You Don’t Lack Discipline: Your Nervous System Lacks Safety
The story we’re told about impulse and discipline
A clip from a very popular neuroscience podcast crossed my path last week. This clip, with its millions of views, explains how every time we give into an impulse and receive a dopamine hit, we are “shrinking our life”, because we begin to depend on this short, instantaneous gratification to bring joy to our life. Conversely, a true quality life comes not from these narrow loops of pleasure or relief, but from working towards a reward over the longer term; this is termed ‘impulse control’, or ‘discipline’. And let’s just name here, the holy grail of wellness.
On the surface, this makes sense. I’m not here to argue with the neuroscience of dopamine.
What I believe is an incredibly important part of this conversation which I NEVER see named, is that this is only half the story of dopamine. And as a result, these soundbites are another form of quiet violence in our wellness culture.
The truth is, I rarely expose myself to these kinds of podcasts or education videos any more. It’s not because they’re wrong, or bad. I’ve just always noticed that after listening to them, I notice something subtle happening inside me: what begins as information quietly turns into a pernicious pressure.
When understanding turns into self-surveillance
You see, this soundbite found its way to me midway through the time I took off over Christmas. During which time, I decided to let go of coffee… not because I felt physically dependent - I don’t - it just felt like an important and gentle little experiment for my body. Don’t get me wrong - I deeply enjoy the taste of coffee, and yes, there’s of course a dopamine pull there for me too.
But after hearing that soundbite, I witnessed an internal tone shift… and when my brain floated a little question of ‘should we maybe get a coffee today?’… I noticed the question was no longer met with the gentle curiosity of the previous week, ‘how do I feel? what do I want the coffee for today? what effect will it have on my body in my current state? do I really want that today? Is there maybe a part of me that feels like it needs it? what might it be seeking?’
Instead, the question was met by a stronger voice…
Don’t give in to your impulse, Emily. Don’t shrink your life - you should be more disciplined than this, you’re a dietitian for God’s sake.
Suddenly, a gentle body-led inquiry became a test of character. And in response to this new pressure, another voice arose: ‘fuck it, fuck this guy - I’ll do what I want with my holiday, discipline be dammed… I want coffee!
And THIS is the moment that interests me most - when well-intentioned explanations are absorbed through a nervous system that’s already under strain, and turn into yet another way we monitor, judge, and override ourselves.
Because what I know, not just from my own life but from years of sitting with others, is that long-lasting, meaningful behaviour change doesn’t come through pressure.
Behaviour changes through safety.
What I see instead, over and over
Conversations of similar moments come up a lot in clinic.
Feeling a wave of panic when checking bank balance and getting an urge to spend anyway.
Knowing an early night would help you feel better tomorrow, and yet here you are at 11pm watching Netflix or scrolling.
Feeling a wave of anxiety as you try on clothes that feel a little tighter than you expected when getting dressed, and yet later, you find yourself eating the very foods you told yourself you wouldn’t touch this week.
And then afterwards, comes the guilt, the shame:
Why am I like this?
Why do I keep doing this to myself?
What is wrong with me, don’t I have any discipline?
Maybe you even look for podcasts that can help you ‘get it together’… binge listening to episodes about ‘willpower’, ‘discipline’ and how to stop ‘self-sabotaging’.
When I sit with people in these moments, whether it’s money, food, rest, or self-care, I don’t see a failure of discipline. I see a familiar pattern:
Over here, there’s a clear knowing of what would feel supportive. Over there, there’s very little energy or capacity to act. And in the middle, there’s a relentless space of self-judgement.
When I name this aloud, there’s often a long exhale: Yes. That’s exactly where I live!
What’s always missing from this picture isn’t motivation or willpower; it isn’t a flawed character or even a lack of desire to change.
It’s safety.
When “fuck it” isn’t giving up - it’s losing the future
There’s a moment that often follows shame, a moment where something inside us quietly gives way: we’ve noticed the bank balance, the tighter clothes, the late night, the coffee, the food.
But instead of resolving to “do better,” something in us says:
Fuck it.
