Fastest Swimmer in the Slow Lane

Why I stopped reading about facilitation and learned to do it—alongside people better than me

I work in healthcare, and for most of my career, facilitation was something I admired from a respectful distance. In our organization, when there were high-stakes meetings, complex conversations, or simply too many voices in the room, we’d bring in a facilitator. I always noticed how they could keep a group moving, how they seemed calm when tension rose, how they made space for the quietest person without shutting down the loudest. I valued the skill. I just didn’t see myself doing it.

As I moved into more senior roles, that distance got smaller. My meetings had more leaders in them, and the topics were messier—strategy, prioritization, culture. We didn’t always have the luxury of booking an external facilitator. Internally, we recognized the gap and even created a facilitation toolkit—guides, worksheets, tips. It helped a little, but it felt like trying to learn to swim by watching a YouTube video. You can memorize the strokes, but the first time your face hits the water, you realize how much you don’t know about breathing.

I first joined my current organization in 2008 and stepped into strategic planning around 2011. That work is fundamentally facilitative, whether you call it that or not. I had a very supportive boss who gave me room to practice, and I learned by assisting and observing external facilitators during our executive sessions. Those were some of my earliest lessons—how neutrality looks in practice, what it means to truly listen to the room, and how a single well-timed question can reshape the conversation. Even so, I didn’t feel confident doing it on my own. For the high-stakes moments, we hired help. For smaller things, I volunteered where it felt low-risk. Looking back, I can see I was circling the edge of facilitation—curious, cautious, and not quite ready to jump in.

Around the same time, I doubled down on leadership development. A lot of that was self-awareness work—understanding my defaults, my triggers, my strengths. Coaching emerged as a path that fit how I like to work. I earned my ACC through ICF and later started my PCC track. Coaching sharpened my presence. It taught me how to really listen and trust the client’s wisdom. Those skills translate beautifully into facilitation. But they aren’t the whole thing. Coaching is often one-on-one. Facilitation is about making a space where a group can think, decide, and move—together. There’s group dynamics, power dynamics, conflict, and a lot more heat.

By the time I was facilitating more meetings myself, I had a clear picture of the gap: I knew theory, I could plan an agenda, and I could hold a supportive tone. But my anxiety was about reacting in the moment. What if this happens? What if someone dominates? What if conflict erupts? What if we go in circles? I was preparing by trying to predict every possible thing that could go wrong. It wasn’t sustainable, and it wasn’t making me braver. I needed to learn to swim—for real.

Learning to Swim, Not Just Read the Manual

When I finally decided to seek deeper facilitation training, I did what everyone does: I looked locally first. I reviewed every program I could find and compared curricula. Honestly, most of it read like a table of contents from books I already owned. I could study Liberating Structures on my own. What I couldn’t get from a book was real-time practice and the chance to watch master facilitators do the work as they taught. That’s what I was hunting for.

What stood out about Voltage Control was their emphasis on application and their belief that facilitation is about foundations more than toolkits. Tools come and go. The ability to design purposeful gatherings, build psychological safety, intervene with care, and guide a group through complexity—that’s what I wanted to strengthen. Also, what I couldn’t fully appreciate at first—but now believe is the biggest value—was the community. Like coaching, facilitation is a craft that grows through practice, reflection, and being around people better than you. After the program, you’re not left on your own. There are office hours, alumni salons, and a network that keeps you in the water.

I’m a swimmer, and the metaphor kept showing up for me. If you’re always the fastest swimmer in the slow lane, you feel confident, sure—but you’re not getting better. You need to swim with people who push you. With Voltage Control, I saw a lane that felt faster than where I was and folks who would hold me to a higher standard.

I also noticed I was already collecting different threads—leadership development, coaching, strategic planning, and some exposure to design thinking through events like the Skunk Works sessions I helped organize. Watching expert design thinking facilitators reinforced how integrated these skills are. Facilitation isn’t an island. It’s part of how we lead, change, and collaborate. I was ready to integrate, not just add another toolkit to my shelf.

Taking the Leap—and Finding My Lane

No one I knew had taken the Facilitation Certification. That made it feel like a leap. I had questions. Would this be too theoretical? Too basic? Could it work virtually? Would it meet my learning goals? A conversation with Eric helped. He walked me through what to expect—projects, coaching, real-time guidance, and space to practice. That calmed my nerves.

There was a practical hurdle, too: cost. I work in the nonprofit world, and budgets are tight. Luckily, I secured a grant to cover tuition. That was a pivotal moment because once the financial barrier lifted, my only job was to commit. I told myself, if I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it fully—bring real work, ask for feedback, and stop hovering at the edges.

And yes—the virtual format worked. More than I expected. Watching a skilled facilitator teach while facilitating is an education all by itself. The structure, the pacing, the way a question is framed, the gentle but firm redirect—those things land differently when you’re in the experience. It’s not just what they say; it’s how they hold the room. That’s what I wanted to learn.

Practice, Projects, and Watching Masters at Work

One thing I loved about the program was how quickly we moved from learning into doing. I brought in live projects from my organization and used them as a learning lab. One was a prioritization session with a research group—translating their strategic plan into a clear, focused year of work. I designed the session with tools we explored in the cohort and adapted elements of Liberating Structures to fit the group’s culture. We made choices, assigned owners, and—importantly—people left feeling the meeting mattered.

Another project tackled a trickier topic: our team’s discomfort with AI. That conversation had tension baked in—values, ethics, job security, curiosity vs. caution. It was a perfect test of the very thing I’d been anxious about: how to intervene with care when conflict surfaces. I prepped well, named the purpose and boundaries up front, and built in structures that let people speak honestly without derailing the whole session. We didn’t come to a neat consensus, but the group moved. That’s facilitation.

