​There is  a common leadership, parenting, and relationship principle: 

​"Boundaries need consequences. Otherwise, they're just suggestions."

​The idea is that a boundary is not simply telling someone what you prefer. A boundary communicates what you will do if a certain behaviour continues.

​Without the follow-through, people often learn that the boundary isn't actually a boundary. It's only a preference.

​Choosing the right register can feel tricky at the beginning.
We know the words. They all mean something. So what’s the problem? Register is a signal. When we mix it randomly, the signal gets noisy.

The same thing happens in communication. People may not always be able to explain what’s wrong, but they notice it. Something doesn’t sit right.
This is where many professionals lose clarity. We assume that more formal words sound more professional. So we reach for expressions like for example inform or notify, even in casual messages.

​I recently came across a quotation by Jordan Peterson about being courageous and forthright so that you can encounter the “snakes” in life on your own terms, rather than waiting for them to catch you while you hide. I first read it in the context of life decisions and risk, but quite quickly I realised how precisely this applies to communication.

Because in communication, the snakes are very specific.

​They are those moments when a sentence is already there, almost fully formed, and yet something stops you. You start questioning whether it is correct, whether the wording is right, whether the register fits, whether it might sound off. This happens very often for people working in a second language, where grammar, vocabulary, and formality come into play, but it also happens in our first language, when we are unsure how something will land in a particular situation.

And so the sentence stays in your head.

It circles there, sometimes very clearly, and yet it never gets tested.
This is where most people lose control without realising it.
Because the issue is not that the sentence was imperfect. The issue is that it was never brought into reality, where it could be adjusted, clarified, or improved. Silence feels like a safe decision, but in practice it delays the moment when that same difficulty will have to be faced.

This is why preparation for “snake territory” matters.

If you have access to a safer environment, a one-to-one conversation, a mentoring space, or a colleague you trust, this is not just a place to speak comfortably. It is your training ground. This is where you bring the exact phrases, ideas, and structures you hesitate to use in real situations.
You test them there.
You say the sentence you were not sure about. You check how it lands. You notice the reaction. You adjust. If you are working with a mentor or a trainer, you can ask directly how your message came across. If you are speaking with a colleague, you can still observe and refine.
What I often see, however, is the opposite approach. People use safe environments to speak freely, which is valuable, but they do not bring in the very things that block them outside. The difficult sentence stays outside the room. And then the first real attempt happens in a meeting, in a negotiation, or in a moment where clarity is expected and pressure is already present.

​At that point, you are no longer preparing the ground.
You are already in it.

Seen this way, communication is not about avoiding mistakes. It is about deciding where you want to make them first, and making sure that the first attempt does not happen when the stakes are high.
In practice, this requires a small but important shift. Instead of staying close to silence, you stay close to speaking. You bring the half-formed sentence. You say it, even if it is not perfect. You ask how it sounds. You check whether it fits. You allow yourself to see the effect of your words while the situation is still manageable.

This is how you prepare.
​
You do not eliminate the snakes. You meet them earlier, in conditions you can still influence, so that when you encounter them in real situations, they are no longer unfamiliar.

Where you can elevate your speaking very quickly, I would almost call these quick wins, is by using modifiers with common adjectives. These are simple adjectives that you probably use all the time.
For example, take the adjective interesting:
quite interesting, incredibly interesting.
Or complicated:
a bit complicated, pretty complicated, incredibly complicated.
Using modifiers like this makes your speech sound more natural and gives it a smoother flow. 

I’ve been generally blessed with really good clients over the years.
Some terrific ones. Cooperation smooth. Mutual respect.
But now and then a difficult client comes along.
Usually, if I am honest, I have a gut feeling from the very first meeting. Some red flags are already present. I am quite sensitive and I pick up on those things quickly.
The problem is not whether I see it. The problem is what I do with it.
Sometimes clients come from one company. They come together. Saying no to one of them might be tricky. Sometimes you are in a place where you need clients. Sometimes you cannot fully control who is coming your way.
And then I start reasoning with myself.
Is this person here to teach me something?
Am I to grow from this situation?
Should I become more patient, more understanding, more flexible?
Should I look at this from a different perspective?
I genuinely believe that situations can teach us something. I always try to ask myself what I can learn here.
But there is another side of the coin.
Can I afford micro frictions like this?
Are they draining for me?
Am I using my energy to coach or to guard myself?
Do I want to constantly set the boundaries and choose the frame instead of simply being human in the room?
In the profession I am in, somewhere between trainer and mentor, trust is essential.
You cannot teach somebody who does not want to be taught.
You cannot train somebody who does not want to be trained.
The students with whom I succeeded had one thing in common. They were not submissive. They were not proud to the point of resisting guidance. They were willing.
Willing to be led.
Willing to accept that I might see something they do not yet see.
Willing to assume that my structure and my methods are there for their benefit.
When that willingness is present, everything flows.
But when someone starts questioning your intentions, questioning your methods, even the small elements you insert into the process, it becomes a signal.
Behaviour is a language.
Sometimes that language says, I do not trust you.
And when trust is missing, everything becomes heavier. I start monitoring my tone. I start reinforcing boundaries more often than I would like. I start feeling that I need to prove something instead of simply giving.
I think many of us who work as trainers, mentors, coaches face this question at some point.
With whom do we want to work?
At the end of the day, you cannot force willingness. You cannot create openness in someone who does not want to open up. And the longer I work in this profession, the more I see that alignment matters.
There are situations where saying goodbye might mean financial loss. It might feel uncomfortable. It might feel risky.
But being honest with yourself is sometimes the better course of action.
If you constantly feel that you need to guard yourself, defend your methods, or prove your intentions, it is worth asking whether this is growth or simply misalignment.
These are my reflections. I know many professionals struggle with similar dilemmas.
Sometimes the right decision is not the most profitable one in the short term. But it may be the most sustainable one in the long term.
And in a profession built on trust and willingness, sustainability matters.

