David is a Senior Vice President of Marketing at a global company. He is creative, dynamic, and exceptional at his job. A perfectionist by nature, everything he does is carefully thought out. In his sleep and fully prepared, he could sell ice to an Eskimo.
His English is strong. His grammar, vocabulary and sentence structure are excellent. He can express himself well — in writing, in casual conversation, in one-on-ones with colleagues he trusts.
So what's the catch?
Like so many of the professionals I work with, David lives in fear of being asked an unexpected question. Not because he doesn't know the answer. But because in that moment — when the room goes quiet and all eyes turn to him — something his preparation didn't account for kicks in.
It's not his English that fails him. It's his access to it.
The words are there. They've always been there. But under pressure, in a second language, the brain does something interesting: it prioritises safety over fluency. The amygdala — the part of the brain that scans for threat — registers the social stakes of the moment and pulls resources away from the language centres. The result isn't ignorance. It's a kind of temporary lock.
When David first came to me, he said something I've heard dozens of times: "I just need to practise more. More vocabulary. More grammar. More exposure."
He was wrong — but it's an understandable conclusion to reach. If something isn't working, do more of it. But more of the same approach that hasn't fixed the problem won't fix it.
What David needed wasn't more English. He needed to understand what was happening in his brain under pressure — and to build the specific kind of confidence that functions even when the stakes are high.
That's a different kind of work entirely. It doesn't happen in a classroom. It doesn't happen through grammar drills or vocabulary lists. It happens through coaching that treats language, mindset and the nervous system as one interconnected system.
David and I worked together for four months. We didn't start with grammar. We started with the moment — the specific situation where things broke down, what was happening in his body before it happened, what story he was telling himself about what it meant if he stumbled.
We rebuilt from there. Slowly, specifically, in the context of his real professional world.
He still prepares for important meetings. But now, when an unexpected question comes, he has something more reliable than preparation. He has access to himself.
Most people don't lack English. They lack confidence in using the English they already have.
If any part of David's story sounds familiar — if you recognise the gap between who you are in Hebrew and who you become in English under pressure — I'd love to have a conversation.