Self-control is one of those things that sounds like a punishment when you’re not used to having it. Like saying no to pleasure just for the sake of saying no. And to be honest, that’s how I saw it for a long time. I thought of self-control as just another name for restriction—another version of discipline that made life smaller, tighter, less fun.
Back then, self-control looked like eating six donuts instead of twelve and patting myself on the back like that was a win. And maybe it was, for where I was at the time. But I wasn’t thinking long-term. I wasn’t learning moderation. I was still letting my extremes lead the way. It was a subtle illusion of progress. Deep down, I was still chasing comfort and escape instead of growth and wisdom.
What I Missed About Self-Control
See, I used to lump discipline and self-control together. Same idea, right? Wrong. I’m starting to learn that discipline is the muscle to do something hard. Self-control is the strength to not do something tempting. Discipline gets me up at 4:30 AM. Self-control keeps me from snapping back in a heated conversation.
It’s not just about food. It’s not even just about actions. It’s about words, tone, timing. It’s about how much space you leave for others in a conversation instead of bulldozing them with your thoughts. It’s about noticing when you’re on the edge of an emotional cliff and choosing not to jump.
Conversations Are Where I Feel It Most
I’ve noticed that I often want something out of my conversations—validation, agreement, resolution, something. And I’ll push hard to get it. That’s where I get told I’m being argumentative, challenging, even combative.
I don’t mean to be. I’m just wired to go deep, fast. But not everyone wants to have their morning coffee turn into a philosophical debate. Especially my wife. Sometimes she just wants to talk about the news without having to analyze it from every angle. I’ve had to learn that timing matters. Just because a conversation could go deep, doesn’t mean it should.
Self-control for me is holding back—not because what I want to say is wrong, but because maybe it’s just not helpful right now. Sometimes it’s not about suppressing truth, but about protecting peace.
When Rules Become a Trap
I used to go extreme on everything. Diets. Faith. Routines. The tighter the rule, the more in control I felt—until I couldn’t hold it anymore. The problem wasn’t just the rules—it was the rigidity that made grace impossible.
Take the carnivore diet, for example. I did it for a while with strict, hard lines. But then I’d find myself stuck when we were traveling or celebrating something with my wife. The rules I set weren’t just impacting me—they were bleeding into my relationships.
So I started learning to loosen the grip. Not to go soft, but to get smarter. Self-control isn’t just resisting junk food. It’s resisting the urge to build a life so rigid that you snap under the pressure.
Same thing happened in my faith. I tried to live by every law, every command, every ideal. And the second I slipped, I felt like I was failing God. It wasn’t holy—it was legalism.
Now I know that self-control means pulling back from the urge to make rules the savior. Because they’re not. Jesus is. I’m learning to trade my performance for presence. To embrace grace over grit.
Watching for the Overcorrection
One of the signs that I’m overdoing it—on anything—is when I get obsessed. I start researching too deep. Spreadsheets. Schedules. Plans on top of plans. It feels like I’m getting ahead, but really I’m losing balance.
David Goggins talks about recording yourself and listening back. I’ve tried that. I also talk out loud, write stuff down, and watch for those signs of overcorrection. The more excited I get about a new plan, the more I’ve learned to slow down and ask: Is this sustainable? Or am I about to swing too far again?
My pattern used to be: jump in headfirst, burn out, and feel ashamed. Now I try to pause. Observe. Test the waters before diving in. I don’t always get it right, but I get it wrong less often.
When Words Matter Most
I also see the need for self-control in how I talk—especially at work. If a boss says something I disagree with, I pause. Not to stay silent, but to say it better. I’ve learned that clarity matters. Tone matters. And while I might be right about the facts, if I deliver them like a hammer, no one’s going to listen.
I’ve had to accept that I don’t always come off the way I think I do. People hear challenge when I mean curiosity. That’s a hard pill to swallow, but it’s the truth. And truth is what I’m after.
So now, I slow down. I ask more questions. I think a little longer before I respond. I’m not perfect at it, but I’m working on it. And that work is self-control. Especially in conversations where misunderstanding could turn into conflict, I now try to build bridges instead of burning them.
Still Growing
I don’t have this all figured out. I’m still learning what my actual boundaries are. Still figuring out how to live in moderation, not just cycles of extreme highs and deep crashes.
But I’m better than I was. And I’ve noticed that when I stay in regular conversation with my wife—about life, about faith, about plans—I get grounded. I start seeing where I’m going off course a little sooner. That helps.
So does Scripture. So does prayer. So does checking in with myself honestly. When I start to drift, I don’t spiral like I used to. I just pause. Reassess. And step back into the tension with a little more grace.
Self-control doesn’t mean I’m not tempted. It just means I have tools. I have margin. I have vision.
And more than anything, I have the Holy Spirit nudging me, slowing me down, reminding me that growth isn’t instant. It’s layered. It’s patient. It’s worth the work.
That’s what self-control looks like for me now. Not perfect. Not easy. But possible. And every time I practice it, I feel a little more free.
Start With a Better Rhythm
If any of this hits close to home—if you’ve wrestled with extremes, burned out, or felt like self-control was always just out of reach—then I want to invite you into something that’s been grounding me lately.
It’s called Start Strong. A 31-day daily check-in designed to help you reset, reflect, and reconnect—every single day. No fluff. Just honest prompts, scripture, and space to show up with God and get back on track.
