Academic, EF, or ADHD Coach: What Job Title Should I Choose?
Time to answer another fabulous question posted by a coach in the Anti-Boring Learning Lab.
What kind of coach am I: Academic? ADHD? Executive function?
Exactly the dilemma. Read on for Laura’s question:
Hello, amazing village—
I'm a newbie who is crazy in love with the Anti-Boring Lab. I run a college consulting practice based in Denver, serving families nationwide, and more than three-quarters of our students are diagnosed with ADHD.
Not surprisingly, I see a real gap in college readiness in executive functioning, which led me to recently launch an EF coaching practice. In an effort to do this well, I joined the Anti-Boring community — and it's already been a powerful experience.
The question: I am wondering if you have opinions on the difference between an EF coach and an academic coach? It feels to me they are so closely connected—but EF still feels like its "own" beast. Is there someone out there who is an EF coach and integrates these principles often? We will be working mostly with high school and college students, and I am dying to hear your input!
As responses started coming in from our inspiring and thoughtful co-LAB-orators (aka lab members), it became clear that this wasn't just a semantic question about what words to use to describe ourselves.
Instead, it opened up a deeper conversation about how we describe our work, what families expect when they hear certain titles, and how closely our naming aligns with our training, values, and day-to-day practice — especially when working with neurodiverse students and students with ADHD.
So thank you, Laura, for this fabulous question. Let's explore.
TL;DR
If you don't have time to read the whole article, here are the highlights:
The core insight: The difference between academic coaching and executive function coaching is less about what happens in sessions and more about which skills you're naming, emphasizing, and intentionally developing — and how well your title reflects your actual training and the students you want to serve.
The practical guidance: Rather than asking "Which one am I?" ask: What does this title communicate about my training, values, and the students I most want to work with right now? Choose language that filters for good-fit students, not just maximum discoverability.
What the community discovered: Many coaches are doing integrated work—blending study skills, executive function support, and ADHD-informed approaches — but the title they choose shapes who finds them and what families expect. Alignment between your title, training, and desired practice matters more than following trends.
This blog will resonate most with:
Academic coaches and/or executive function coaches working with neurodiverse or ADHD students who want language that reflects integrated work
Teachers and tutors building private practices and navigating professional naming decisions
Educational consultants and college advisors trying to describe coaching roles to families
Alrighty. Ready to see how real coaches worked through this question together—including the one decision that changed everything for a Lab member's practice? Keep reading.
A Clarification First
Before we zoom in on academic coaching versus executive function coaching, I want to pause on a point of confusion that's been coming up more often lately as I connect with school-based educators
When people hear the word coaching, they often assume we're talking about instructional coaching for teachers — supporting educators in improving their classroom practice.
That is not what we mean here in the lab when we use the phrase “coach"
Instead, we are talking about coaching students, not educators. In a way, though, student-facing coaches are instructional coaches — but our "teachers" are the students themselves.
In other words, we help students learn how to plan their work, monitor their understanding, adjust strategies when something isn't working, and make sense of how they learn best.
To say it in a different way: we're helping students become instructors to themselves, regardless of how strong, inconsistent, or constrained their actual classroom instruction might be.
That said — no, we’re not instructional coaches (though honestly, I think instructional coaches for teachers would super benefit from this training)!
The Naming Landscape for Student-Facing Coaches
Ok. So now let's dig into the student-facing coaching dilemma: what should you call yourself if you're new to this work?!
One reason Laura's question resonated so strongly is that this field doesn't come with a single, shared naming system. Depending on where you look, you'll see:
academic coaches,
executive function coaches,
ADHD coaches,
learning strategists,
study skills coaches,
educational consultants,
and more!
All of them describing overlapping, yet slightly different, work. Phew.
And what about the tutor versus coach versus mentor question?! The phrase “academic” or “executive function” describes the content of what’s being coached. But what about the relationship to the students themselves, such as:
tutors teach content,
coaches build skills and strategies,
mentors guide through relationship.
But in practice? Students and families often use these words interchangeably. One Lab member noticed that despite calling himself a "coach," his clients consistently referred to him as their "mentor" — revealing that what families call you may matter more than what's on your business card.
