I didn’t lose the money loudly.

No disaster.
No meltdown.
Just a slow leak I justified every time.

What bothers me now isn’t just the money.
It’s that I saw the warning signs every single time and kept going anyway.

Right before the purchase, I’d feel it.

Not fear.
Something more physical.
A small resistance.

A mild nausea I kept relabeling as excitement because excitement lets you proceed.

I was avoiding a question I didn’t want answered, because I already knew where it led.

Will this require me to operate as someone I am not, and cannot realistically be, for months or years at a time?

That question kills purchases.
So I learned to step around it.

Instead, I’d focus on mechanics.
On how clean the system looked when someone else ran it.
On how “simple” the steps were.

I’d picture myself adapted, disciplined, enjoying the work.

I didn’t look at the version of me who would have to show up every day to keep it alive.

What these systems required wasn’t hidden.
I just didn’t want to see it.

They assumed I wanted to live in a broadcast posture.
Think in soundbites.
Structure my day around visibility.
Create content on command.
Turn my thinking into performance instead of working through it privately.

I don’t want that.

I could do it.
I did do it.

But every day inside those systems required a version of me that isn’t how I operate when no one is watching.

I saw that before I bought.

I bought anyway.

That’s what pisses me off.

Not into tools.

Into repeatedly agreeing to behave as someone else.

Into setups that only work if you want to live that way.
If that posture energizes you instead of draining you.

I don’t fail those systems.

I abandon them once the novelty wears off and the role becomes permanent.

That was visible up front.

I just didn’t want to admit it because admitting it would have stopped the purchase.

You’ve felt that same pause before buying.
You’ve noticed the same resistance and talked yourself past it because stopping would mean admitting something you didn’t want to admit.

There’s a short questionnaire.
It doesn’t give advice.
It doesn’t fix anything.

It makes visible which version of yourself you keep trying to buy your way into.

Once you see it, you can’t unsee it.

Take the questionnaire.

P.S. Merry Christmas. I know this isn't exactly holiday cheer. But if you're like me, you'd rather have something useful than another "new year, new you" pep talk. The questionnaire will be here when you're ready.

Until Next Time,