By Josie Copson
Copyright metro
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‘Freedom. Freedom. Freedom. Freedom!’ is the thunderous chant of 400 people, including me, in Hackney’s EartH theatre early one Saturday morning in September.
As we clap our hands and stamp our feet, life coach Kelly Tamplin stands confidently on stage in her trouser suit paired with protective eye goggles. Encouraging a randomly selected audience member (they’ve signed a release form) who has joined her, she tells them, ‘You’ve got this.’
One end of an arrow points into his neck; the other is firmly against a plank of wood held by Kelly. As the crowd’s volume increases, the man swooshes his arms like a bird flapping its wings. In one swift movement, he steps forward, and the arrow snaps in two, with the pieces flying in opposite directions. After a nanosecond of silence as we take in the spectacle, the room erupts, and the pair celebrate with a jumping hug.
What we’re witnessing is a ‘breakthrough exercise’, and just a small part of the packed agenda at Rise Up. In short, a highly charged life coach conference. Throughout nine hours, I listen to 11 inspirational talks, participate in dance breaks, watch board-breaking and network.
It’s run by The Coaching Masters, a business founded by Lewis Raymond Taylor, a prisoner who turned his life around, and Liam James Collins, whose mum was a life coach and says her learnings got him through an acting career stalling and his dad’s suicide.
Their aim, they say, is to make life coaches as commonplace as personal trainers, and the day has been designed to inspire ticketholders (tickets cost up to £97, but were ‘free’ for those who pay a £200+ p/m membership) to become optimal versions of themselves so they can inspire others.
The life coaching event tested me throughout the nine hours (Picture: The Coaching Masters/Haleem Clift)
And why not? The International Coaching Federation estimates the industry is worth £3.64 billion, and the number of life coaches rose by 54% in a three-year period. Liam has his theory on the boom, telling Metro: ‘People feel increasingly comfortable expressing their feelings, but sharing with anyone is not always helpful. There is merit in someone who can ask the right questions and use techniques to put people on a desired pathway.’
‘There’s been a cultural shift in terms of what we actually want from life,’ adds Lewis. ‘Millennials broke through the barrier of not doing what’s expected, but what they want. Social media means we see possibilities and can ask, “Why not me?”. Also, for the first time in history, personal development is cool.’
The crowd were invited onto the stage for breakthrough exercises (Picture: Metro)
Liam and Lewis founded the company and spoke at the event (Picture: The Coaching Masters/Haleem Clift)
Inside Rise Up
‘Who likes having a good time? Who would like to achieve one goal of theirs?’ asks host for the day, Jermaine Harris, as he sets the tone at 10am.
‘The universe wants you here,’ he states before adding, ‘But first some housekeeping, the toilets at the top of the stairs are out of order, so don’t use those.’
Most of the speakers follow a similar pattern by opening with a question. ‘Who here wants to have money? Do you want to be successful? Do you want to inspire other people? What’s the point of a ceiling if you can’t smash through it?’ are just a handful of questions fired at me, that I’m not actually required to answer. Instead, they are answered for me — advice includes everything I want is already within me, get enough sleep and write a list of what’s worrying me, then forget about it. Metaphors are scattered more generously than they are in a GCSE English exam. My favourite is not believing in manifestation thoughts is like planting a seed, watering it and then unplanting it when you don’t have a tree in a month.
As someone who purchased a self-help book by The Speakmans at the age of 13, and is partial to creating a vision board every New Year’s Eve, I’m able to lean into some of the self-improvement practises — but shaking my bum to Bruno Mars’ Uptown Funk to increase energy, throwing a power move (putting my hands on my hips is the best I could do), and shouting ‘risk is amazing’ is a lot.
When I’m told to scream to ‘let the fear out’ after picturing my biggest phobia, which is, weirdly, chipped nail varnish (I’m sure I was meant to picture something holding me back from reaching my potential, but the odd quirk I’ve had since childhood, was the first thing that came to mind), I am pushed to my limit.
