Recently, while giving a lesson to a member who is a pretty darn good player—low single-digit handicap—he confided in me that although he felt great about his game, he was developing a troubling issue on the course. With driver in hand, he was struggling to simply pull the clubhead back and start his swing.
After some conversation, it became clear that the root cause wasn’t mechanical at all. Standing over the ball, he felt an increasing need to control the outcome of the shot and a growing fear that his recent good results might disappear. That desire to hold on had created tension so strong that it was physically preventing him from moving the club. In my experience, dealing with success can be just as challenging—if not more so—than dealing with failure. Bad golf, for many players, comes with less anxiety. There’s nothing particularly nervy about slamming the trunk and heading to the bar after a missed cut; anger is simple and familiar. New levels of success, however, can feel like being dropped into deep water without a life jacket. Players often carry thoughts like, “Please don’t take this away from me.”
I know this feeling firsthand. In the spring of 2012, my junior year of college, right as I was beginning to play some of the best golf of my life, I found myself unable to pull the club back. That semester I recorded my first top-10 finish, my first under-par tournaments, and led the team in scoring average. As my results improved, though, the way I felt on the course steadily worsened. Much like Kevin Na during that same period, or Brian Harman at the 2023 Open Championship, I fell into a cycle of waggles—never feeling ready, or even able, to begin my backswing. I became painfully self-conscious and embarrassed by how much time I was taking, even while still playing good golf. In one round, I made seven birdies and was deeply uncomfortable from the first tee to the last green.
With the help of our coach, Christopher Hall, we worked through the issue in the weeks between our conference championship and NCAA Regionals. On the first tee at Jimmy Austin Golf Club in Norman, Oklahoma, I trusted the rhythm we had built. I pulled the club back freely, shot 71, and played the day right behind Jordan Spieth. While I was proud of the golf I played that spring, I was far prouder of having worked through that mental struggle and emerging a more confident, secure player.
Perhaps the most important step—both for me and for the member I was recently coaching—was simply opening up to someone about what was going on. That experience reinforced a belief I hold strongly today: vulnerability is a critically important skill in golf.
By acknowledging what is happening, you actually give yourself the power to improve. Those who deny a problem or wake up believing they already have all the answers rob themselves of the opportunity for growth. Ego can be our greatest enemy and a major source of anxiety. Placing pressure on yourself to be the best player you know—or the smartest golfer on the course—is an incredibly heavy burden to carry.
The greatest competitors we admire, from Tiger Woods to Tom Brady, were relentlessly honest about their games. They were obsessed with improvement and willing to examine weaknesses openly to give themselves the best chance to perform at their peak.
If you’re looking to improve any part of your golf game in 2026—whether physical or mental—my humble suggestion is this: be humble. Embrace vulnerability. It may be the most underrated skill you can develop, both on the course and beyond it.
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