I invested £6,800 and a year of my life into a dream.

Not just any training. I specifically sought out coaching education run by a fellow neurodivergent professional. I wanted a space where I wouldn’t have to translate my brain for a neurotypical world. Where stimming wouldn’t be “unprofessional.” Where my ADHD need for structure and my autistic need for clarity would be understood, not accommodated as an afterthought.

I thought I was buying an ICF Accredited Level 1 or 2 pathway – the professional credential that would allow me to practise as a fully qualified coach, serve clients properly, and build the business I’d envisioned.

Instead, I found myself with CCE units – Continuing Coach Education credits that are valuable for coaches who already have their credentials, but utterly useless as a standalone qualification.

I paid for a bridge. I received planks of wood with no way to assemble them.

And when I raised this issue, the “solution” offered was fundamentally inaccessible to me.

This is my story. But more importantly, this is a warning.

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What I Thought I Was Buying vs What I Actually Received

Let me be crystal clear about the difference, because this matters:

ICF Level 1 Accreditation (ACC – Associate Certified Coach) requires:

ICF Level 2 Accreditation (PCC – Professional Certified Coach) requires:

CCE Units (Continuing Coach Education) are:

The course I enrolled in was presented as a pathway to ICF accreditation. The language used suggested this was Level 1 or 2 training. The price point (£6,800) aligned with accredited programmes.

What I received were CCE units. Useful if you’re already an ICF-certified coach maintaining your credential. Completely inadequate if you’re trying to become one.

This isn’t a small administrative mix-up. This is the difference between:

It’s like paying for a university degree and receiving audit credits instead. You attended the lectures, but you can’t graduate.

The Heartbreak of the “Inaccessible Remedy”

When the error came to light – when I realised what I’d actually paid for versus what I needed – I expected accountability. An apology. A real solution.

Instead, I was offered mentor coaching sessions to “make up the gap.”

But there was a catch: the sessions are scheduled at times that are fundamentally inaccessible to me.

For most people, this might sound like a scheduling inconvenience. For someone living with Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD) – a common feature of ADHD where perceived rejection triggers intense emotional pain – this isn’t just frustrating.

It feels like systemic rejection.

It is the crushing weight of being told, yet again, that your needs are “too much.” That you should be grateful for whatever crumbs of accommodation are offered. That the burden of making it work falls on you, not on the provider who failed to deliver what they promised.

This is what happens when accessibility is an afterthought, not a foundation.

I am left “confined to practice” – possessing the skills, the heart, the hundreds of hours of study – but barred from the professional recognition I paid for. Not because I’m unqualified. Because the system designed to qualify me was never actually accessible in the first place.

The “Neurodivergent Tax” Nobody Talks About

There’s a hidden cost to being neurodivergent in professional spaces. I call it the ND Tax.

It’s the extra time you spend:

I chose a neurodivergent-run training provider specifically to avoid this tax. I thought: surely, someone who lives this experience will build systems that work for us.

I was wrong.

And here’s what makes it worse: I can’t even be angry without it being weaponised against me. The ADHD emotional dysregulation that makes this rejection feel unbearable? That becomes evidence that I’m “difficult.” The autistic need for clear communication and follow-through? That becomes “rigid thinking.”

The very traits that made me seek out neurodivergent-specific training become the reasons my complaint is dismissed.

This is what systemic ableism looks like from the inside.

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What This Exposes About the Coaching Industry

My situation isn’t an isolated incident. It’s a symptom of a deeper problem in the coaching industry.

Lack of Regulatory Clarity

Unlike therapists, counsellors, or psychologists, coaches in the UK operate in a largely unregulated space. The ICF (International Coaching Federation) provides credentialing, but it’s voluntary. Anyone can call themselves a coach.

This creates a wild west where:

The Inclusion Theatre Problem

Being neurodivergent doesn’t automatically make someone a good provider for other neurodivergent people. Sometimes it creates a false sense of safety – “they’re one of us, so it’ll be fine” – that prevents due diligence.

Representation without accessibility is performance, not inclusion.

A provider can be autistic, ADHD, or otherwise neurodivergent and still:

The Remedy Gap

When providers fail to deliver, the “solution” offered must be as accessible as the original course. If your programme is marketed as neurodivergent-friendly, your complaints process cannot require neurotypical communication styles or scheduling availability.

If your course runs asynchronously to accommodate ADHD and autism, your mentor coaching cannot be rigidly scheduled at times that exclude people with caring responsibilities, chronic illness, or different time zones.

A remedy that’s inaccessible isn’t a remedy. It’s abandonment with paperwork.

What I’m Doing About It (And What You Can Do Too)

I’m not just venting. I’m taking action.

1. Formal ICF Ethics Complaint

I am pursuing a formal complaint with the ICF Ethics Committee. The ICF Code of Ethics requires coaches to:

If a training provider markets their course in a way that suggests ICF accreditation pathways, they must deliver that. If they fail, they must provide accessible remedies.

