The Space Between

There is a space between who I am and who I want to be, and I have spent years filling it with excuses, self-deception, and misplaced blame. It’s not intentional—at least not in the way I would consciously choose. I tell myself that I am capable, that I have the vision, the discipline, the drive. I craft narratives about my potential, about what I will achieve once the circumstances are right, once the timing is better, once I’ve worked through the next internal crisis. And yet, too often, I remain in the same place, orbiting around the same struggles, reinforcing the same blocks I claim to want to break.

I know the things that stand in my way, but knowing and addressing are two very different things. I can dissect my patterns with precision: the cycles of self-doubt, the moments of inspired action followed by long stretches of avoidance, the way I let fear disguise itself as perfectionism. I see the maladaptive behaviors—the ways I fall into old habits of overcommitting to projects and people while quietly neglecting myself, how I retreat into my head, lost in the illusion of productivity while the real work remains untouched.

But the most dangerous thing I do is emotionally abuse myself. I tear myself apart in ways I would never do to another person. I pick at my perceived failures like an old wound that refuses to close. I tell myself I am not enough, that my missteps are proof of my unworthiness, that every unfinished project, every missed opportunity, every moment of hesitation is evidence of something broken inside me. I create a narrative of inadequacy and then live inside it, reinforcing it with every setback.

This kind of self-destruction is insidious because it feels like truth. It disguises itself as self-awareness, as discipline, as a necessary reckoning. But it is none of those things. It is fear masquerading as honesty.

But I am not a sum of my failures. My trauma, my pain, my hardships—these are not passcodes that unlock an exemption from the work. They are not reasons to ever stay stuck. They are simply the things I must carry as I move forward.

So the real question is: What will I do with this knowledge? Will I continue to let my own self-cruelty dictate my progress? Will I keep waiting for the perfect moment that never comes? Or will I step into the discomfort of accountability, acknowledge the gap between my words and my actions, and finally choose to close it?

I want to believe that I am ready. But belief means nothing without action. So this is my first act of accountability: I will no longer define myself by what I say I will do. I will define myself by what I actually do. And I will not punish myself for what I haven’t done—I will just begin.