Why Motivation Fails. And Meaning Doesn't

For most of my life, I believed something was fundamentally wrong with me.

I struggled to sustain effort, attention, or discipline. And not just occasionally, but consistently. No matter where I went, who I met, or what I tried, the initial excitement of something new would fade, and what remained felt heavy, empty, and unbearable.

Over time, deeper beliefs took root. That I lacked self-efficacy. That I couldn't endure discomfort. That nothing in life was truly worth sustained effort.

Combined with a family history of mental illness and recurring episodes of severe depression, life often felt like something to endure rather than inhabit. I sought relief in numbing. Anything that could soften the weight, even temporarily, I clung to desperately.

What changed wasn't motivation.

It was clarity.

Here's what I eventually learned through decades of practice: there is no single "self" in charge of our thoughts, emotions, and decisions. There are many parts (or selves) within us, each wanting something different.

One part of me wanted to smoke to ease stress. Another wanted to quit to be healthy. Neither was wrong. Both were trying to protect me.

This is where most habit change efforts fail.

We make plans. We set goals. We rely on self-control. One part declares war on another, believing dominance will lead to success. But suppression is deeply uncomfortable, and unsustainable. Eventually, the silenced parts fight back through urges, binges, avoidance, or burnout.

Self-control isn't unity. It's internal conflict.

What actually creates lasting change is understanding.

Clarity (about why a habit exists, what it protects, and what each part truly needs) leads to meaning. And meaning outlasts motivation any day, any season, any year.

Even if clarity takes years to develop (it did for me), that time is not wasted. The inner committee of selves is slowly building alignment. Trust forms. Resistance softens.

Here's what that looked like for me: When the urge to smoke arose, instead of forcing myself to resist or giving in automatically, I learned to pause. To notice the tightness in my chest. To ask which part needed soothing. Sometimes I still smoked. But increasingly, I could feel what the craving was actually about (fear, overwhelm, loneliness), and I could respond to that instead.

From a Chain of Habits perspective, the skill that makes this possible is Right Attention. The ability to notice what you're feeling, what you're believing in the moment, and gently guide yourself back to meaning rather than force.

Change doesn't require domination. It requires unity.

And unity arises naturally as a result of practicing Right Attention, a skill anyone can learn.

This kind of inner work is what I explore in my Chain of Habits workshops, where habit change is approached through understanding, not control. If you want to explore this deeper, feel free to join the waiting list here.