ADHD coaching adds yet another layer to this naming complexity. Since executive function challenges are central to ADHD, ADHD coaching and executive function coaching overlap heavily in practice. However, some practitioners specifically brand themselves as "ADHD coaches" to signal a broader understanding of the condition—not just the EF piece, but also the emotional regulation, rejection sensitivity, motivation challenges, and identity work that often comes with supporting ADHD students. For families specifically seeking someone who understands ADHD, that specificity in the title can matter.
Two practitioners can be doing remarkably similar day-to-day work while using very different titles — often shaped by their training background, the populations they serve, and the language families are most likely to recognize.
And from a family's perspective, someone calling themselves an "academic coach" versus an "executive function coach" versus a "learning strategist" may look essentially the same.
Parents are simply looking for someone who can help their neurodivergent student plan, organize, follow through, learn effectively, and feel more confident navigating school.
How I Chose “Academic Life Coach” as My Title
I didn't choose my first title — I inherited it.
When I was hired and trained at Student Organizational Services, I became an "academic coach" because that's what my mentor called the role.
When I shifted to working independently, I modified my title by adding the word "life": academic life coach.
Why? Because I noticed I was already working with students on life issues alongside academic ones, and I wanted to signal — to parents and students — that "life stuff" was part of the work, not extra.
After all, students weren't just struggling with studying or planning. Their academic challenges were tangled up with sleep, motivation, relationships, stress, identity, and confidence.
A few years later, I noticed a shift. The more I used "academic life coach," the more educators assumed I had International Coaching Federation training — and that I aligned myself with that framework. And then they'd be disappointed or thrown off when they realized I don't have ICF-approved certifications.
(Interestingly, parents never seemed to care about ICF certification. I don't think most parents know or care whether their child's coach is ICF certified, by the way, though I know some folks would disagree with me).
Over time I dropped "life" and went back to "academic coach." It was clearer. It matched my original training. And, practically speaking, it was faster to type.
I share this evolution to highlight something that shows up again and again in this field: titles carry assumptions about training, philosophy, and scope. And yet, no matter what you call yourself, people are going to hear what they want to hear anyway.
So does your title matter? Absolutely. Should you overthink it? Probably not. What matters most is choosing language with integrity — that reflects the work you actually do and the training you actually have.
How “Executive Function” Became the Phrase Families Look For
As I read through the growing thread about what to call yourself as a coach, one thing became clear: for many of us, the day-to-day work of coaching students hasn't changed — but the language that describes that work has shifted dramatically.
Back in 2010 when I first started as an "academic coach," the phrase "executive function" wasn't widespread amongst parents yet. Our team discussed EF theory in staff meetings, and it was embedded in how we helped students with planning, organizing, studying, and follow-through — but we didn't talk about it overtly with parents.
These days, "executive function coaching" has become increasingly common, and parents are actively searching for executive function coaches for their neurodivergent children. More scientific research is coming out about how executive functions impact students — and all of us — and the terminology has become too important not to use.
Ivy Sandz, a longtime Anti-Boring coach who works primarily with students seeking executive function support, described her weekly sessions this way:
"Since most of my students have ADHD, helping them with tracking assignments from their classes, planning when they will complete work, estimating time, tracking habits, understanding working memory and its limitations, managing stress and cognitive overload, learning to self-advocate, working on tools to support focus, tracking if there are missing assignments and making a doable plan — all of these elements are weekly. They are very much the frontal lobe tasks."
What's striking about Ivy's list is how familiar it sounds to people who call themselves academic coaches. These are the same pressure points that show up again and again in school-based work, especially if you’re working with neurodivergent students.
Ivy went on to name something that resonated with many of us:
"Once you are trained in ABLL (the Anti-Boring Learning Lab) and EF skills, you weave in and out of them depending on what a student is handling at that particular time."
In other words, executive function isn't a separate lane so much as a specific lens through which you see your work. And the lens you use can make a big difference on your ability to help students!
The Distinction that Actually Matters
Here's what became clear in our discussion: the difference between academic coaching and executive function coaching isn't really about what happens in sessions.
It's about two things: which skills are being named and intentionally developed, and the depth of scientific understanding behind those skills.
Academic coaching centers on the concrete demands of school: how to study, take notes, prepare for exams, manage assignments, and navigate academic systems.
