This post is part three of a series.

In my last post, I talked about a prevalent problem when I was growing up in sports (in the ’80s and ’90s) of parents and coaches misconstruing the maltreatment of athletes as just “tough coaching,” and not only tolerating it but also celebrating it as a best practice. Even now, in my role as a philosophical counselor who helps recovering athletes, I regularly encounter widespread confusion about what distinguishes tough, but healthy coaching from toxic or abusive coaching. Having lived through both in my club and NCAA gymnastics career, I want to take some time to sketch this difference from the inside.

Here are five key things that tough, but healthy coaches emphasized in comparison to toxic coaches.

1. Support, safety, and trust vs. threats, force, and fear

When tough, but healthy coaches challenged us to try new things in gymnastics—in particular, dangerous skills that lent themselves to feelings of fear and potential injury—they did so in a way that was safe and supported: with spots and soft mats as needed, with endless drills that broke down the skills into manageable parts, and with a calm temperament that built trust (e.g., with statements like “I’ve got you,” “We’ll do it in slow motion,” “Do you feel ready for the next step?”). We had a say in what we were doing with our own bodies, and coaches were there for us through the ups and downs of the learning process.

Toxic coaches, on the other hand, expected us to “throw” skills without appropriate instruction or safety precautions. They wanted to get us to the spectacle of the big tricks fast, which were worth greater points. The method? Threats. (If you don’t throw it, you have to do 300 pushups… or you won’t get to compete… or you’re off the team.) This approach exacerbated fears and anxiety in many of us (and often led to increased injuries, on which we were expected to keep training). Practice often came to a dysfunctional standstill of yelling coaches and athletes in paralyzed “freeze” mode. It was an environment of intimidation, force, and fear. It became difficult to trust anyone in a position of authority after this experience.

2. Learning, work, and preparation over perfection and winning

Tough, but healthy coaches prioritized hard work over perfection and treated mistakes as an opportunity for learning and a normal part of growth. Similarly, these coaches emphasized preparation for competitions (what we could control) over the results of competition (which we couldn’t control). Because of this, we were able to manage setbacks without feeling like they were the end of the world, and we could feel a sense of success when we’d done everything we could to prepare and respond in the heat of the moment, regardless of what the final score was.

Toxic coaches, on the other hand, were obsessed with perfection and winning. They were ready to sacrifice everything for it (including the athletes’ physical and mental health) and utilized an array of negative reinforcement tactics if it did not happen. Toxic coaches would respond to mistakes or falls (and even injuries) at competitions with anger, doling out personal insults (you’re lazy, fat, unfocused, and an embarrassment) and punishments for the team—often in the form of a publicly humiliating “chewing out” session followed by excessive numbers of pushups or laps. The result tended to be demoralized athletes who felt they were “never good enough.”

3. Collaboration, not commands

The most effective coaches were collaborative and worked with athletes to solve problems. We spent plenty of time in deliberative conversations. Such coaches tried to find out what worked best for each particular athlete, making room for their input about drills and mindsets. They were curious about our goals, motivations, and concerns, and we knew we could share our thoughts, struggles, and vulnerabilities. This not only built trust; it was empowering for athletes, helping us feel our own role in everyday decisions. The training relationship was a partnership.

Toxic coaches were rigid, antagonistic, controlling, and had a “my way or the highway” attitude that disregarded athlete input or consent. Such coaches acted as if they were always right and expected compliance without feedback. They lectured, rather than discussed. Any attempt to have a conversation with a coach like this to voice concerns, solve problems, or even to try to gain clarity was interpreted as “stalling,” “making excuses,” or “insubordination,” and met with anger or retaliation. The power dynamic was a strict hierarchy of a superior “know-it-all” and inferior subordinates who were to take orders in silence.

4. Positivity over negativity

Good coaches were enthusiastic not just about their sport but also about working with young athletes, finding us to be interesting, funny, and fun. They balanced criticism and corrections with praise, and made sure that their criticisms were constructive rather than personal—i.e., they recommended practical changes that we could make, rather than dishing out personal insults (like you’re stupid, too big, too tall, a big baby, etc.). They encouraged us, rather than insulted, threatened, or punished us. Their goal was to lift athletes up, not break them down.

Toxic coaches rarely uttered a positive word. Such coaches were perpetually angry, hostile, and degrading, causing athletes to feel afraid, worthless, and worn down. If you couldn’t love the sport under these conditions, you were treated as “not committed enough.” Such coaches seemed to be miserable working with anything less than ready-made champions, and made everybody else miserable because of it.

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5. Relationships of respect and empowerment, not utility and domination

Tough, but healthy coaches saw athletes as whole people, not just performers. They respected us, recognizing and valuing our voices and our ability to make our own choices. They knew there were other important aspects of our lives that needed attention (education, family, a future career, mental and physical health, etc.), and they showed us that they cared for our overall best interest, not just our “usefulness” for a score or ranking. They acknowledged that we were free beings, with our own agency, and worked to empower us (rather than consolidate all power in themselves).

A toxic coach rarely showed care, respect, or even positive regard for their athletes. They interpreted such things as “coddling.” They acted as if they believed their strength as a leader was in their ability to dominate athletes—to command, intimidate, accuse, blame, micromanage, and use us for their own goals. They tended to scapegoat and blame their problems on others. They talked a lot about other people’s “accountability” without holding themselves accountable for their own behavior. They neither showed respect nor earned it in return. Morale on the team plummeted, talented athletes left, and others felt stuck, but unable to find a way out.

Concluding thoughts

What I want coaches—as well as athletes and parents—to know is this: There’s nothing about being a “tough” or effective coach that necessitates being degrading, demeaning, or dehumanizing to others. You can have high expectations for hard work and engagement while being positive, encouraging, respectful, and even (gasp) kind. That’s not coddling. It’s treating your athletes like human beings. Making athletes feel unsafe and worthless is not proof of a coach’s strength. It’s a failure of leadership and of ethics. It leads to broken bodies and minds. And it means that the coach is in need of counseling, education, and mentorship.