#4 Why I Don’t Always Trust Myself to Stick With Things
(And What I’m Learning About That)
Something I’ve been sitting with lately is this feeling of distrust toward myself.
Like… can I really follow through? Can I actually commit to something and stay with it long enough to see it grow?
It’s a pattern I’ve noticed for years.
I get this huge surge of motivation—whether it’s starting a new project, going to the gym, launching an idea, or completely reshaping my life. It hits me like a wave of energy. A fresh start. A new chapter. I feel so ready, so excited, like this time is going to be different.
But after that rush… comes the crash.
Not always right away, but it happens. And when it does, I feel this quiet disappointment. Like I tricked myself into believing that change would feel like a movie montage—quick, beautiful, and clear.
The reality, of course, is more layered.
The Crash After the Dream
I think what’s been hardest to admit is that the crash doesn’t mean I don’t care.
It means I start to see the gap between the romantic version of the goal and the actual work it takes to get there. And that gap feels overwhelming.
Sometimes I even convince myself I must not have wanted it that badly if I didn’t stick with it.
Or I feel embarrassed for believing in something so deeply, only to burn out before I made it real.
What I’m starting to realize is…
Maybe I don’t struggle with commitment because I’m lazy or undisciplined.
Maybe I struggle with commitment because I’ve tied it so tightly to perfection.
The Fear of Not Reaching the Dream
There’s something terrifying about really going for something—because what if I give it everything I have, and it still doesn’t work out?
So instead, I pace around it. I flirt with it. I get close enough to feel the energy, but not so close that it can disappoint me.
And yet… I still look back and think,
“If I had stuck with that, just imagine where I’d be now.”
That thought hurts. It reinforces the idea that I’m someone who doesn’t follow through. Someone who always starts and never finishes. But I don’t want to carry that identity anymore.
Because I don’t think it’s entirely true.
Maybe It’s Not That I Can’t Commit—Maybe I Just Needed More Time
Something I’ve been experimenting with lately is giving myself massive amounts of time to do things.
Like, years.
Permission to go slow. To circle back. To change my mind. To try again later. To not live in a highlight reel.
I’ve found that I actually do much better when I remove the timeline altogether.
When I stop trying to match the pace of “success stories” and let my life unfold at my own rhythm.
It’s not that I don’t want things deeply.
It’s that I’m learning how to want them without pressure.
That means sometimes I have to ride the wave of excitement knowing it might fade.
And when it does, it doesn’t mean the dream is over.
It just means I’m in the messy middle. The part we don’t post about. The part where we rest, reassess, and maybe return later—wiser and softer.
What I’m Reminding Myself Right Now
I’m not behind just because I’m not consistent all the time.
I’m not a failure just because I pause.
I’m not lost just because I need to take the long way there.
Maybe the real commitment isn’t to finishing things fast.
Maybe it’s to keep showing up with honesty—even when the excitement fades.
Maybe it’s trusting that healing, creating, and becoming don’t have to be linear to be real.
I’m still learning what it means to stay with something when it stops being shiny.
But maybe I don’t have to sprint.
Maybe I’m allowed to swim upstream for a while… just to catch the current when I’m ready.
And maybe that’s enough.