“Scale” is one of those words that gets tossed around in online coaching like it’s a moral imperative. It seems like if you’re not scaling, you’re failing. And I’m going to be honest: it gives me the ick.
Not because growth is bad. Not because money is bad. Not because I’m anti-success. It gives me the ick because “scale” is a corporate word that has become so diffuse in the coaching space, it’s lost its meaning. And in practice, it usually means something painfully specific: more clients, more revenue, less you.
That can work. It can even be ethical. But it comes with tradeoffs that most people either don’t name… or don’t want to name.
So let’s name them.
What does “scale” even mean as a coach?
Half the problem is that “scale” is treated like it’s one thing. It’s not. It’s a catch-all word that lets people avoid specificity. And in online business, vagueness is convenient—because vague things are easy to sell.
Also, scale is a mechanistic (machine-like), extractive word in a lot of contexts. It’s linear. It’s “hockey-stick” growth. And nothing in nature behaves that way. Nature pulses, cycles, rests, and regenerates. It expands, contracts, and rebalances. Nothing grows forever at the same pace. That’s a basic regenerative principle: constant growth isn’t natural, it’s a model.
So when someone says “scale your coaching business,” the first question isn’t how. It’s: what kind of scale are you talking about?
Because there are different forms of scale people collapse into one buzzword:
- Revenue scale — more profit
- Client volume scale — more people
- Impact scale — more outcomes without necessarily more clients
- Reach scale — more audience
- Delivery scale — less time per client via systems
- Depth scale — better results, deeper transformation per client
A coach can scale revenue by raising prices and reducing client count. That’s financial scale, not volumetric scale. A coach can scale impact by training other practitioners and letting their IP travel. Different definitions. Different tradeoffs.
And here’s the uncomfortable part: most “scale” talk in online coaching is really code for revenue + volume + reduced involvement from the head coach. More clients, more revenue, less you… sometimes while bragging about working less as you sell to more.
“I scaled my coaching business to seven figures and now work five hours a week.”
Okay. Cool. Just call it what it is, you’re optimizing for volume, reach, efficiency, conversion—how many people you can move through the system. We’ll call this throughput.
And look, I’m not saying throughput is inherently bad. I’m saying it’s different from what most people think they’re signing up for when they hire a coach. There’s a gap between the marketing and the lived experience, and that gap is where a lot of the industry’s credibility issues live.
Can you scale without tradeoffs?
No. Not if you’re being honest.
You can scale and design guardrails to reduce the impact of those tradeoffs—yes. But you don’t get to bypass them. And to me, that’s where the real test of integrity lives—not in whether you scale, but in whether you’re willing to tell the truth about what it costs.
Because a business that’s actually grounded in its values doesn’t pretend there are no costs. It doesn’t gaslight people with glossy positioning. It names reality. It says, “Here’s what I’m optimizing for, here’s what I’m trading off, and here’s why I think it’s worth it.” That’s the difference between marketing spin and actual transparency.
And here’s the real tension underneath all of this: are you building for craft, or are you building for throughput?
Craft means you’re optimizing for depth, intimacy, fit, outcomes—the quality of the transformation itself.
Neither is inherently good or bad. But they’re fundamentally different games. And most of the dissonance people feel in the coaching industry comes from businesses that market themselves as craft while operating as throughput.
The “scale” model most people mean
So what does the “scale” model most people mean actually look like?
Rolling-enrollment group programs
Anyone can join anytime. You run it like a machine. This works financially because it doesn’t require deep discernment. The system is the product. The marketing is the engine. You’re selling access.
But here’s where intimacy starts to take the hit. You’re not vetting fit in any real way. You can’t feel into whether someone belongs in the room. You’re not curating a container—you’re filling seats. Even with a closer, even with “applications,” once you’re enrolling hundreds, there isn’t enough time to do real discernment at that volume. You’re not curating. You’re converting.
Courses with “support” layered in
This is the “it doesn’t require my face” model. Head coach sells the method, shows up weekly or bi-weekly, and the team handles the rest.
And to be clear: this can be legit. Group experiences have this weird magic where coaching one person benefits many—what’s most personal is often most universal. People can get a ton out of a group container without constant direct access to the head coach. I’ve seen it work beautifully. But again, just call it what it is: you’re scaling delivery by decreasing your proximity.
And that’s fine. It’s just not the same thing as what people think they’re buying when the marketing says “intimate” and “high-touch.”
