The Quiet Ways We Hold Ourselves Back
On Internal Resistance, Creative Fear, and Why So Many of Us Wait Until the Last Minute to Begin
There is a particular kind of frustration that comes from wanting something deeply — and still somehow not moving toward it.
Not because you’re lazy.
Not because you don’t care.
Not because you aren’t talented enough.
But because somewhere beneath the surface, something in you is resisting the very thing you say you want.
This week on my new episode of #UNFILTERED podcast, I sat down with author, speaker, and performance coach Kam Knight for a conversation that honestly lingered with me long after we stopped recording. We talked about procrastination, self-sabotage, comfort zones, perfectionism, entrepreneurship, and the hidden subconscious patterns that quietly shape our lives.
And the more we talked, the more I realized this conversation wasn’t just about productivity.
It was about creativity.
About identity.
About fear.
About the invisible emotional architecture behind the lives we build.
As writers, creators, photographers, food stylists, bloggers, Substack authors, and entrepreneurs, we often think our biggest obstacle is external:
More followers.
More clients.
More time.
More money.
More opportunities.
More visibility.
But what if the bigger obstacle is internal?
What if the thing standing between us and the next version of our work is not a lack of talent — but resistance itself?
Kam described internal resistance as “the subconscious force designed to keep us safe, familiar, and emotionally protected.” The brain wants certainty. Predictability. Survival. And often, growth threatens all three.
Which explains why so many creatives live in contradiction.
We crave visibility… while hiding.
We want success… while procrastinating.
We dream about publishing… while endlessly editing.
We want freedom… while clinging to what’s familiar.
I recognized myself in so much of this conversation.
I’ve spent years building and rebuilding creative careers across photography, food styling, writing, podcasting, branding, and media. I’ve moved across states chasing reinvention. I’ve left stable jobs to pursue creative independence — more than once. And if I’m being honest, there have been moments where I knew exactly what I needed to do next… and still delayed doing it.
Not because I lacked ambition.
But because expansion is uncomfortable.
Especially for creative people.
There’s a vulnerability to putting your work into the world that never fully disappears. Publishing a story, launching a podcast, pitching a brand, sharing a recipe, filming yourself on camera, starting a Substack, raising your rates, reinventing your career — all of it requires stepping beyond the familiar version of yourself.
And the familiar self will fight to stay alive.
Sometimes resistance looks obvious:
doomscrolling, procrastinating, binge-watching Netflix instead of writing the essay.
But sometimes resistance disguises itself as productivity.
Overplanning.
Perfectionism.
Researching forever.
Reworking the same paragraph twelve times.
Waiting until everything feels “ready.”
Writers know this feeling intimately.
The half-finished draft sitting in Notes.
The Substack post you almost published three months ago.
The cookbook idea that lives permanently in your head.
The pitch you still haven’t sent.
The creative project you keep postponing until life “calms down.”
And maybe the truth is:
life rarely calms down before we begin.
One thing Kam said that really stayed with me was this idea that the brain can simultaneously create desire and resist it.
That explains so much about creative life.
Because most of us don’t lack ideas.
We lack emotional permission to fully inhabit them.
There’s also something particularly interesting about resistance in the food and lifestyle world specifically. So many of us entered this space because we loved beauty, storytelling, hospitality, culture, flavor, creativity, travel, connection. But turning passion into profession changes the emotional stakes.
Now creativity becomes visibility.
Visibility becomes judgment.
Judgment becomes vulnerability.
And suddenly posting one photograph or publishing one essay can feel strangely personal.
I think this is why so many creators quietly burn out.
Not from lack of talent.
But from constantly negotiating with resistance.
