When I lose the weight. When I fit into those jeans. When I earn more money. When work finally settles down.
There's something reassuring about setting a goal. We picture a better future, with a problem solved and one less thing to worry about.
Then, the jeans fit, but something still doesn’t click. The promotion arrives, but the diary fills up. The to-do list is finally under control, until it isn't, and then the boiler breaks.
Achieving our goals can bring genuine satisfaction. Losing weight might improve our health, our energy, help us move more comfortably or simply make us happier with our clothes, all worthwhile reasons.
Sometimes, though, we expect weight loss to change more than our weight.
I'll feel confident when I'm thinner.
I'll enjoy a beach holiday when I look better.
I'll finally feel good about myself when I've reached my target.
Reaching a goal becomes a condition for feeling comfortable in our own skin.
That's a lot to ask of a certain size of jeans.
The messy middle
There's another part of the story we give less thought to: the life we're living while we work towards that goal.
On Sunday, a new eating and exercise plan feels possible. We've tried before, perhaps more times than we'd care to remember, but there's still hope.
By Thursday, work has run late, lunch was hurried, the fridge is nearly empty and dinner looks nothing like we'd intended.
The plan made sense on Sunday. But changing habits means finding our way through ordinary weeks like this, not just the ones where everything goes smoothly.
Familiar routines can be comforting, while learning new skills takes time. Progress may be slower than we'd hoped, and being a beginner can feel uncomfortable, especially when we've been trying for years.
And suddenly, the next promising hack looks rather appealing.
But when the plan doesn't go to plan, it isn't always the plan we question. Sometimes it's ourselves.
How can I be so stupid? Why can't I ever stick to anything? I should know better by now.
A difficult Thursday evening has become another verdict on our worth and competence.
Before the verdict
When someone we love has had a difficult day, we're usually more patient and understanding. We want to know what happened instead of judging them.
Yet when it's us, the criticism is the default mode.
What if we offered ourselves the same care and gentle curiosity we would offer to a loved one?
I'm ravenous by dinnertime. Have I eaten enough during the day?
I can't seem to settle in the evening until I've eaten a whole bar of chocolate or a bag of crisps. What's going on for me?
Am I hungry? Exhausted? Looking for comfort, pleasure or simply a moment to myself?
Sometimes the answer is straightforward. We need a satisfying meal, some rest or a little breathing space. Perhaps our plan was too restrictive or unrealistic for the life we're living. Or we may discover a repetitive pattern worth understanding better.
Asking these questions gives us something to work with. We can make adjustments, take responsibility for our choices and learn from our experience without turning every difficulty into a judgement about ourselves.
What if learning to care for ourselves is not simply a way to cope with the journey, but part of the destination?
There is no target weight, jeans size, bank balance or achievement at which life officially begins. It's happening already, including on those imperfect Thursdays.
We can keep working towards what matters to us and be on our own side while we learn.
If you're tired of starting over and wondering why you can't seem to make changes stick, perhaps it's time for a different approach.
One that helps you understand yourself, work with your life rather than against it, and move towards better health with more confidence and less self-criticism.
If this is the kind of change you're looking for, let's talk.
Further reading
Kristin Neff, Self-Compassion: The Proven Power of Being Kind to Yourself (2011).
An accessible exploration of self-criticism, self-compassion and how we can respond to ourselves with greater understanding when life becomes difficult.