War Is Livin’
Finding a way back home when you’re at war with yourself
“Love, I know I need to level off
I know I’m flawed, but stay with me
I got a problem with escapism.”
— Isaiah Rashad, SUPAFICIAL
It’s an overcast and dreary day in Houston. I sit with my laptop open, sipping a cold brew, staring out the window of an unusually empty coffee shop, not too far from downtown. Even though it’s 2 pm, it’s so dark you couldn’t tell. The rain, consistent and true, reminds me of what I’ve failed to be for months now. The bags under my eyes are just one of many symptoms of the tailspin I’m trying to drag myself out of.
It happened slowly at first. Then, like an avalanche, all at once. The descent felt like a slow drip of choosing the path of least resistance each day. One day became two. Two days became an entire week. From there, entropy took over, and the cascading chaos born of my need to feel comfortable hit me harder than I thought it could.
At this point, I’m used to this. My healing journey, like most, has often felt like one step forward, ten steps back. Sometimes, even when things are “good,” it just feels like I’m running in place, spinning my wheels.
This time, however, felt weirdly different. The fall seemed to happen in slow motion, as if I were moving at super speed, watching things play out before anyone else could. I had the chance to do things differently, but instead, I chose not to. I think that’s just what happens when you truly, and I mean truly, know better. The disappointment hits that much harder. The impact when you finally hit the ground hurts even more than before.
It began with abandoning my physical health. I was eating terribly and skipping the gym, making the kind of excuses I used to make all the time. Back then, I didn’t feel guilty. Now, every time I skipped a workout or ate junk, an inner voice hissed: You’re better than this! I wasn’t even doing the bare minimum anymore. I stopped taking my daily walks (always a bad idea for someone who works from home and stays cooped up inside). Unsurprisingly, my writing was next to suffer. I couldn’t focus enough to flesh out my ideas. The time I typically dedicated to studying or just contemplating my own perspective vanished, replaced by phone scrolling, binge-watching, and any other source of escapism I could find.
The event that kicked off the fall back into the void was an argument I had with my girlfriend at the time (now, my fiancée!). It was an argument that could’ve been worked through then, but instead, I shut down. I felt so off-balance, feeling as if I’d been sucker-punched. It was a clear test of patience and emotional intelligence, and I failed.
Afterward, I couldn’t focus on anything but how bad I felt. Overwhelmed, anxious, and angry, these emotions morphed inside me, roaring like a river I couldn’t escape. I felt like I was drowning. All I knew was that I didn’t want to feel what I was feeling anymore. This is just like the old days, I thought. Nothing ever changes. Right at the precipice of despair, with my anchors completely abandoned, I dove straight into an ocean of escapism.
I felt the effects of abandoning my systems heavily in my body, mind, and spirit. I felt fatigued and sleep-deprived (hence, the bags under my eyes). The brain fog was constant, and focusing on anything for too long became nearly impossible. Depair whispered, a sound equal parts honey and equal parts vinegar. A sound so sweet, but full of lies.
I was angry at myself for undoing so much progress the instant a challenge came up. I couldn’t help but think that this would always be the result, that this was my fate. Was I meant to just be the kind of person who repeated the same cycles over and over again for the rest of their lives? That thought alone terrified me.
The cracks in my foundation exposed so many flaws in my process. One small fight with someone I loved threw me completely off track, and I couldn’t figure out why. Was it pride, or maybe a lack of confidence? Was this, as many people in the self-improvement space love to remind us, “part of the process”?
The more I observed myself, the more resentful I grew. I was eye-to-eye with despair, and stared back defiantly, like a toddler who refuses to give up the iPad. Why did I crumble like that? I had all the best intentions, but nothing made sense anymore. Unfortunately for me, that’s often what I want most: for things to make sense. But I should know better by now. Life rarely does. That’s the paradox. It is a beautiful marvel, full of wonder and everyday miracles—yet at the same time, it contains so much that will easily break your spirit.
I thought of myself as the kind of person who could accept this truth. But as it turns out, I can only accept it in theory. When it’s my life that feels like it’s tearing at the seams, knowing that “life is a paradox” does not keep me from unraveling.
Isaiah Rashad rapped:
War is livin’, yet at war with yourself
This is the constant push and pull, isn’t it? It’s the mental and spiritual disruption that lives inside the mind of a person who can’t stop thinking—someone who can’t resist the sweet scent of what feels so familiar, even when they know there is only decay in that direction. What is a life if it’s spent warring with yourself? It’s hell on Earth, is what it is.
When I try to run, this is when the war is at its most violent. I’m resisting who I know I can be. I try to break from the self-imposed bondage of escapism, but the call of despair threatens to crush me under its weight. This war happens because the allure of running from the real work always seems easier than standing firm in the values I set for myself before life’s challenges hit.
