top of page
13 Μαΐ 2025, 04_48_02 μ.μ..png

Hello

My name is Stavros Roumeliotis.
And at 51, I can finally say: I no longer need to collapse in order to change.
I don’t need to prove anything. I don’t need to fit anywhere.
I live with freedom, presence, and responsibility… with awareness.
And I work with people who want to do the same.

But I wasn’t always like this.

For years, I lived by “shoulds.”
I should be the good son.
The successful man.
The steady father.
The hero. The strong one. The leader. The “rock.”

I made it. But I wasn’t me.

I was an international athlete. An entrepreneur. A father of two.
An immigrant in Switzerland who did whatever it took to support his family — and his choice.
A man who gave everything to hold up others — but had nowhere to lean himself.

And then the stripping began.

I realized that what I’d been doing all my life —
holding space, seeing clearly, speaking truth, helping, leading —
is coaching.
Back then, it had no name. No method. No strategy.

Today, what I once did instinctively,
I now offer with awareness, professionalism, and commitment.

I don’t operate to please — I operate to serve.
Not with ease. With truth.

I help people who have reached high,
make room for themselves —
and go where image alone can’t take them: to inner freedom.

Everything I once hid, everything the system labeled a “flaw” —
is now my superpower.

I no longer carry it as shame.
I carry it as a call for real change.

My Story

My name is Stavros Roumeliotis, and at 51, I can say something rare:
I’ve been many people — but today, I am truly myself.

I started out as an international handball athlete.
Then I became an entrepreneur in Athens, running my own retail business for 17 years.
In 2013, my family and I moved to Lucerne, Switzerland, where I took on all kinds of manual jobs — whatever it took to support my family and my choice.

Through it all, I was always seen as “the strong one.”
The rock. The leader.
The person others leaned on when things got tough.
But the truth? I had no one to lean on. Not even myself.

What we now call Coaching, we used to call Leadership.
And I’ve been doing it instinctively since I was a kid —
without realizing it, without tools, without awareness, without recognition.

I was a Coach before the word existed:

• As the only son among three sisters.
• As a captain on the handball court.
• As a business owner with people relying on me.
• As a father, a friend, a steady presence for everyone else.

I held space. I brought perspective. I encouraged change.
But it was unconscious. Pure instinct.

At 45, life asked me a question I could no longer ignore:
“Is this really your life?”

That question didn’t come from a seminar.
It came from stillness. From within. From truth.

That’s when the unraveling began —
of roles, expectations, and all the “shoulds” that were never mine.

I’d spent years trapped in them:

• Be the good son.
• The successful man.
• The steady father.
• The hero of the family.

It all looked right — but it wasn’t my life.
It was the life others expected of me.

My want had no voice.
When it finally spoke, Coaching became the way I listened.
That was my turning point.

I still catch myself trying to fit into a box (like this one).
But maybe that’s okay —
because the richness and complexity of who I am can’t be squeezed into one label or story.

My life has been a journey through hardship and clarity.
And from that place, my work is born.

I’m deeply curious about human behavior, transformation, and the mystery of being alive.
And while I’ve learned from great teachers,
life itself has been my greatest teacher.

Today, I don’t play roles.
I don’t live for expectations.
I live in my want — and that’s what defines me.

That’s also what I bring into my work:

Not life hacks.
Not image-driven goals.
Not shortcuts.

But truth.
A safe space.
A place to drop the “shoulds,” reconnect with who you are,
and build a life that feels like yours.

I don’t offer anything I haven’t lived.
And if there’s one thing I know, it’s this:
👉 No change is real unless you’ve truly lived it.

bottom of page