The cohort itself was a mix—different industries, a few international folks, and not many from healthcare. I liked that. Diversity of context made me stretch, and it also reinforced how foundational the work is. A good question is good anywhere. A respectful interruption travels. “The Art of Gathering” became a touchstone—center purpose, make intentional choices, and design for meaning, not just efficiency. That book keeps coming up in so many spaces. I wouldn’t have found it without the program nudging me.

And then there were the office hours. I didn’t realize how critical they’d be until after the program. It’s one thing to graduate; it’s another to have a safe place to bring a thorny agenda or a “this went weird, help me unpack it” story. The alumni community makes it easier to keep learning. That’s where you keep swimming with faster people.

Handling Heat, Holding Focus

Here’s the biggest shift I felt: I’m less rattled by conflict. Before, I tried to prevent anything from going wrong by over-preparing every possible scenario. That approach is exhausting. Now, I still prepare, but I trust myself in the moment. I have language for gentle interruption. I have structures to contain a conversation without strangling it. I know how to name what’s happening in the room without making someone wrong. That confidence doesn’t come from reading—it comes from doing.

I started to hear it reflected back to me in feedback. Colleagues would say, “You kept us focused,” or “You were respectful, even when you had to cut in,” or “That was productive.” A half-day leadership workshop I facilitated stands out. It was internal, so the stakes felt personal. If it went poorly, I wasn’t sure anyone would tell me, which somehow made it feel riskier than an external gig. I leaned hard on my preparation, clarity of outcomes, and a design that moved people from reflection to decision. We left with alignment and next steps. The relief I felt—followed by pride—was real. The work landed.

Another moment taught me a lot about power dynamics. I was facilitating team-building with a group known to have a micromanaging leader. At the last minute, that leader couldn’t attend the first session. The difference in the room was palpable. People opened up. Ideas flowed. The feedback afterward was, frankly, that it went better without him. He attended the second session, and the energy shifted again. We still made progress, but it reminded me how much the presence—or absence—of a single person can shape the container. That awareness now informs how I design. Sometimes the leader needs to step back so the team can step forward.

I’m an introvert. I still don’t “love” facilitation the way I love coaching. But I’ve stopped using that as a reason to avoid it. In today’s workplace, facilitation is a critical skill. If I decide to shift more into consulting down the road, it becomes even more essential. So I’m leaning in. The more I do it, the more my coaching and facilitation inform each other. Coaching keeps me present. Facilitation gives me ways to work the group’s edges without losing the whole.

Scaling Change, One Conversation at a Time

We have a strategic planning update coming up, and I’ve already put my hand up to design and facilitate parts of it. A few years ago, I would have dodged that. Now, I’m thinking about how to structure the leadership sessions, how to make purpose explicit, and where to bake in moments for disagreement that don’t derail the overall arc. I’ll probably bring those drafts to office hours and ask for critique. That ritual—design, test, reflect—is part of how I’ll keep my confidence growing.

Beyond the near-term, our organization is heading into big change. We’re moving into a new physical building in 2029. A move like that is not just real estate—it’s identity, rituals, technology, workflows, culture. To navigate it well, we’ll need facilitation, coaching, and change management working together. I think of this as integration. You can’t treat each skill as a silo and expect meaningful change. You need to understand power dynamics, your own vulnerabilities, and the human side of logistics. Facilitation becomes the practice of making all those threads visible and actionable—one conversation at a time.

Part of my future focus is also about scaling the skill inside the organization. We don’t need everyone to be master facilitators. But if more people were comfortable with the 101—framing purpose, asking better questions, using simple structures to focus a conversation—our meetings would change. Decisions would come faster, and more people would feel heard. I’m thinking about how to mentor colleagues, how to coach them through their first facilitation, and how to create spaces where it’s safe to practice. That’s the only way this sustains. You learn it, and then you use it. If you don’t, it slips away.

And as AI continues to reshape how we work, the differentiator is going to be people skills. Machines can summarize, schedule, even draft a plan. But they can’t sit in a charged room and help humans meet each other with courage. They can’t notice a moment of tension and choose the respectful interruption that unlocks the conversation. They can’t read the energy of a group, or design an experience that makes people feel seen. Facilitation—done with care—is how we hold onto what makes us human at work.

The biggest lesson I carry forward from Voltage Control is that learning doesn’t stop when the course ends. In some ways, that’s when it starts to matter. Having a community to return to, a place to bring messy drafts and honest debriefs, is what keeps me improving. It’s the difference between skimming a manual and getting in the pool. I used to be the fastest swimmer in the slow lane. Now, I’m choosing lanes that challenge me—and I’m getting better because of who’s swimming beside me.

I didn’t fall in love with facilitation overnight. I still get nervous. I still over-prepare sometimes. But now, when something unexpected happens—and it always does—I don’t freeze. I breathe. I name what I see. I adjust. And more often than not, the group moves forward. That’s progress I can feel.

If you’re reading this because you’re facilitation-curious, my honest encouragement is to invest in learning it in real time. Books are great. Toolkits are helpful. But the growth comes from doing—designing for a purpose, holding a room, and reflecting with people who’ll tell you the truth. That’s what I found at Voltage Control, both in the certification and in the community that continues afterward. If you’re ready to stop reading about swimming and actually get in the water, it’s a good place to start.

And if you’re like me—an introvert who doesn’t naturally crave the spotlight—there’s room for you in facilitation. Your presence, your listening, your care for the edges of a conversation are strengths. The skills are learnable. The courage builds with practice. And the work matters. We need more people who can help groups think together, especially now. So, take the leap. Swim with people a little faster than you. You might surprise yourself with how far you go.