Where intimacy gets sacrificed (and why people pretend it doesn’t)
If you’re selling 1:1, “scale” doesn’t work the same way. You can’t just let everyone in, because a successful 1:1 private coaching model requires energetic fit, coachability, real alignment with your ideal client, and proximity you actually have to deliver on.
So if you’re selling an “intimate” group program while boasting those $50K months, $100K months, at a certain point you’re not deeply involved in the day-to-day. You can’t be. The math doesn’t work.
So what happens? You hire support coaches, community managers, facilitators, “guardians.” And now the boots-on-the-ground coaching is happening through other people.
Sometimes those people are paid well and respected as professionals. Sometimes they’re paid poorly. Sometimes they’re treated like disposable labor. Sometimes they’re doing emotional and relational work that the head coach can no longer hold—while the head coach is paid like the sun.
That’s not a universal accusation. It’s a pattern worth calling out (I’ve experienced it, personally), because what you’re really selling is proximity. And proximity elasticity can only stretch so far. At some point, clients are no longer buying access to you—they’re buying access to the brand of you.
Unless you have fame. Fame changes the rules. If your name recognition is high enough, people will pay for proximity even when access is minimal. They’ll accept scraps because the identity association is worth it. But that’s rare air. Most of us will never reach that peak.
What this looks like on a Tuesday (the part people skip)
Here’s what people miss when they romanticize scale: it doesn’t just change your revenue—it changes your day. Like… literally your Tuesday.
In a craft business, Tuesday looks like this:
- You read three client check-ins slowly instead of skimming them.
- You notice two people are stuck in the same place, so you adjust your delivery this week.
- You send a voice note that actually moves someone through shame.
- You say no to a “great fit on paper” because your body says the fit is off.
- You tighten the container because outcomes matter more than headcount.
In a distribution business, Tuesday looks like this:
- You’re in a meeting about conversion rates.
- Someone tells you “we need to increase top-of-funnel volume.”
- You look at churn and try to solve it with onboarding tweaks instead of deeper discernment.
- A client has a real issue, but it gets routed to the team because you’re at capacity.
- You record the training, post the reel, approve the email sequence, and move on—because the machine needs to keep moving.
Again, neither of these is morally superior. But they are different ecosystems.
And if you’re telling clients you’re running a craft business while your Tuesday is built like a distribution company, people will feel that mismatch. They’ll call it “not supported,” “not intimate,” “something felt off,” “I don’t know, it just wasn’t what I thought.”
That’s the whole point: your calendar tells the truth.
A real example of scale getting messy when you can’t curate the room
I joined Marie Forleo’s B-School in 2020, a couple months before the murder of George Floyd. From my experience, B-School is a scale machine. No real vetting. Massive affiliate network. Huge reach. Broad-enough product to fit almost anyone, which means it fits almost anyone.
And after George Floyd, it became painfully clear to me (and many of us in her community) that when you scale a room you can’t curate, you inherit the shadow of that room.
I watched the community dynamic get complicated fast. I watched leadership questions surface—especially around how a massive audience gets held (or not held) during a moment like that. And I watched a lot of people—especially Black students—express feeling deeply let down. And worse, as someone who Oprah vouched for, many felt extorted.
Eventually, the official B-School Facebook group (30K+ people) was shut down, and a student-led group emerged that I and others were part of holding.
This isn’t a hit piece. It’s an illustration. When you scale a room you can’t curate, you inherit the shadow of that room. And if there were a clean way to filter and steward a community at that scale, I genuinely believe many creators would take it. But that’s the deal with mass reach. Scale giveth. Scale taketh.
The real trade: craft vs throughput
And I think that’s the part that doesn’t get talked about enough. The real trade isn’t just “more work” or “less time.” The real trade is craft versus throughput.
When your definition of scale is more people + more revenue + more reach, your business will start optimizing for throughput. Not because you’re an evil corporate shill, but because it’s gravity.
And when throughput becomes the game, this creeps in. Conversion rates become your dopamine. Churn becomes your fear. CAC, LTV, CPL become your language. The numbers become the scoreboard. And throughput starts overtaking the craft.
You don’t necessarily stop caring about your clients. But you start caring about them through the lens of a system. And that is a different texture of service.
The callout (because someone needs to say it)
So if you’re reading this and you’re like, “Bullshit—I can be a seven-figure coach and my clients are still my top priority,” I’m not here to argue. I’m here to ask you one question:
What did you sacrifice for client outcomes this quarter that cost you money or growth?
