Consistency gets talked about like it’s a personality trait you either have or you don’t. Like if you were just more disciplined, more organised, more together, you’d be able to do the same healthy things every day without fail.
And somehow it’s a personal failing if you can’t.
But the older I get, the more suspicious I am of that version of consistency – the rigid, all-or-nothing kind that falls apart the minute real life intervenes.
Because bodies change. Energy fluctuates. Sleep is inconsistent. Hormones do whatever they want.
And somehow we’re still surprised when our routines don’t hold up under all that.
I’m starting to think consistency doesn’t fail us … our definition of it does.
The big fat lie we’re told
You make a plan. A sensible one. Move your body more. Eat well. Take better care of yourself.
And then you eat a chocolate. Or a handful of chips. Or something that wasn’t part of the mental spreadsheet you didn’t realise you were keeping.
And just like that, the day is ruined.
You may as well keep going now. The eating’s blown. The plan’s broken. We’ll start again tomorrow.
Which is … dramatic, when you think about it. And pretty effing stupid.
Somewhere along the way, consistency picked up a very specific personality. Rigid. Perfect. Slightly smug.
It says: if you don’t do the thing properly, there’s no point doing it at all. If it doesn’t look like yesterday, it doesn’t count. If you wobble, you’ve failed.
Consistency isn’t repetition, it’s resilience
I’m trying – slowly – to unlearn that.
Because the truth is, I am being consistent. Just not in a way that looks neat and tidy on a graph.
I’ve decided to move my body more. But that doesn’t mean a rigid program or a gold-star streak on an app.
It means listening.
If I sleep like garbage and wake up flat and foggy, maybe that’s a yoga day. Or a walk. Or stretching on the lounge room floor while muttering about my life choices.
On days when I feel stronger, I do more. On days when I don’t, I still show up … just differently.
And that’s the part we’re terrible at crediting.
We only seem to count consistency when it’s impressive.
But if you’re running at 40% and you give 40%, you’ve still given everything you had that day. That is consistency. That is showing up.
Same with food. Eating one chocolate doesn’t cancel out the rest of the day … unless you decide it does.
That all-or-nothing switch is brutal. One “off” choice and suddenly the whole effort is written off, like it never mattered.
But real consistency isn’t about perfection – it’s about return.
Returning after the chocolate. Returning after the missed workout. Returning after the days you checked out because life was loud or exhausting or just a bit much.
Consistency, I’m learning, isn’t repetition. It’s resilience.
It’s the quiet decision to keep coming back … even when today looks nothing like yesterday, and tomorrow probably won’t either.
Not the same every day
So no, my consistency doesn’t look the same every day. Some days it’s strong. Some days it’s gentle. Some days it’s just me refusing to disappear altogether.
I’m done measuring my effort against an imaginary ideal version of myself who sleeps perfectly, eats flawlessly, and never has a bad week.
And if that makes my progress harder to measure but easier to live with, I’m comfortable with that trade.
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