Understanding What the ICF Can (and Cannot) Do

It’s important to understand the ICF’s role and limitations. This clarity protects you from expecting outcomes the ICF cannot deliver.

What the ICF DOES regulate:

What the ICF DOES NOT regulate:

The ICF ensures coaches are trained properly and meet credentialing standards. However, decisions that coaches make in running their businesses – including how they schedule sessions, structure their programmes, or handle customer complaints – are not within the ICF’s remit.

This means:

Why this matters for my complaint:

My ICF Ethics Complaint focuses on:

I am NOT expecting the ICF to:

This is why I’m also pursuing Consumer Rights Act protections – those cover the business and commercial aspects the ICF does not.

Understanding this distinction helps you:

2. Consumer Rights Act Investigation

In the UK, the Consumer Rights Act 2015 protects consumers when services are not as described or not fit for purpose.

Key protections:

I am investigating my rights under this Act and considering whether this constitutes:

3. Speaking Publicly

Silence protects bad systems. I’m choosing to speak out – not to destroy a provider, but to warn others and demand industry-wide change.

If you’re considering coach training, particularly as a neurodivergent person, here’s what you need to do:

Due Diligence Checklist Before Enrolling

Before you hand over thousands of pounds and a year of your life, get these answers in writing:

1. What exactly will I receive upon completion?

2. Is this programme an ICF Accredited Coach Training Program (ACTP)?

3. What are the access requirements throughout the programme?

4. What happens if the course doesn’t deliver what’s promised?

5. Can I speak to past students?

Get all answers in writing. Verbal assurances aren’t enforceable.

Red Flags to Watch For

Trust your gut if you notice:

Vague Language About Credentials

Pressure to Enrol Quickly

Lack of Transparency About Access

Dismissing Your Questions

If a provider reacts defensively to due diligence questions, that’s your answer.

What the Coaching Industry Needs to Change

My experience exposes gaps that hurt everyone, but disproportionately harm neurodivergent coaches. We need:

1. Radical Transparency in Marketing

Providers must be explicit about:

Anything less is a breach of ICF Ethical Standards and potentially a violation of UK consumer protection law.

2. Accessibility as Foundation, Not Add-On

If you market to neurodivergent coaches:

You cannot sell inclusion and deliver exclusion.

3. Accessible and Enforceable Complaints Processes

When things go wrong:

4. Industry-Wide Accountability

The ICF has ethical standards. They need teeth.

Providers who misrepresent their offerings or fail to provide accessible remedies should face:

We need a system where student welfare matters as much as provider profit.

To My Fellow Neurodivergent Coaches

If you are currently feeling the ND Tax – the extra emotional and financial cost of navigating systems not built for us – I see you.

If you’re sitting on qualifications you can’t use because the provider failed to deliver what they promised, I see you.

If you’re exhausted from advocating for basic accessibility in spaces that market themselves as “neurodivergent-friendly,” I see you.

Your talent is not defined by a certificate that was withheld through lack of transparency.

You are not “too difficult.” You are not “too much.” You are not “not cut out for this.”

You were failed by a system that took your money, promised inclusion, and delivered inaccessible bureaucracy wrapped in diversity language.

That’s not a reflection of your worth. That’s a reflection of a broken system.

Why I’m Speaking Out

£6,800 is too high a price for a “lesson learned.”

A year of my life is too valuable to write off as “just one of those things.”

The emotional toll of RSD-fuelled rejection is too painful to endure in silence.

I’m not speaking out for revenge. I’m not naming the provider because this isn’t about one bad actor. This is about an industry-wide problem that allows this to happen.

I’m speaking out because:

We deserve an industry that practices the empathy and inclusion it preaches.

The Bottom Line

I set out to become a qualified coach. I found someone who understood neurodivergence. I paid £6,800. I studied for a year. I did everything right.

And I’m still not qualified, not because I failed, but because the system failed me.

If this can happen to me – someone who researched, asked questions, chose carefully – it can happen to anyone.

This needs to change.

To providers: Get your house in order. Clear marketing. Accessible systems. Enforceable remedies.

To the ICF: Enforce your standards. Hold providers accountable. Protect students.

To fellow neurodivergent coaches: You deserve better. Ask the hard questions. Get it in writing. Don’t settle for inclusion theatre.

And to anyone who thinks I’m being “too sensitive” or “making a big deal out of nothing”: £6,800 and a year of my life says otherwise.

I’m not giving up. I’m getting loud.

Because the next neurodivergent person with a dream deserves a door that actually opens when they knock.


Resources & Next Steps

If You’re Considering Coaching Training:

If You’ve Been Misled by a Training Provider:

UK Neurodivergent Support:

Note: This article represents my personal experience and opinion. I am pursuing formal complaints through appropriate channels and have documented all communications. I am not discouraging anyone from seeking coaching education – I’m encouraging informed decision-making and systemic accountability.


Word Count: 2,847 words
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If this article resonates with you, please share it. Not to shame anyone, but to protect the next person. We change industries by refusing to stay silent.

This blog reflects my lived experience and ongoing formal complaints. Last updated: February 2025

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