Because the moment “more” becomes the goal, you start building a machine. And machines don’t optimize for intimacy. They optimize for volume.
If your answer is “nothing,” then your priority is clear… even if it’s not the one you’re claiming.
What scale could look like for coaches
And look, I’m not preaching “don’t scale.” I’m saying: define it. Name the tradeoffs. Build guardrails.
Because I do think there are ways to scale while staying closer to integrity. They’re just slower. Less sexy. And they require you to give up the fantasy that you can have it all without giving anything up.
Scale depth, not volume
Depth scale means your primary growth metric isn’t “how many bodies can I fit in the room.” It’s how deep the transformation is. How supported people feel. How clear and clean the work is. How consistently outcomes happen.
Depth scale can look like smaller containers with higher standards, tighter positioning that attracts fewer-but-better-fit people, better onboarding and structure and delivery. Fewer clients, more attention, cleaner results. It’s slower. It’s less sexy. And it’s often more real.
Cap enrollment intentionally
This one’s going to feel like heresy if you’ve been marinating in online business advice for any length of time.
Because the dominant narrative is: more clients, more revenue, less you. Open cart. Evergreen funnel. Rolling enrollment. Let the system do the work.
And capping is the opposite of that.
But here’s the thing: capping isn’t anti-scale. It’s depth scale.
You can still grow revenue by raising prices as demand increases. You can still scale impact by improving outcomes and creating a waitlist that signals quality. You can still scale reach by being more selective about who gets in, which often makes people want it more.
What you’re doing is choosing which kind of scale matters most to you. And that choice runs directly counter to what most business coaches will tell you to do—because they’re optimizing for volume and throughput, not craft.
So this looks like either time-based enrollment windows or hard caps on how many people you serve. Not “We’re closing tonight because the algorithm told me urgency converts.” Real caps that protect capacity, protect culture, protect outcomes.
It’s a trade. You’re trading the kind of scale everyone tells you to chase for a different kind of scale that most people won’t even recognize as growth. And for some businesses, that trade is worth it.
Pay support well + give them real authority
If you have support coaches, pay them like professionals and treat them like adults. That means training them in your framework, encouraging them to bring their own magic, trusting them, giving them real authority in the container. And telling clients the truth about how it works.
Something like: “Inside this container, you have support coaches who are deeply trained in the XYZ framework. They also have full permission to bring their gifts. They’re an extension of this work—not just assistants.”
Transparency builds trust. It sets expectations. It reduces resentment.
Build slower, stronger rooms
Less arbitrary urgency. More thoughtful enrollment. Longer enrollment windows, higher standards for fit, more intentional onboarding, clearer culture. Less “let’s just get them in” energy.
A strong room isn’t just “more people.” It’s coherence.
Design for outcomes, not hype
Hype sells. Outcomes sustain. Outcome design looks like clear promises you can actually deliver (none of this guaranteed six-figures in 3 months bullshit), delivery structures that match the promise, measurement—not obsessive, but honest—and iterating based on what’s working, not what looks sexy on Instagram.
The honesty clause: marketing transparency about access
But honestly, I think the one change that would clean up so much of the industry overnight is just marketing transparency about access.
What are people actually buying—you, or the system? And are you being honest about that?
Because a lot of group programs are sold with implied 1:1 proximity. The marketing says “intimate,” “close,” “high-touch”… and then the lived experience is: head coach shows up once a week, everything else is delegated.
So here’s a simple structure I believe in:
- If you want me, here’s the offer. (true proximity, limited capacity)
- If you want the system, here’s the offer. (still valuable, just different)
Both are valid. Pretending they’re the same is what makes people feel gaslit.
Why I’m writing this (and where I’m going next)
And that’s why I’m writing this. These buzzwords sound great because they promise more money, and who doesn’t want more money. But most coaches aren’t marketers. Most coaches didn’t grow up in corporate environments surrounded by business language. So we adopt these terms without really knowing what they mean—even while being told we should want them.
This isn’t anti-scale. This is pro-reality. This is about getting really real about what scale means, how it often manifests in coaching businesses, and what you’re trading for it.
And if you’re like me—if you want to stay close to your clients, close to the transformation, close to the work—then the question becomes: how do you grow without abandoning the very thing that made you a coach in the first place?
That’s the part I’m still unpacking.
