My Soft Rebellion

I have a complicated relationship with discipline.

It’s not that I don’t think discipline is important — it’s just that I was disciplined very harshly growing up.

Minor mistakes ended with slaps in the face and silent treatments from my parents. Look, I don’t say this to hate on them or for pity — I talk about my past in a very matter-of-fact way.

These events shaped who I am as a person. Consistent harsh treatment from early childhood well into adulthood programs your brain in a particular way. I’ve spent my later years, since leaving that environment, reprogramming my brain in more helpful ways.

Discipline is one thing I’m still rebuilding my relationship with.

When I first moved out, I wrapped myself in softness. It’s what I needed. I call it overcorrecting after the years of severe punishment I received whenever I didn’t finish the endless to-do lists and accomplishments expected of me.

Honestly, when I lived at home, it didn’t even matter when I finally did things right — I just couldn’t do anything wrong.

Now, being on my own, I’m very gentle with myself. It’s okay if I don’t get things done. It’s okay if I spend too long watching TV. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.

This gentleness is what I deeply needed after living through my past. But now I’m getting to a point where I’m healthier — where I can hold structure in my life.

So when I was recovering and watching five-plus hours of TV because my body didn’t know what else to do — it was okay. I was in a strange phase of life where my body was still jet-lagged from the trauma.

But I’m seeing the light now — and I need to be a little more strict with myself. Yet introducing any kind of strictness into my life comes with a myriad of problems — the most common being paralysis.

I end up frozen the minute I tell myself I have to get something done. And it’s because I’m waiting for punishment on the other side if I don’t do it right.

So I stay in limbo — in my safe space, procrastinating, not doing anything, because it feels safer than trying.

Trying literally feels like a threat to my safety, even though I’m not in that place anymore — no one is punishing me.

Brooming, for example, is particularly hard for me. I can get my entire place clean, but the minute I need to broom, suddenly I’m doomscrolling again.

My mom used to watch me really closely when I broomed growing up, criticizing every single piece of dust I left behind, taking the broom from me aggressively, and showing me how to do it “properly.”

As an adult, those memories linger. I don’t feel pathetic for it — again, it’s just programming.

So how do I give myself a new program? Gentle parenting often does the trick.

Placing a hand on my heart — acknowledging the fear of imperfection, acknowledging that my body feels love will be taken away if I don’t do something perfectly — and empathizing with the part of me that doesn’t want to attempt it at all — helps.

“Hey babygirl, I know you grew up getting criticized over small mistakes. But I think you did a wonderful job brooming growing up. You were just a kid learning how to do things for the first time — no one should have been so harsh on you. Even now, you may be an adult, but you’re still an adult for the first time. No one gave you the blueprint. It’s okay to feel the way that you do. It’s okay that these memories linger. But you’re safe now, sweetie — you’re so, so safe. Even if you do a terrible job at this, nothing bad will happen. You’ll still be so, so loved and safe.”

I talk to that little girl in me who still feels scared and worried. I speak to her gently and softly and stay with her until the panic in my chest slowly eases.

I do this for every single thing that brings me panic or procrastination.

“Hey, I know you’re afraid of messing up and that everyone will hate you — but I have you. I have you. No matter what you do — I have you.”

I do this over and over and over, incessantly. The little girl in me needs this reminder sometimes almost every ten minutes in a day.

Discipline is an interesting word, used so brashly in our capitalistic world. “You just don’t have discipline — that’s why you’re not getting where you need to go.”

I would argue that you don’t have self-compassion — and that’s why you’re not getting where you need to go.

I would also argue that no one needs to go anywhere but exactly where they are right now.

Meeting yourself where your two feet are planted on the ground is a gift discipline cannot give you. Discipline is very future-focused — and I do adore that, the desire to build a beautiful life for yourself.

But life is also right now — in the moments you speak to yourself quietly, in solitude, as you build your dreams. Life is the sweet nothings whispered.

I know structure, routine, and consistency are integral to any life goal. But when your life has been filled with so much shame for missing those parameters, it’s hard to get back on track without freezing in place.

That’s why I don’t say to myself, in a scrutinizing way, “I need to be disciplined.” I simply say, “I need to take responsibility.”

I look at my messy kitchen, my website that needs finishing, the groceries I need to get, and I say lovingly — very empowering — that I am responsible.

But it’s not said with shame. It’s not said with fear or panic. It’s said with confidence — a quiet knowing of, “I can do this. I can do this. It may not be perfect. But I can do this.”

Discipline, lmao — funny word. I’m just a responsible student of life trying her best. However that looks, it looks. shrugs