The other day, in my moment of self-created chaos, I caught myself rushing. Not because I had somewhere important to be, but because I had gotten into the habit of moving quickly. I was trying to get out of the house, the dog needed to go out, the construction in the apartment above me was driving me crazy, my fancy espresso machine wasn't grinding the beans, I was making an utter mess. And I was already thinking about the weekend.
And I hadn't even had my coffee!
Ever have this kind of start to your day? My body was acting as if there were an emergency. It made me stop and ask myself a simple question:
What am I practicing?
We usually think of practice as something intentional. We practice yoga, a musical instrument, a golf swing, or meditation because we hope to improve over time.
But we're always practicing something, whether we realize it or not.
Every time I rush through my day, I'm practicing rushing. Every time I criticize my body, I'm practicing self-criticism. Every time I instinctively reach for my phone during a quiet moment, I'm practicing distraction. Every time I compare myself to someone else's life, hair, body, or career, I'm practicing comparison. The more we repeat these habits, the more automatic they become. Our brains get efficient at whatever we ask them to do, even when what we're practicing isn't serving us.
I think that's one reason intuitive eating can feel so difficult in the beginning. We've spent years practicing ignoring our hunger, questioning our fullness, labeling foods as "good" or "bad," and believing someone else knows our bodies better than we do. These habits don't disappear overnight. They're practices we've repeated again and again.
But here's the good news: we can practice something different.
We can practice noticing before reacting. We can ask, "What do I need right now?" We can practice eating without guilt and trusting that our bodies are capable of communicating with us when we're willing to listen.
And this extends far beyond food.
We can practice presence by looking up from our phones and noticing the sky. We can practice curiosity instead of judgment when difficult emotions show up. We can practice kindness by speaking to ourselves the way we'd speak to someone we love. We can practice trusting our bodies instead of trying to control them. We can practice listening instead of immediately trying to fix every uncomfortable feeling.
None of this requires perfection. That's the beauty of practice. No one expects perfection when learning a new skill. We expect mistakes. We expect progress one repetition at a time.
Maybe we can offer ourselves that same grace. Instead of asking, "Why am I still struggling?" we could ask, "What have I been practicing?"
Every small choice becomes another repetition. Every pause before reacting is another opportunity to practice something that supports the life we actually want to live.
I still catch myself rushing. I still notice comparison creeping in. And I still have moments when I want to fix instead of simply listen. But now I can recognize those moments, and hopefully choose a different practice.
So today, instead of asking yourself whether you're doing enough, eating perfectly, or getting everything right, try asking a different question:
What am I practicing?
The answer may tell you far more than you expect.
And if it's not the practice you want, remember: every new moment is another chance to begin again.