Most days don’t fall apart in one big dramatic moment.
They unravel in tiny choices—one snooze, one scroll, one “I’ll do it later.”
I’ve watched this play out in my own life between packing lunchboxes, wiping peanut-butter fingerprints, and convincing Milo that couch cushions are not structural beams.
What looks like “discipline” from the outside is usually just a series of small decisions that move you toward what you actually want.
If you’ve ever wondered, “Why do I keep doing what I told myself I wouldn’t?” then you’re in the right place!
These seven temptations pop up daily. Resist them most of the time (not perfectly), and you’ll feel an almost shocking surge in calm, energy, and follow-through.
I’m not here to preach perfection because I’m here with muddy-knee stories from the garden, pancake-Saturday detours, and the simple practices that help me stay the course:
1) “Just five more minutes” in bed
The snooze button is a tiny thief.
Not just of time, but of self-trust.
Every time I promise “up on the next alarm” and don’t do it, I teach my brain I’m not serious.
That feeling follows me into breakfast, into my inbox, into how patient I am with Ellie’s very detailed leaf-sorting system.
The fix that actually works for me is boring and effective: I set one alarm and put my phone across the room.
I also decide my first 120 seconds the night before—bathroom, splash cold water, open the curtains, breathe.
No choices to make. I don’t negotiate with morning-brain, because morning-brain is very persuasive and loves warm blankets.
On the days I get up when I say I will, everything else is 10% easier.
Want a gentle nudge? Ask yourself: What kind of day do I want—one where I’m chasing it, or one where I’m leading it?
2) Reaching for your phone before your feet hit the floor
Even if you win the alarm battle, there’s that next sneaky pull: notifications, headlines, messages.
I used to tell myself I was “just checking the weather.”
Ten minutes later my mind felt like a sock drawer dumped on the floor.
A friend once said, “The first thing you consume sets your internal tempo.”
That’s been true for me.
If the first thing I take in is the sprint of the internet, the rest of the day feels rushed; if the first thing I take in is breath and a sip of water—or Milo padding in for a sleepy hug—everything slows to human speed.
A couple of simple boundaries help:
- Phone sleeps in the kitchen on airplane mode;
- I don’t open apps until after my first cup of water and two minutes of breathing (inhale for four, exhale for six), and;
- When I’m tempted, I ask, “What am I hoping to feel by checking?” Often the answer is connection or certainty. Then I find a real-world way to get that—say hi to Matt, or look out the window and notice the light.
Starting the day with one small strength rep sets a tone you can feel by lunch.
3) Grazing on quick hits instead of real food
Mid-morning is when I hear the pantry whisper—you too?
It’s so easy to grab random nibbles and call it “fuel,” then wonder why focus crashes at 2 p.m.
I try to keep discipline low-drama and low-tox.
For me that means preparing food that’s actually satisfying: Eggs or chia pudding, apple slices with almond butter, or leftovers packed in a glass jar so I’ll actually eat them.
If it’s easy and tasty, I don’t have to “white-knuckle” my way past the pretzels.
I’m not anti-snack. I’m pro-satisfying.
A quick reframe: Discipline isn’t about restriction—it’s about making it easy to do what you said you wanted.
When I build lunch while making breakfast (little assembly line at the cutting board while Ellie tells me the plot of a very complex imaginary squirrel saga), afternoon-me sends morning-me a thank-you note.
If you love treats (same), build them in on purpose because intention beats impulse every time.
4) Saying “yes” when your body and calendar are screaming “no”
I used to think disciplined people did more.
Now I think disciplined people do less, on purpose.
They protect the few actions that matter most.
When I say yes to every playdate, volunteer slot, and extra project, I’m really saying no to un-rushed dinners, to bedtime stories, to a brain that can breathe.
A question I ask myself now: “If I say yes, what will this push out?”
There’s always a trade, even if we pretend there isn’t.
Sometimes the trade is worth it; sometimes it isn’t.
A boundary that changed my life is buying time.
I rarely answer in the moment.
“Let me check our week and get back to you” gives me space to choose.
Saying less up front is an act of kindness to future-you.
On the days I protect the essentials—family meals, outdoor time, my writing window—everything else flows better.
Fewer half-done things, more fully-lived ones.
5) Multitasking your way through the day
True confession: I believed I could listen to Ellie’s caterpillar report, stir soup, reply to a text, and mentally plan tomorrow’s farmer’s market list at the same time.
Spoiler: I cannot.
When I multitask, I do four things mediocre and feel frazzled; when I monotask, I do one thing well and feel human.
Here’s a little experiment that convinced me: One day I timed a simple task—answering five emails—with and without distractions.
The distracted version took twice as long and left me more drained.
Not exactly an ad for “doing it all.”
Now I use tiny containers of attention:
- Ten-minute tidy timer with the kids after dinner;
- “One tab” rule when I’m writing, and;
- Presence rituals with the kids (I actively listen to what they have to share).
As James Clear has said about habits, “You do not rise to the level of your goals. You fall to the level of your systems.”
My system is simple: one thing at a time, for a short, real chunk of time.
6) Skipping movement because it’s not “a real workout”
I used to think, “If I can’t do a full 45-minute workout, what’s the point?”
Then kids happened, and that story kept me sedentary more days than I like to admit.
Now I’ve lowered the bar in the best way: Movement doesn’t have to be fancy to count.
Some days it’s a stroller walk while Milo narrates every dog we pass, while other days it’s ten squats while the oatmeal simmers or a five-song dance party while we fold laundry.
If I get outside, bonus points—fresh air is the cheapest mood shift I know.
When the kids are jumpy, we play “statue garden,” which is dancing until someone yells “freeze!”
Everyone laughs, breath rates up, and somehow bedtime goes smoother.
The discipline is in remembering that my body likes to move.
When I treat movement as a non-negotiable mood vitamin rather than a performance, I take it daily.
On the unicorn days when Matt’s home early and I get an honest-to-goodness solo yoga flow?
Delicious. But not required.
7) Late-night scrolling that steals tomorrow
There’s a moment after the kids are asleep, the dishes are done, and the house goes quiet.
I feel the urge to treat myself and, often, the easiest treat is my phone.
The problem is that “just one episode” or “just a few reels” turns into a bedtime that starts with 11 and my morning feels like wading through pudding.
I don’t demonize screen time, but I do treat late-night me like a toddler who needs some guardrails.
A few that help:
- I set a “get cozy” alarm 45 minutes before lights-out;
- I keep my “treat basket” stocked with paper options (a novel, a magazine, or a crossword), and;
- If I watch something, I choose it on purpose and decide the stop time before I start.
When I protect my bedtime, I’m kinder in the morning—to myself, to my family, to anyone who emails me before coffee.
A few closing thoughts from the garden gate
If you’ve read this far, you already have the kind of steady curiosity that fuels real change.
Discipline gets such a stern reputation, but in my life it looks gentle and practical.
You don’t have to nail all seven temptations tomorrow.
Choose one that’s quietly draining you and experiment for a week.
Move your phone, prepare breakfast, or say, “I’ll get back to you.”
Tiny wins compound—you may even find yourself smiling at how simple it feels!
