks you, every fortnight, what you said you would do, whether you did it, what got in the way, and what you are avoiding. Then they remember your answers, which you do not, and quote them back to you three months later at an inconvenient moment.

That is a wonderful service. It is also, for the most part, a schedule, a memory and a set of good questions. Which means most of it can be built.

What a coach does, split honestly

The repetitive majority: the weekly check-in, the same five questions, tracking goals against what happened, spotting patterns over months (“this is the fourth week you have moved that”), preparing you for a hard conversation by letting you rehearse it, turning a vague ambition into a next step.

The human minority: knowing you well enough to see what you cannot, holding silence while you work something out, caring whether you are all right, and having the standing to tell you something you do not want to hear and be believed.

I would put the first group at well over half of the hours. It is the part an AI coach does very well, at eleven at night, as often as you like, without you feeling you are wasting anyone’s time.

How I set mine up

Three ingredients.

A standing brief. One document that says who I am, what I am trying to do this year, what I know my patterns are (I start too many things; I avoid pricing conversations), and how I want to be spoken to: direct, brief, no cheerleading. The coach reads this every time. I update it when it stops being true.

A weekly review. Same questions every Friday. What did I say I would do? What happened? What did I avoid, and what was I protecting myself from? What is the one thing for next week? It keeps the answers, so by week six it can say things like “you have named the same obstacle three times”, which is precisely the moment a human coach earns their fee.

A rehearsal room. Before a difficult call, I tell it who the other person is and what I am worried about, and ask it to play them, fairly rather than kindly. Ten minutes of that and I walk into the real conversation having already said the awkward sentence once.

You can use the same setup in three directions. As a productivity coach, it looks at what you planned against what you did. As a professional coach, it looks at the year rather than the week. As a personal coach, it looks at the habits you are trying to build, and here I would keep it light and keep it kind.

Where I would stop

It is not a therapist and should not be used as one. If what you are carrying is heavier than “I keep avoiding my tax”, talk to a person who is trained for it. It will also tend to agree with you unless you tell it not to, so tell it not to: the single most useful line in my standing brief is “challenge my reasoning before you accept it”. And be thoughtful about what you write down. A paid plan with training switched off keeps your words out of the model, but a journal of your fears is still a sensitive document wherever it lives.

Why it is worth doing anyway

Because most people who would benefit from coaching never get any. It is expensive, it feels indulgent, and it is hard to find someone good. An AI coach is none of those things. It is a schedule, a memory and good questions, available tonight. And if you do have a human coach, it makes them better value: you arrive at the session with six weeks of honest notes and the pattern already visible, and you spend the expensive hour on the part only a person can do.

If you would like help writing the standing brief, which is the part that makes the difference, get in touch. It is a half-hour conversation and you may well not need me after it.