by Erika Matic – disciplined, structured, and currently negotiating with hypothetical beers
There is a very specific kind of anxiety that only disciplined people understand. Not the anxiety of chaos. Not the anxiety of falling apart.
No.
The anxiety of potential deviation.
The kind where nothing has happened yet… but your brain has already prepared a full psychological autopsy. Because this weekend, my husband and I are going to Budapest.
We’re going to a Fox Stevenson concert.
We’re going to relax.
And (this is where the internal committee started sweating) we’re going to have a few beers.
Not many. Not dramatically. Not in a way that would concern a normal, emotionally stable adult. But enough for my brain to whisper: “Ah. Yes. This is how it begins.”
The Flashbacks of a Former Life
Here’s the part that makes this slightly less funny and slightly more honest. I haven’t always been this person.
I haven’t always been consistent. Or disciplined. Or someone who trains regularly and eats like she respects tomorrow.
I used to be overweight. Not in a dramatic, cinematic way. Just enough to feel uncomfortable in my own body. Just enough to know I wasn’t taking care of myself. Just enough to develop a very intimate relationship with avoidance.
And when you’ve lived in that version of yourself, something stays with you. Not physically. Mentally. A quiet, persistent fear that if you loosen your grip… you might slide back.
Not overnight. But gradually. Silently. Comfortably.
The Slippery Slope My Brain Keeps Marketing
This is how the internal logic goes:
- You have a few beers.
- You relax your structure.
- You skip a workout.
- You eat more freely.
And then?
Well. You remember how easy it is. How comfortable it is. How familiar it is to not think, not plan, not restrain.
And suddenly, you’re not a person on a weekend trip. You’re a case study in regression. Which is fascinating, because this entire scenario is based on something that hasn’t happened.
But fear doesn’t require evidence. It requires memory.
Discipline Built on Fear vs. Discipline Built on Choice
There’s a subtle but very important difference here. Some discipline is built on growth. And some discipline is built on fear of going back.
From the outside, they look identical.
- Both wake up early.
- Both train.
- Both eat well.
- Both say no to things that don’t align.
But internally?
- One says: “This is who I choose to be.”
- The other says: “I cannot afford to become who I was.”
And if I’m being honest, parts of my discipline still carry that second voice.
Not loudly. Not destructively. But enough to make three beers feel like a philosophical risk.
The Identity I Had to Fight For
When you build a lifestyle from scratch, it doesn’t feel casual. It feels earned.
- Every habit.
- Every decision.
- Every moment where you chose the harder thing when the easier one was right there, smiling, offering comfort.
So now, when I look at my life, I don’t just see routines. I see effort. Time. Proof that I changed. And that makes it very tempting to protect it… a little too aggressively.
As if one relaxed weekend could somehow disrespect all of that. As if enjoyment and discipline are in direct competition.
The Lie That Growth Is Fragile
This is where the satire starts losing its patience. Because the idea that one weekend can undo months (or years) of consistency is not discipline.
It’s insecurity.
Real change is not that fragile. You don’t accidentally become your old self because you had fun for two days. You don’t erase growth by stepping away from structure briefly.
If anything, the ability to step away without spiralling is proof that the change is real.
The Difference Between Then and Now
Here’s the part my brain conveniently ignores: Back then, there was no structure. No awareness. No intentionality. No returning point.
Now?
Everything is different.
- I know how to train.
- I know how to eat.
- I know how to take care of myself.
- I know what consistency feels like.
You cannot un-know that.
That’s the part transformation gives you that no one talks about.
- Skills.
- Patterns.
- Standards.
You’re not starting from zero anymore. You’re stepping away from something stable… and returning to it.
A Weekend Is Not a Relapse
We need to calm down with the drama. Having a few beers at a concert in another country is not a relapse. It’s a life event.
Eating more during a weekend trip is not losing control. It’s called being a human outside your kitchen.
Skipping a couple of workouts is not abandoning discipline. It’s prioritising a different kind of experience temporarily.
We’ve turned normal behaviour into moral failure. And honestly, it’s exhausting.
The Part Where I Admit the Real Fear
This isn’t actually about alcohol. Or food. Or workouts.
It’s about identity.
It’s about trusting that I am no longer the person who needed to be “saved” from her own habits. Because once upon a time, I did.
And that version of me is not something I judge. But it is something I’m afraid of revisiting.
Not because she was weak. But because she was comfortable in ways that kept her stuck. And comfort, when left unchecked, can be very persuasive.
The Inconvenient Truth at the End
The goal was never to become someone who needs perfect conditions to stay on track. The goal was to become someone who can live… and still come back.
That’s it. That’s the whole game.
Not perfection.
Return.
Not control.
Trust.
Not “I never deviate.”
But: “I deviate, and nothing falls apart.”
The Ending My Brain Is Still Negotiating
So this weekend, we’re going to Budapest. We’re going to a concert. We’re going to have a few beers. We’re going to enjoy ourselves without turning it into a psychological experiment.
And then we’ll come home. And we’ll train again. And eat well. And continue our lives like nothing dramatic happened.
Because nothing did.
And maybe that’s the most uncomfortable realisation of all: I am no longer one decision away from becoming my old self.
I am a collection of repeated choices.
And a weekend? Is just a pause.
Not a rewrite.
Erika Matic writes about discipline, transformation, self-deception, and the quiet fear of becoming someone you’ve already outgrown. She believes in consistency, questions perfection, and is currently learning that growth is not proven by how tightly you hold on – but by how calmly you return.
Leave a Reply