The first decision, again and again

Making the decision to change is easy. It truly is. Even change itself is easy. It has its beginning, and it is an eternal process (a beautiful and fun one!), but in reality, once we step into it, we do not have to do anything — it unfolds on its own, easily, naturally, willingly. What is difficult, however, and where we usually hit a wall not long after that realization, is persisting in keeping our attention on the decision we have made. On the process. And by that, I truly mean a mechanical process — reminding ourselves of the decision we have made every day, multiple times a day, and returning to the beginning as many times as necessary, until we master that first step and no longer have to go back to it. Like when we complete a level in a video game and the computer remembers that we successfully passed it and even celebrates our success. There is a good saying I always think of when I reflect on personal growth: “Once you stretch, there’s no going back.”

I remember exactly — I was 27 when, perhaps for the first time, I consciously made the decision to change for the better: to let go of patterns that no longer served me and embrace new, better choices, a gentler relationship with myself. I did not know what that meant at the time, and now I know that I did not need to know in order to make that decision. If someone had told me then what I know very well now: Just do it. It doesn’t matter that you know nothing right now, just do it — perhaps the first signs of growth would have appeared even sooner. But either way, obviously that was how it needed to be.

During that period, I read a great deal about spirituality, personal development, self-care — whatever I could get my hands on. I did not choose at all, and I did not care — because I was truly in the middle of an emotional breakdown, completely shattered by pain and disappointment after the difficult end of a long-term relationship, while also carrying the burden of the final exam before graduation, for which, at that moment, I had absolutely no motivation or strength. Everything I could find about how to get over someone leaving, how to deal with all kinds of fears, stress, anxiety, and panic — I read all of it, hoping to find a little comfort and enough of a push to get off the couch and pass that final exam, while also packing my things and moving out of that apartment, somehow finding the strength to answer 150 missed calls, feed the cat, and walk the dog.

Somewhere in the middle of that chaos, I made the decision that I would become better to myself because I knew — deep down, I knew — that I had subconsciously sabotaged that relationship (for a reason), avoided facing my responsibilities, challenges, and life even though I knew I was doing it, but I did not know any better and simply could not pull myself out of the sloppy patterns that had never served me in the first place, yet I felt as though they had finally reached my throat.

And so, one of the texts I was reading said something along the lines of, “You have to show yourself love, tell yourself that you love yourself and that you forgive yourself.” I found that idea so repulsive because until then, I had mostly been harsh with myself, making my love for myself conditional on what I had or had not done, what I had said, achieved, accomplished. The mere thought of telling myself that I loved myself felt so unbearable that I even felt disgust. How was I supposed to tell myself that I loved myself and that everything would be okay when I had failed so badly at everything? Was I supposed to lie to myself? Pretend? It seemed impossible.

But what did I do? I got up from that damn couch, actually went over to the mirror, and told myself: I love you. Everything will be okay. I am here, and I love you. And nothing happened. Not that day, not the next day, and not three days later. But I kept going. As much as I could, whenever I remembered, I went to that mirror and declared my love to myself. I even wrote myself notes saying that I had to “do the work of self-love,” and I left them in visible places (but I always moved them around because once the brain gets used to seeing something, it stops paying as much attention to it, which again leads to forgetting).

I even started doing it without the mirror, while making coffee or walking the dog. After some time, it became my mantra. I realized that it was useful because it pulled me out of the loop, out of the terrible thoughts about fear, sadness, and panic that would overwhelm me. That was an incredibly useful realization.

Over time, I found some other words that had no meaning at all, but still helped pull me out of the loop, such as — banana. It sounds bizarre, but whenever I slipped into a loop about how this method made no sense, how I did not actually love myself any more (or any less) than before, how it would be best to give up, I mechanically forced myself to keep going. I repeated that word, repeated it while thinking only about it, until it began to feel strange, funny, entertaining. Then, over time, I moved on to other words, and strawberries, blueberries, different trees, and flowers found their way in as well. Whatever suited me best in that moment.

With time, I began having more meaningful conversations with myself, such as — everything is okay, I am here and I love you — without it feeling repulsive or strange anymore. At the time, it seemed ridiculous, but now I know that it made perfect sense. I did not even realize that I had, in fact, reached for what I now understand to be an incredibly useful method of reminding myself of the decision I had made and returning to that first step — I will become better to myself.

It was the beginning of a beautiful process of realization, of discovering myself, of an incredible transformation that followed, and of the life I eventually realized I was capable of living. And it was all thanks to — persistence.

Our brain is an incredibly advanced and, at the same time, absurdly backward organ. It processes only about 10 bits out of the trillions of bits of information our senses receive. There is an excellent book about this by Tor Nørretranders, The User Illusion: Cutting Consciousness Down to Size. The point is not in those numbers (although they are astonishing!), but rather in the fact that consciousness is not a complete picture of reality. It is more like a simplified “user interface” that shows us only a small, processed portion of what the brain actually receives and does. An enormous amount of information is filtered and processed unconsciously before anything even becomes part of our conscious experience. Something like looking at the screen of a phone or a computer while being unable to see the millions of operations taking place in the background.

Therefore, expecting ourselves to make a decision as enormous as changing existing patterns of thought and behavior — and then simply stick to it — borders on insanity. Thinking that we have free will while at the same time acting automatically according to unconscious thoughts, patterns, and data stored in our subconscious belongs in the realm of science fiction. I might even say that, potentially, it is precisely our consciousness’s inability to cope with the sheer amount of information stored in our subconscious that explains why we so often give up on so many decisions, both small and large. The information we are not consciously aware of simply overwhelms us.

So, if we know and accept that, taking on the patterns and thoughts we unconsciously repeat, along with all kinds of tricks that remind us that change is a process — even repeating neutral words such as “banana” — perhaps will no longer sound quite so crazy.

Ultimately, it is about choosing, every day and as often as possible, to show up for ourselves: to remember the decision we made and return to it again. And although change begins with a decision, it is through those daily returns that we begin to feel it — and soon, to see it.