When you know what it’s costing you, living a life of escapism isn’t sustainable. Not when people depend on you. Not when you’ve seen the other side. When you’ve glimpsed who you could be—stripped of the ego, the fear, or the need for control—the high wears off quicker. The shame lasts longer. Once you’re granted even a sliver of your true potential, you can no longer remain on the path of self-destruction. The dissonance will rattle inside your very essence.
I don’t need more revelations. I know what I need to do. But as always, it’s easier said than done.
The Stoic idea of the “citadel” reminds us that our mind and spirit are only as strong as our daily preparation for the battle ahead. Marcus Aurelius wrote about “returning to yourself” immediately after being jarred by circumstances. We shouldn’t be surprised when life hits us, but we should be disciplined enough to find our center again, as quickly as we can. As he observed:
“When you are forced by circumstances to be disturbed, quickly return to yourself and do not stay out of rhythm longer than necessary. You will have more control over the harmony by continually returning to it.”
The basics are the metronome that keeps the rhythm steady. You have more control over the harmony of your life than you know. You can actually influence your inner equilibrium. It’s not about never failing; it’s about the speed of recovery. How soon can you get back to yourself?
If you’ve ever faced down the mountain of “getting your shit together” and felt paralyzed by its enormous size, it could help to lean on the Anne Lamott method: bird by bird. The basics are what can gently usher us back to ourselves.
Optimization is a god lording over the modern world, and an all-or-nothing mentality rules the day. But “bird by bird” goes right against that. You don’t have to fix everything at once. You can start with one walk. One day a week in the gym. One paragraph. The work, whether it’s writing or simply lifting, must be treated as a priority—especially when the foundation feels rickety.
When I feel powerless, it’s the basics that bring me back home. I can’t control external circumstances, but I can always control my response and choose where to anchor my focus. By becoming the observer of my thoughts, I can halt the cycle of overthinking and jumping to conclusions. I can look at my insecurities and fears right in the mask they wear, understanding that they only serve to feed me lies. In pursuing truth, renewing my spirit, and finding gratitude for all that is right in my life, I find the things I am always capable of doing—no matter what is happening outside of me.
The real work lacks the aesthetic makeup most content online shows. This is hard work, the kind that demands brutal honesty and uncomfortable feelings. It asks that you strip down to the barest of your soul, to relinquish your ego and your identity, to let go of every mask you put on when you assumed it wasn’t okay to be you. The basics of who you are and the basics of how you spend your time—that is where the path home lies.
Practically, that looks like spending time in the mornings checking in with yourself. If you believe in a higher power, pray. If not, a simple, quiet moment of meditation to express how you feel and focus on gratitude is more than enough. Spend time doing the things that ignite your spirit—create freely and without judgment, read works by those you respect, and learn about anything that genuinely interests you.
Move your body, let the sun hit you, and take your vitamins. On nutrition, just try to be a little better if you can. Eat less of the things that make you feel like crap and more of what makes you feel good.
Monitor how much time you spend online, ingesting the lives of others; it affects us all differently, so learn where your threshold lies and adjust accordingly. Finally, make actual plans with friends—not abstract plans that disappear into the ether of abandoned text threads, but real, specific plans. Oh, and lend a hand in your community if you can.
I’m not saying you have to do all these things, or even any of them. This is just what a preferred foundation looks like for me. It may seem like a lot, but when I at least try to make room for each of these, I just feel better. They remind me why I’m actually here and also pull me out of my own head.
I will be tested again, and so will you. Life is a constant stream of tests and—cue the sappy, motivational Instagram caption—the only certainty is uncertainty. None of us are immune to the storms. But I’ve found that when the foundation is there, you can survive just about anything trying to wash you away.
I am still trying to find myself. That is often what my essays reveal. I’m not trying to become someone new, but rather trying to find who I was before the protective shell of my ego formed. I want to loosen my grip on the identities and narratives I’ve become so attached to, and instead connect with the inner child who just wants to be a part of this life I’m building.
In the end, beyond the algorithmic cesspool and the disposable nature of our time, isn’t this what we all want? Not another life hack or optimized routine, but the spiritual resilience required to stay and build something through both effort and care.
Though I am still navigating so much pain, I am taking it day by day. If you’re in a similar season, I wish you good fortune. We’re all traveling through life on this globe, unsure of where we’ll end up. But it’s how we spend our days and what we give our attention to that ultimately paints the picture, not the final destination. So, the basics of caring for yourself always seem like a good place to start.
Much love,
Jon ♾️
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Beautifully written and very timely for me. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you so much for releasing this into the wild. So pragmatically delivered and centering. Please keep up the good work n..n