Executive function coaching center on the underlying processes that make those tasks possible: planning, initiation, working memory, time awareness, regulation, and more.
In practice, these are deeply intertwined. For many students—especially neurodivergent students and students with ADHD—academic skills don't stick unless executive function is part of the conversation. And executive function work rarely feels meaningful unless it's anchored to real academic demands.
Rebecca, another Anti-Boring coach, captured this reality perfectly when describing her own practice:
“I just signed on a new client this evening who reached out to me for 'tutoring.' However, I shared with this client (and another parent of a prospective client this afternoon as well), that while I primarily view myself as an EF coach — it's not accurate to use that title alone as study strategies and all of Gretchen's ABLL framework and approach is intertwined. It genuinely seems to be a blend of the two titles/approaches."
Which means titles alone don't tell you which skills are being taught—or how deeply. As I added to the thread:
"If someone calls themselves an 'executive function coach,' you can't assume they know study skills. And if someone calls themselves an 'academic coach,' you can't assume that they understand the executive functions behind 'getting stuff done.'"
The label tells you what someone calls their work — not necessarily what they've been trained to do.
Not Everyone Using "Executive Function Coach" Has Been Trained in Executive Function Science
One reason the executive function title feels particularly charged right now is that the phrase itself sounds scientific. As a result, the title of "executive function coach" carries an implied level of specialization that isn't always representative of the training behind it.
Executive function shows up in coaching in two related but distinct ways:
as a set of practical skills (planning, organization, initiation, follow-through), and
as a body of research about how the brain manages complex cognitive processes: attention, working memory, emotional regulation, cognitive flexibility, task initiation, planning, self-monitoring, impulse control, and more.
Not every coach is trained equally in both — and that's more common than people often realize. In my own early work, I taught students how to use planners, organize assignments, and manage school portals long before I truly understood executive function in the context of the brain.
Crista Hopp, who is both a Lab member and helps coaches become “executive function strategists” through her powerful Mastering EF course, added an important layer to this conversation inside the thread in the Lab
"I do think the distinction between academic coaching and executive function coaching matters — because there are people using the title 'executive function coach' without a strong understanding of the science behind executive functions.
”From my perspective, executive function coaching involves deeper, intentional training in executive functions themselves. That includes science-based learning that goes beyond what strategies to use and focuses on when and why to use them.“Strategies matter. Systems matter. But understanding the brain is what allows us to choose and adapt those tools in ways that truly meet students where they are."
I super agree with Crista on this. Which is one reason why I’m finally taking her Mastering EF course this spring! Wanna join me?!
And here's the thing: the training gap goes both ways. I've also noticed that plenty of people calling themselves "executive function coaches" for students have never been trained in the science of learning or evidence-based study skills.
You can call yourself an "academic coach" without understanding the brain just as easily as you can call yourself an "executive function coach" without understanding how students actually learn.
But do you want to?
Not if you want to serve students well. Which brings us to what happens when you layer both forms of training together.
The Magic Combo: Study Skills and Executive Function Training
One reason I’m committed to taking Crista’s course is that I’ve seen first hand how her training has impacted the Anti-Boring Learning Lab members who take her training.
There's a real shift — a jump, in fact — in coaching skill when educators layer these forms of training together: practical study skills, executive function science, and ADHD-informed approaches.
Crista herself requires all the coaches who work at Connected Pathways Coaching to learn BOTH the Anti-Boring Toolkit AND her Mastering EF Course. Why?
The Anti-Boring Toolkit focus on the science and strategies of study skills plus an introduction to how to be an effective coach of students — how to build relationships, ask the right questions, and adapt in the moment.
Crista's Executive Function Strategist Certification provides the neuroscience and practical frameworks of executive function itself, making sure all her graduates can articulate the science behind EF strategies.
Together, they create something powerful: coaches who understand both what strategies to teach and why those strategies work at a brain level, and who can flexibly respond to whatever a student, neurotypical and neurodivergent alike, brings into the session.
So you might want to ask yourself — what kind of training do you have? Are you adept in the science behind executive function? What about the science of learning? How does this training affect the job title you choose for yourself?
