If I had to offer an answer, my first guess would be that we as human beings tend to have a difficult time with change, just because it’s difficult. And why would a difficult thing feel easy? 

I recently came to this conclusion for the millionth time during the first few miles of a run for a half marathon training program. I distinctly remember the internal thought exchange initiated by me thinking “why does this feel so hard?”. Luckily, before I could spiral down the rabbit hole of reasons to aboutface and go home (including the windchill and my headphones dying at 0.5 of 4.5 miles), my conscience replied plainly “...because it is hard”. A fact I’d known and continue to be reminded of with each new race that I sign up for. They’re called challenges because they’re meant to challenge us to grow. 

Humans are creatures of comfort and habit. Our neurobiology wiring urges us seek out what feels pleasurable, and avoid what doesn’t. And because change often carries a certain level of unknownness or ambiguity, it’s not unusual for the experience to lean more towards an avoidance-worthy discomfort, versus a welcomed venture.

But alas, change is inevitable. And I’ve come to understand that it’s when we push against reality that we tend to suffer the most.

A second, slightly less anecdotal guess, would be that when we set out to change things, particularly behaviors or lifestyle factors, it starts with the pressure, and sometimes guilt of a “should”, without much backing to maintain the momentum once guilt and shame dissipate. Take for instance, New Year's Resolutions and the societal push to start a new year with a new you, and leave the habits of less effective versions of ourselves sealed away with the December 31st of each passing year. If it were only that simple, we’d live in a much more adjusted and emotionally-regulated society, and I would be happily out of a job as a therapist.

But, here we are. Coming back to the idea of guilt leaving us adrift when it comes to changing. External motivators can be good for getting us started. So, things like the opinions and expectations of others, social [media] pressure, doctors orders, court requirements, arbitrary deadlines (i.e. loading a “summer body”), etc., can act as helpful motivators for as long as the pressure can be applied. 

What they don’t do well is sustain it. And thanks to social media oversimplifications, it’s often misattributed to a “lack of discipline.”

At its core, discipline is consistent follow-through over time, guided more by intention than by mood. As a noun, it’s often defined as control, order, or self-restraint. And while those definitions aren’t wrong, they’re incomplete. In practice, discipline isn’t about being strict, rigid, or constantly “on.” It’s about how you relate to what you said you would do—especially when it’s inconvenient, uncomfortable, or not immediately rewarding.

It’s not perfection. It doesn’t mean you always do the thing. It means you return to the thing. Missing a day, getting off track, or doing it imperfectly isn’t a failure of discipline—it’s part of how it’s built. t’s also not a personality trait. People aren’t inherently “disciplined” or “undisciplined.” Discipline shows up in specific behaviors, repeated. And it relies far more on structure than willpower. Routines, environments, and systems tend to carry more weight than motivation ever will.

Becoming disciplined isn’t about flipping a switch. It’s about building a pattern you can actually sustain. Most people struggle because they try to rely on motivation or force, when discipline tends to grow from design and repetition instead. Which is also why, when nothing has been built to support the change, we tend to return to the status quo. Not because we’re lazy, weak, a failure, undisciplined, or whatever other self-deprecating terms we’ve been conditioned to apply to very human behavior—but because nothing was in place to hold us when motivation faded.

Sometimes, we don’t stick with change because we don’t see the full-on benefit yet. The cost—often time, energy, money, comfort, sometimes relationships and stability—may feel, too, hefty to pay. At times, though, I think we can underestimate the challenge of a task, and concurrently underestimate our capabilities when it comes to doing hard things. We may have determined that our current resources cannot meet the current demands of change. The term self-efficacy refers to our belief in our ability to be successful in performing a task or accomplishing a goal. Low self-efficacy can be a significant contributor to what makes it difficult to stick with change.

Another thing that makes it hard to stick with the program, is not having an actual program to follow. Because changing often requires us to simultaneously unlearn well established patterns of behavior and replace it with something new, it helps when we have a plan for how we’ll meet the need that the old habit previously satisfied. Nature hates a void, meaning that, when we remove something from a space, nature will find a way to fill the gap. And if we haven’t intentionally planned how to fill the space created by our efforts to change, we run the risk of the gap being filled by the very thing we removed.

Actionable items that can be helpful to take away from this: first and foremost, give yourself some grace. The science of being human is an interesting one. Yes, we’re fortunate to have freewill, but that doesn’t exempt us from falling into habitual patterns that can be challenging to disrupt. Free will, when used intentionally, can be the thing that helps us pivot. However, for the majority of us, willpower alone often isn't enough to create lasting change. 

As such, the second actionable item is to make a plan, and revisit and revise that plan often. Your needs at day 90 of working toward change will (ideally) look different than day 1, because days 2 though 90 have done the work of helping you develop and refine the behavior(s) to become more second-nature. Planning also allows you to anticipate potential stumbling blocks, walls, or barriers, and map how you’ll get around them. Remember, proper preparation prevents poor performance.

A final thing to note: comparison is almost always the thief of joy. Comparing your progress and gains to others is a great way to start losing momentum. Think of it like this, if you were running a race, you wouldn’t get very far looking at the lane to the right or left of you. Such a strategy would only leave you watching those in the other lanes pass you by, because you’ve stalled your progress by focusing on theirs and losing sight of your own. This ties back to the initial question of what makes it hard to do what we know is best - sometimes we lose sight of what that actually means because our voice and vision gets drowned out by the noise around us. 

If you’re reading this and it feels familiar, consider this an open invitation to return to what feels best to you, starting simply with giving yourself permission.

With Love,

Dr. Love Jordan