When You Stop Pretending You Like Living This Way

Designing a life you can stay in without forcing yourself through it

February sits in that long stretch between the holidays and the first real signs of spring.
The novelty of “new year, new habits” has worn off. The days are still short. Everyone is tired in that specific mid-winter way that almost needs a diagnosis or a plane ticket to explain.

This is usually the part of winter where I notice how much of my life is running on momentum and “shoulds.”
Not because anything is wrong — but because I’ve slipped into doing things the way I’m supposed to instead of designing how I actually want to participate in my own life.

This is the time of year when I start noticing the small ways I talk to myself about the things I think I’m going to do — and quietly know I’m not.

Not the big stuff.
The small, ordinary stuff.

The things I’m “supposed” to enjoy.
The routines I’m “supposed” to get into.
The habits I’m “supposed” to like because they’re good for me.
The social things I keep agreeing to because they’re normal, expected, or easy to say yes to.

Not because they matter.
Because of what I think they say about me — and what I think about myself.

The Quiet Pattern We Don’t Name

Most of us aren’t bad at caring for ourselves.
We’re bad at being honest about how we actually want to live.

We were sold a narrow version of adulthood:

Being responsible often means doing things you don’t enjoy.
Taking care of yourself is supposed to feel like discipline.
If it’s fun, it probably doesn’t count.
If it’s hard, it must be good for you.

So we keep choosing versions of “healthy,” “social,” “productive,” and “together” that don’t fit how we actually feel.

Not because we don’t value our own well-being.
Because we think adulthood is supposed to look a certain way.

Over time, “trying something out” quietly becomes “I just do this now.”

And suddenly you’re living inside a collection of choices you don’t actually like — but feel vaguely guilty about stopping or wanting to change.

The internal script sounds reasonable:

I should like this.
This is good for me.
Other people do this.
This is just how adulthood works.

Except… it doesn’t have to.

The Wheat Bread Moment

When my kids were little, we had park playdates with a group of great moms—smart, kind, amazing women and mothers. The kind of group you want to be part of.

They brought healthy lunches — the wheat-bread kind. Sprouts. The good-for-you snacks.

I like healthy food.
I do not like that dry wheat bread that requires three sips of water just to choke down a bite of peanut butter and jelly.

I also don’t enjoy buying food my kids won’t eat.
Or pretending I like something I don’t because it’s what the other moms were doing.

So I stopped.

White bread. Crusts cut off.
Fruit snacks that taste like candy.
Sandwiches my kids would actually eat.

I liked my lunch again.
The kids ate more.
And I felt happier for it — that quiet, smiling-on-the-inside kind of happy.

Did the other moms notice? Maybe.
Did I care? No.

Because that moment wasn’t about bread.
It was about being honest with myself instead of managing how I thought I should look.

The Shift in the Wind

What we were sold as adulthood is an old paradigm.
It came from a time when endurance was the metric.

You did what you were supposed to do.
You powered through what didn’t fit.
You stayed inside roles.

That model created stability for many people.
It also created a lot of quiet resignation — especially for women.

What we’re starting to see now — slowly, unevenly, in pockets — is a different orientation.

You can spot it in people who look more alive when they’re doing something their ten-year-old self would have loved.
Or something their ten-year-old self would be relieved to see them doing now.

Not reckless joy.
Not avoidance of responsibility.
Just alignment.

People finding ways to move their bodies that feel like play instead of punishment.
People shaping work and connection in ways they can actually sustain.
People choosing rhythms that don’t require them to disappear.

I tell my kids and the young adults I work with:

“I only adult as much as I have to. Then I try to move through the world from the view of a kid as much as possible.”

Not to avoid responsibility —
but to design a life I actually want to be in and can stay in without constantly forcing myself to get through it.

That matters especially for people who don’t move through the world in the ways it quietly expects.

When we pay attention to how we actually operate — what drains us, what engages us, what we enjoy, what we tolerate — we can start shaping our participation so the world works with us instead of us constantly trying to force ourselves into something that was never designed for us.

That’s not opting out.
That’s designing in.

This Isn’t About Only Doing What You Like

Some things are part of adult life.
Responsibilities exist.
Obligations exist.
Not everything gets to be fun.

This isn’t about refusing effort.
It’s about noticing where you’re forcing yourself to keep doing things that you no longer like or enjoy.

Noticing when:

You keep hosting things you dread.
You keep making plans that exhaust you.
You keep saying yes out of habit, not desire.
You keep doing things “because that’s just how it’s done” while quietly resenting them.

You’re allowed to adjust the frequency.
You’re allowed to change the format.
You’re allowed to stop pretending you like something just to be easy to be around.

That doesn’t make you difficult.
It makes you honest.

And that honesty is what brings back that tiny spark—
that smiling-on-the-inside feeling your 10-year-old self would be happy to see

Reflection

Try noticing one small thing you keep doing that you don’t actually enjoy.
Nothing big.
Just some little thing.

When you notice it, ask yourself:

Do I actually like this?
Do I want to keep doing this in this way?

If not, what’s one small adjustment I could make?

Then notice what happens inside you when you choose differently.
Not the external outcome.
The internal one.

Does that feeling change for you?
That’s information.

Even if what you notice is discomfort, awkwardness, or relief mixed with guilt — it’s all still information.

It’s what it feels like to design a life you can stay in — one small, honest choice at a time.

If This Was Helpful

If you enjoyed this post, you may also find value in exploring the Women in Transition section of the site, where you’ll find more writing on identity shifts, internal expectations, and designing a life that fits who you are now