Dancing was encouraged throughout the day (Picture: The Coaching Masters/Haleem Clift)
It is a lively crowd (Picture: The Coaching Masters/Haleem Clift)
During the break, I chat to people eating their packed lunches in the auditorium to discover why they are here. A young man tells me that he lost a sense of identity after his band split, and life coaching gave him something positive to focus on. He admits that he once found the exercises ‘cringe’ but a few years in, they feel normal.
Another woman states she’s going ‘to change the world’ before crying, explaining that she almost died three years ago after hitting rock bottom. An older lady says she was bullied at her workplace, and that life coaching gave her the freedom to quit.
Their sharing is reflective of how the speakers also speak about what they’ve overcome; family deaths, toxic relationships, eating disorders, and suicide attempts are all mentioned while they flick through PowerPoint presentations. The seriousness sometimes feels at odds with the interspersed shouting and dancing, but later, Liam tells me this is key to their brand — hearing from imperfect people who speak about their real lives, rather than presenting a polished image, and then moving forward. While I applaud such honesty, I wonder about the repercussions of sharing for the purposes of advancing their careers.
An attendee celebrates after breaking a board (Picture: The Coaching Masters/Haleem Clift)
Lewis asked: ‘By the end of this talk, 7000 will have died. You’re still here, why?’ (Picture: The Coaching Masters/Haleem Clift)
Facing criticism
The day concludes with Liam and Lewis taking to the stage to talk about how the inevitability of death should inspire us to live. ‘By the end of this talk, 7000 will have died. You’re still here, why?’ asks Lewis. The only sound is pens scrawling on notepads.
People are such fans of the duo, who joke they are the ‘Ant and Dec’ of the coaching world, that many have even gone as far as to get the logo tattooed on their bodies. Unsurprisingly, there have been some cult comparisons, especially when paired with the general industry criticism. Some take issue with the reality that anyone can call themselves a life coach, as it doesn’t require a formal qualification, which means people can be vulnerable to fraudulent practices. Aspiring life coaches can pay for training that doesn’t lead to work, and individuals seeking out life coaches can see no benefits.
‘When you’re looking from the outside, it might look crazy, but we’re no different to football team supporters all wearing matching tops and chanting,’ argues Liam. ‘Actually, we’re proud of people saying we’re like a cult, it means we’ve got a strong, engaged community.’
‘People think, why are these two guys making money by manipulating people?’ says Lewis, who points out that their business was valued at $25 million (£18.5 million) in 2022 and operates in over 80 countries. ‘Yes, we’re manipulating people, but to believe in themselves.’ He adds that they are working to establish their company as a registered college so they can provide diploma qualifications.
I can’t help but feel slightly inspired by the hope and motivation attendees clearly have to change their circumstances through coaching. However, the onus for dealing with life’s difficulties seems placed firmly with individuals, rarely taking into account factors like class, race, and gender.
It’s also one type of dream that is mainly being sold: quit the 9-5 to gain ‘freedom’. But what if not everyone is destined to start businesses? I’m certainly okay with being happy in an office, making small talk around the kettle and then clocking off. Liam and Lewis say they understand my standpoint when we speak over the phone a few days later, and explain that they can also help people in every sector make the most of their days.
I’m in this group photo, but only my forehead is visible (Picture: The Coaching Masters/Haleem Clift)
I was given a certificate to take home (Picture: Metro)
Back to the real world
Once Lewis and Liam finish their talk, I’m handed a certificate that ‘celebrates my decision to rise above comfort and step fully into growth.’
After smiling for a group photo, which I’m not visible in, as at 5ft 1″ it was tough to get anywhere near the front, I head back onto the East London streets.
Just a couple of days later, I found myself talking with a friend struggling with nerves at important work meetings. ‘Rather than faking it until you make it, embody it until you become it,’ I offer as advice — a line stolen directly from one of the talks. ‘I love that,’ she responds. I feel undeniably smug.
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