I’ve been at war with life for some time.
The morning routine (the one I’ve been perfecting for 6 days straight) gets its first outing and disaster strikes: I sleep in. I’m mortified. The feeling bleeds into the day.
Another example of me failing at this life thing. First, it was the running habit that lasted 4 days, then it was the morning routine that never took off, and then it was the business that never worked.
All signs were leading to one obvious fact: I was a failure.
Fighting life
For most of my life, I’ve been at war with life.
When things don’t work out, I throw my hands up, my cortisol levels go through the roof, and I’m kicking and screaming like a toddler.
I’d feel low, get the flu, feel exhausted and it was a cocktail for self-deprecation.
What is wrong with me?
Why does this happen to me?
How come I can’t be the person I want to be?
Those were the conversations I had in my head for the longest time. Over and over. Of course, I’d never reach an answer. In many ways, they weren’t questions, they were statements.
The statements of my life.
Discipline, perfectionism and a dose of reality
I’ve probably told you this but I tried to wake up at 5 am for a while.
It was in aspirations to be the best version of me, write 16 times more than I was at the time and become a New York Times Bestseller. Funny, none of those things happened. Must have been because I never stuck to that morning routine.