I sometimes listen to John Delony.
He’s a counsellor who talks a lot about emotional health, boundaries, and relationships.
To be honest, I can’t listen to too much of it. Other people’s problems and behaviours can feel overwhelming, and I already have quite enough on my own plate.
But I listened to a few episodes. And one thing kept coming back.
He says: 

​The first time I heard it, it caught my attention immediately, probably because it contains the word language.
The second and third time, it stuck with me.

So I started asking myself: what does that actually mean?
If behaviour is a language,  is it worth pausing for a moment and asking an uncomfortable question?:

​​We are always communicating, even when we’re silent.
And very often, behaviour carries a message that sits underneath the words. If you know how to look at it, a lot of things suddenly fall into place.
A few examples that stayed with me:

• Someone says “I care about you” but never shows up. The behaviour says: this is not a priority.
• Someone avoids replying to emails. The behaviour says: I’m uncomfortable engaging or I’m not willing to commit.
• Someone explodes over small things. The behaviour says: I don’t have regulation or safe ways to express needs.
• Someone repeatedly forgets boundaries. The behaviour says: your boundary doesn’t matter to me.

The same applies in professional life.

• Missed deadlines.
• Vague replies.
• Last-minute changes.

That’s usually not busyness.
It’s lack of ownership or lack of clarity.

At some point I thought: all right, this makes sense, but is there a way to work with this that is teachable, usable, and sharp, without turning it into therapy?
That’s how I came across the SHELF framework.
What I like about it is that it helps you read behaviour as language without over-interpreting it. It keeps things grounded, operational, and practical.
When I started applying it to my own situations, I realised something interesting. For me, the hardest part is eliminating excuses. And I have a strong feeling I’m not the only one who struggles with that.
I want to work with this framework more, first of all for myself.
But I also see real value in bringing it into my work with clients.
Not in an emotional way.
In an operational one.

If you feel that this kind of lens, reading behaviour as language, would be useful for you, we can absolutely incorporate it into our sessions.
Just mention it in class.

I have a student I’ve been cooperating with for quite some time. Very early on, I noticed something striking about his communication. Not eloquence. Not fluency.
Responsiveness.
I tend to pick up on these things quickly. And yes, I do compare. Once you’ve worked with someone who is genuinely responsive, the difference becomes impossible to ignore.

Responsiveness is one of those skills that quietly separates people who feel safe and competent to work with from those who create friction, uncertainty, and mental noise. Often without realizing it.
The good news? This is not a talent - well, it can be but it's also a trainable behaviour.

1. It reduces uncertainty instantly
A responsive person closes open loops. Even a brief acknowledgment stops the mind from wandering. Silence invites assumptions; responsiveness shuts them down.
2. It creates a sense of being cared for
You don’t feel ignored, sidelined, or forgotten. You feel seen. That emotional effect is disproportionate to the effort involved.
3. It signals competence and control
Responsiveness tells the other person: I’m on top of this. Not necessarily done but managed. People trust management before they trust outcomes.
4. It protects the relationship
Many conflicts don’t start with disagreement. They start with delays, non-responses, or vague reactions. Responsiveness prevents escalation before it begins.
5. It keeps momentum alive
Projects, decisions, and cooperation slow down dramatically when responses lag. Responsive communicators keep things moving without pushing.

​1. Separate acknowledgment from solution
You don’t need answers immediately. You need acknowledgment immediately.
“Got this. I’ll come back by tomorrow.” works wonders.
2. Make timing explicit
Silence is the enemy. Timeframes are your shield.
If you can’t act now, say when you will.
3. Close loops deliberately
If something is finished, say it’s finished. If it’s pending, name what’s pending. Don’t leave others guessing.
4. Reduce vagueness in replies
Replace:

• “Soon”
  
• “I’ll try”
  
• “We’re working on it”
  

With:

• “By Thursday”
  
• “I’ll confirm by 3 pm”
  
• “Next step is X; update tomorrow”
  

5. Treat responsiveness as respect, not politeness
This isn’t about being nice. It’s about being reliable. That mindset shift changes behaviour fast.

Responsiveness is one of the fastest ways to:

• build trust,
• reduce tension,
• appear competent,
• and make people want to work with you again.

You don’t need better words.
You need better timing, clearer signals, and fewer unanswered questions.
That’s a skill worth honing.

INKA is one of my most popular courses because it ticks the main boxes.
​
First of all, it helps you stay in regular contact with the language; it’s intensive, but it doesn’t take much time. You get the feeling that you’re keeping your communication alive, learning something new, and staying consistent; without overwhelming yourself. And in a busy schedule, that matters.
INKA was designed for busy professionals who still want to develop, but have limited time and limited mental capacity; they can’t always commit to something heavier. INKA is intensive, but in a caffeine-free way.
Over time, I noticed something important; people often appreciate it when I introduce a bit more structure, insight, or direction. Sometimes they don’t have the energy, ideas, or clarity to bring something to the session themselves; and that’s perfectly normal.
That’s why INKA has evolved.
INKA Flow focuses on conversation and feedback; it’s ideal if you want to bring your own topics, talk things through, and receive a short, focused piece of guidance at the end of each session.
INKA Focus is more deliberate, but still light; each session revolves around one micro-insight only. It gives you something concrete to reflect on and a small follow-up task; just enough self-digging to move things forward without overload.
This is the key difference between the two.
In some cases, it’s possible to combine both; but that’s something we’d need to discuss individually.