When Resistance Rises
Rewriting discipline as an act of love, not control
There are days when resistance greets me before my eyes even open. My mind starts negotiating with the day—I don’t want to do this. Sometimes, the this is something small, like answering an email or getting out of bed. Other times, it’s bigger—showing up for a task that feels emotionally loaded, or taking a step toward a goal that still scares me.
For a long time, I misread these moments as a lack of discipline. I internalized the idea that if I didn’t push through, I was failing somehow. That to be productive or powerful, I had to force myself forward—no matter what my body, heart, or spirit were saying.
Even now, with all the awareness I’ve cultivated, those thoughts still come up. Am I lacking discipline? Am I making excuses? Am I doing enough? These questions still echo through me some days, especially when I feel slower than I used to or when rest lingers longer than I expect.
Still. I continue to do the work. I keep showing up. I may not always move fast, but I keep moving forward. This path I walk is not about perfection—it’s about devotion. It’s about returning to myself again and again, no matter how many times resistance tries to pull me away.
The difference now is that I don’t take those thoughts at face value. I don’t immediately believe them. Instead, I notice them, sit with them, and ask deeper questions. Is this truly a lack of discipline, or am I being invited to move differently?
More often than not, I find that the resistance is asking me to be honest—not just about what needs to be done, but about how I want to feel as I move through it.
When resistance rises, I don’t meet it with punishment. I meet it with presence. I pause. I breathe. I ask my body, What do you need? I ask my mind, What are you afraid of? And most days, I don’t get a perfect answer. What I do get is space—space to decide how I want to show up.
This is where willpower comes in—not as a weapon, but as a companion. I call on it like an inner flame, quiet and steady, not to force myself through the moment, but to move with it. I let it guide me toward the next right action, even if it’s small.
Sometimes that action is choosing rest. Other times, it’s choosing to begin anyway, even with the discomfort still present. Willpower helps me remember that I don’t have to feel like doing something in order to do it. I just have to be willing to move, one breath, one choice at a time.
This is what devotion to self looks like in my life right now. It’s not rigid. It’s not performative. It’s a relationship—an ongoing practice of choosing what honors my energy and nurtures my path.
Willpower as a Devotional Act
Willpower used to feel like a performance—something I had to summon loudly, forcefully, like proving something to the world or to myself. Now, I understand it as something quieter. Something sacred. Not dramatic, but deliberate.
My willpower is often activated with a whisper. She’s the voice that reminds me I can do the thing, even when I don’t feel like it. She’s the energy that rises when I exhale the doubt and soften into the truth that I’m allowed to move slowly. And I am still moving.
Willpower doesn’t demand that I bulldoze through exhaustion or override my intuition. Instead, she invites me into a moment of clarity. She asks, What would it feel like to choose this with love instead of dread? What’s one small action I can take that supports the version of me I’m growing into?
Sometimes, that action is brushing my teeth when my mind is scattered.
Sometimes, it’s opening my laptop when I’d rather scroll and go blissfully numb in the algorithm.
Sometimes, it’s sending the message, making the call, showing up to the moment—even if I’m still holding tension in my chest.
Willpower isn’t about being fearless. It’s about feeling the fear and making the choice anyway. It’s trusting that I’m strong enough to hold discomfort without letting it define me.
This kind of willpower isn’t rooted in punishment. It’s rooted in presence. I’m not dragging myself through life—I’m walking with myself, even when I’d rather hide.
Every time I choose devotion over avoidance, I remind myself that I am not lacking anything, lazy or inconsistent. I am in process. And I’m powerful.
Subtle Shifts and Soft Momentum
There’s a version of me that once believed progress had to be loud, fast, and visible. If I wasn’t checking big things off a list or producing something measurable, I told myself I wasn’t doing enough. I now see that belief for what it was—a response to pressure, performance, and survival. This conditioning taught me to measure my worth by my output and to ignore the quieter parts of myself that simply needed space.
That version of me is still here. She’s just not as loud as she used to be. She speaks in old thoughts sometimes, in feelings of urgency or self-doubt. But I no longer hand her the steering wheel. My awareness is stronger. My devotion to honoring all the parts of me—especially the tender ones—is deeper. When those old narratives rise, I pause. I recognize them. I breathe. And I choose from where I am now, not from where I was then.
Subtle shifts shape how I move through resistance. These are small, intentional actions that allow me to engage without overwhelming myself. They are gentle, steady choices that create momentum from a place of alignment, not force.
Sometimes a subtle shift looks like placing both feet on the floor and feeling gravity hold me. Other times, it’s preparing a nourishing meal instead of reaching for something quick and numbing. It might be writing one true sentence instead of aiming for the perfect paragraph, or sending a short message to reconnect when part of me wants to hide. These moments don’t always feel like accomplishments, but they reconnect me to motion, to presence, to trust.
Soft momentum is built through these everyday choices—ones that aren’t always visible, but are deeply impactful. They remind me that I don’t have to move mountains to be in motion. I just need to move energy, to create openings, to stay in relationship with myself through the process.
I no longer believe that suffering is required for progress. I believe in devotion over depletion. I believe in movement that honors the rhythm of my nervous system and the truth of the moment. I believe that the most powerful steps forward are often the ones no one sees—but I feel them deeply, and they carry me toward everything I’m becoming.
A Devotion to Becoming
This is the discipline I choose now—not one shaped by shame or urgency, but by love, presence, and power. I still experience resistance. I still meet moments where my body says no, where my mind drifts toward avoidance, where old stories try to reclaim their seat at the table. But I meet those moments differently now. I meet them with curiosity. I meet them with care.
I remind myself that showing up isn’t always about doing more—it’s about returning to myself, again and again, even when it feels messy or slow. This is a devotion. A path of becoming. And I walk it with tenderness, with breath, and with the quiet knowing that every small step still counts.
If you’re navigating your own resistance, your own relationship with movement, discipline, or inner power—I invite you to explore with me. Through personalized sessions, gentle accountability, and grounded tools for creative clarity, I support people who are learning to move in new ways—ways that feel good, true, and sustainable.
You don’t have to force your way forward. There’s another way—and I’d be honored to walk with you.
Explore current offerings or book a session at ShaaniCreates.com/Appointments, and give yourself permission to move in your rhythm, your truth, your time.