This is often described as ‘all-or-nothing thinking’ and it’s often left at that: ‘the all or nothing phenomenon’; ‘I guess I’m just an all-or-nothing kind of person’. But this label doesn’t go far enough, because ‘all-or-nothing’ thinking is not a personality trait… it’s something infinitely more tender.
In that moment of ‘fuck it’, the future no longer feels safe or accessible to your nervous system.
Scarcity changes how the brain works
When the nervous system perceives scarcity (financial, emotional, relational, or embodied) the body shifts gear into survival mode: cognitive bandwidth narrows; long-term planning becomes harder to access; the parts of the brain responsible for restraint, perspective, and future-oriented choice begin to quiet.
Let me be very clear here: this is not a personal failing. This is biology.
In states of threat or uncertainty, the nervous system follows an ancient but powerful logic: Take what you can now! Relief is safer than restraint!
This is why
fear of poverty can lead to more impulsive spending
anxiety about weight or body changes can lead to eating more, not less.
exhaustion often leads to scrolling long past your bedtime.
These behaviours aren’t evidence that we don’t care. They’re evidence that the body is trying to regulate itself when the future feels unreliable.
The problem with blaming the individual
This is where so many mainstream narratives fall short. They’re not wrong - they’re simply incomplete and lead us to believe that these ‘fuck it’ moments are moral or personal failures.
But when we zoom out, we see the same pattern playing out everywhere. I have sat in Public Health lectures where there are scathing judgments about people living in poverty - why they spend money on small comforts, why they have smartphones or nice shoes, why they eat fast food instead of “being responsible”. But what’s rarely acknowledged is that these choices are often made inside nervous systems that have learned not to trust the future, because they sit inside a society that is not meeting their relational needs.
When safety is uncertain, dignity, relief, and regulation are sought in the present.
This isn’t recklessness, it’s adaptation. And when we ignore this, we are not creating change… we are contributing to, and deepening, a societal narrative of shame.
Shame doesn’t create discipline - it erodes it
Here’s a gentle neuroscience truth that matters deeply:
shame suppresses the very parts of the brain required for planning, choice, and follow-through.
When someone is caught in cycles of self-judgment, their nervous system remains in threat. And from threat, behaviour becomes increasingly short-term, impulsive, or avoidant.
This is why pressure so often backfires. Why “trying harder” rarely works for long (I’m looking at you, new year’s resolutions). Why people feel stuck in patterns they desperately want to change.
It is not because they lack discipline; it’s because they’re trying to change from a place of contraction.
Discipline is not a character trait
This is the reframe I return to again and again, in my own life and in my work:
Discipline is not a virtue or a personality trait: it is an emergent property of safety.
When the nervous system feels resourced and regulated, supportive behaviours arise naturally, through relationship. This is the BIG difference between coercive discipline and relational discipline. Coercive discipline says: I must override myself. Relational discipline says: I care about the version of me I’m becoming.
When safety returns to the body, choice returns too.
What actually creates change
In my work, I don’t see people change because they finally “get disciplined”, or because I have motivated them into changing. That’s not my place, and in my extensive experience, it’s just not necessary. I see change happen when:
compassion replaces judgment
presence replaces pressure
safety replaces threat
From there, behaviours soften: some behaviours just gradually fall away; some behaviours gently come online. Not perfectly. Not all at once. But sustainably. Powerfully. Deeply.
A different question to ask yourself
So, if you find yourself stuck in cycles you don’t understand - spending, eating, scrolling, staying up late - I’d invite a different question, especially at this time of year, when so many promises are made from bodies that are already exhausted…
Not:
What’s wrong with me?
Why can’t I be more disciplined?
But:
What does my nervous system need to feel safe enough to choose differently?
Because you are not broken, dear one. You are not lazy. And you are certainly not failing at discipline.
Your nervous system is simply communicating.
And when it feels safe enough, change doesn’t need to be forced.
It emerges. 💛
This way of listening to the body is the foundation of my work at Alitus.
In sessions, we explore food, physiology, and the nervous system together - gently, lovingly, collaboratively, and at a pace your body can tolerate. There is no pressure to fix or override what is happening. Instead, we build safety, curiosity, and relationship, allowing the body’s patterns to be met with understanding rather than force.
If this perspective resonates, you can learn more about working together.