Where Is Willingness to Do What Is Good for Me?

Every morning, I find myself negotiating with the simplest routines. Why is it so hard to do what I know is good for me? Instead, I play a game. I bargain with my electric toothbrush. I bought it years ago after breast surgery, when it was difficult to lift my arms and brush well. It turns out I needed it. It protects my gums. The dentist says it’s working.

Still, I play the game: “Do I really have to brush for the whole two minutes?”

It’s timed – four neat 30-second beats for four neat quadrants. And still, I want to cut corners. I want to get to the coffee, the gym, the call I’ve been avoiding. I convince myself that the one minute I shave off brushing will somehow change my day.

Not Following My Own Advice

Then it hits me: I’m not following my own advice. When anyone, my daughter, a colleague, a neighbor or a friend, asks me for my advice, I assist them in thinking through the pros and cons.

Inevitably, when they ask, “So, what should I do?” I smile and pause.

Let’s stop for a minute to take note and recognize this change. This response took a long time to gevelop – instead of barking a course of action at them before getting all the facts. Now, I just smile my sly Mona Lisa smile, let them guess what I am thinking and say, “Whatever you choose. Remember, your life is the small choices you make every day.”

Working on It

And here I am, most days, not choosing the full two minutes to brush my own teeth. Why? I know better. Why do I pick the less-optimal path? Notice I didn’t say “bad” or “wrong.” That’s progress. Let’s start there.

1) Reframe the Issue

I was trained early to scan for what could go wrong. Part of my healing has been retraining that reflex. Call it behavior modification, call it building healthier habits – the point is to catch the negative loop before it sprints.

Trauma is cumulative. Tiny setbacks stack: at the bank, the notary isn’t available; my yogurt is out of stock, the morning derails. Cue the old script: “Nothing works, I’m the problem, today will stink.” It’s not an exaggeration; it’s a groove in the brain.

Reframe: this isn’t a referendum on me. It’s one small choice that protects Future Me.

New thought: Two minutes isn’t punishment; it’s maintenance for the person I’m becoming.

2) Think It Through to the Credits

I run the movie forward. If I save a minute, what credits roll? A lukewarm coffee made 60 seconds sooner. If I skip, what else rolls? The quiet erosion of self-trust – and later, an expensive trip to the dentist at an in opportune time I didn’t plan for.

If I stay the two minutes, what credits roll? A tiny, boring win that compounds. The feeling that I do what I say I do. That’s the movie I want to fund.

3) Gravitate to the Good Things

My default is to notice what’s wrong – what’s late, what’s missing, what’s undone. It’s like my brain was raised on breaking news. Now, I practice finding what’s right. The coffee that tastes good. The moment of quiet before the day starts. The fact that my gums are, frankly, thriving.

Gravitating to the good doesn’t mean ignoring what’s hard; it means not letting hard things own the narrative. Goodness doesn’t shout – it whispers. I must lean in to hear it.

That’s where willingness starts – in the small act of noticing that life is already offering something kind and staying in that moment.

4) Take the Long View

When I zoom out, everything looks less dramatic. The one missed gym day isn’t failure. The awkward conversation isn’t forever.

Life almost never turns out as bad – or as perfect – as I imagine. The truth lives in that murky middle, where the learning hides. Taking the long view reminds me: progress rarely feels like progress when you’re living it.

Willingness shows up when I stop demanding clarity and just keep moving anyway.

5) Use the Airplane View

When I’m deep in self-criticism, I picture myself watching my life from up above in a cloud from an airplane. The 30,000 feet view. From that distance, I see the humor, the effort, the persistence. I’d tell myself, “You’re doing fine. Keep brushing.”

Funny how kind we can be when the story isn’t ours. The goal is to talk to myself with that same compassion, as I talk to others – less judgment, more curiosity, more grace.

6) Find the Humor

Eventually, almost everything gets funny – it just takes longer than I’d like.

I think of that Rolling Stones’ line: You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you just might find you get what you need.

Lately, I’ve been asking the universe to move up the what I need timeline. That makes me laugh every time, because I have given up on getting what I want, now I just want what I need quicker.

Because humor doesn’t erase the mess – it makes it bearable. These aren’t world-shattering crises; they’re just my human ones. And owning them with a laugh reminds me that if I created the problem, I can probably create the solution.

What’s Next

Gravitate to the good. Keep the long view. Zoom out before you panic. Laugh sooner.

Tomorrow, I’ll brush for the full two minutes – not because I must, but because I can.

Willingness isn’t loud. It’s quiet, consistent, and waiting for me to show up. I got this and so do you.

Let’s Have a Conversation:

What healthy routine is giving you a hard time? How often do you skip it? Have you analyzed what’s behind that behavior?