When Your Job Title Attracts the Wrong Kind of Client
There’s one more issue I want to to discuss that’s worth considering when it comes to choosing your title. This one is a tension that I’ve noticed coming up in my Rock Your Biz training, in which I help coaches build financially and spiritually sustainable coaching practices.
Because of the shift in popularity of executive function, a lot of families are searching for coaches by googling the phrase "executive function coach." Which in turn makes that label super tempting, whether or not the coach has actually been trained in Executive Function strategies.
For some coaches, leaning into executive function language feels accurate and aligned with their training and interests. For others, it turns out to be a poor match—not because the work is less important, but because the title attracts a kind of coaching relationship that some student-facing coaches don't actually want to be in.
This isn't just theoretical. I've watched this exact tension reshape an actual practice.
One of our Lab members started using executive function-forward language on his website and in his marketing, alongside the study skills language that he was passionate about.
Over time, he noticed that the students and families who came to him for executive function coaching were fundamentally different than those coming for pure study skills and academic support. They had deeper, more intensive EF needs than he wanted to focus on in his practice.
Over time as he watched his enthusiasm for working with students shift, this coach realized that he simply didn’t prefer this type of EF-focused coaching. That wasn't the direction he wanted his professional growth — or his day-to-day coaching — to take.
At the time this blog is being published, this coach has told me that he’s going to shift his language on his website and take out the phrase “executive function coaching” from his language. He wants to work with older students who aren’t super EF challenged; instead, they just need to be taught some basic academic skills: studying, managing assignments, planning schoolwork, and building sustainable routines.
His decision to shift his language isn’t about status or trends. It was about alignment—between the work he enjoys and the students he most wants to serve.
This is an important reminder that naming yourself isn't just about being discoverable. It's also about being honest with yourself about the work you want to be doing week after week. Sometimes the most integrity-filled move isn't leaning into the hottest search term—it's choosing language that purposefully filters for the students who are actually a good match for you.
So… What Should You Call Yourself?
Back in the Anti-Boring Lab chat lounge, Laura circled back a day later to read everyone’s comments and reflect on what term she might use moving forward.
She wrote:
"Reading the responses solidifies that we are on the right track. We are mentors who support students in executive function, which includes how to study, how to learn, take notes, etc. Thank you all for being 'thought partners'!"
I love this summary because it doesn't force a false choice. Instead:
It names the relationship to the student: mentor.
It names the core skill set: executive function.
And by using the word “student,” it clearly includes study skills and learning strategies as part of that work.
Congrats, Laura! Thanks for generating such a rich dialogue in the Lab … and yay for getting closer to the job description for your work at your company!
And you, gentle readers — If you're a coach, educator, or learning specialist trying to decide what to call yourself — or how to name roles on a growing team — I’d like to leave you with some questions to reflect on, inspired by this discussion.
You don't need to answer all of them at once. Let them work on you over time.
What do I actually spend most of my sessions doing with students?
How well does my current title reflect my understanding of executive function as both a set of skills and a body of research?
Who am I hoping will recognize themselves in my website language?
What do students and families already call me — and what might that be telling me?
If I were hiring or training other coaches, what expectations would this title quietly set?
What would it look like to choose a "good enough for now" title, knowing it can evolve?
If you feel like reflecting on any of these questions in public, please comment below! Also, if you think I left out any considerations from this blog post, please add them with a comment below. I'd love this to grow into a thorough investigation of the coaching landscape for academic coaches, executive function coaches, and ADHD coaches alike.
But we're also "all ears" inside the Anti-Boring Learning Lab's visitor's center, if you prefer to chew on this topic with a trusted group of compassionate educators instead of the entire internet. Speaking of which:
A Closing Invitation
One of the reasons I love this community is that questions like this don't get answered in isolation. They get thought through — together.
That's why we call ourselves Co-LAB-orators. Thought partners. People who help one another notice patterns, name tensions, and land on "good enough for now" clarity.
If you're craving that kind of space, we'd love to have you join us. The best place to start is by getting on our newsletter and joining our free Visitor's Center — it's a low-pressure way to experience the Lab, ask questions like Laura's, and see how this community thinks out loud.
We also host free office hours from time to time, which you'll hear about through the newsletter.
You don't have to figure out your title alone.