When You Can't Push Through

Finding Freedom in Your Relationship with Resistance

Jake sat across from me, carrying the weight of transition like an anchor tethered to his soul. Now on sabbatical, he had built a successful company, and though he had stepped back from day-to-day operations, he remained entangled in several unfinished projects. He wanted to write a book, support his wife and family, and rediscover a sense of purpose—but he felt paralyzed.

"It's resistance," he said, almost spitting out the word. "I've been trying to work through resistance for 10 years, and I haven't really changed anything. I didn't even see it for what it was until my early 30s, but now it's everywhere. It's like this sticky film I can't shake off—the stories I tell myself about it, the shame and fear it stirs, the way it keeps me stuck. Why is it so damn persistent?"

His frustration was palpable, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "I've tried everything," he continued, ticking off a list: "IFS, psychedelics, somatic experiencing, meditation, coaching. And yet… it's crafty. Every time I get close, it finds a way to redirect me."

There was a moment of silence as he wrestled with the questions that had been gnawing at him for years. Then, almost in a whisper, he said, "I know this book has potential—it could really matter. But what if I never try? And worse… what if I do try, and it still isn't enough?"

Shame and fear hung thick in the air, each attempt to push through winding tighter with every effort. The more he fought it, the more the threads of doubt tangled, trapping him in a loop that felt impossible to escape.

I let the silence settle before speaking. "Jake, I notice something in the way you're describing this. It's like you're resisting the resistance itself. What if, instead of trying to fight it or push through, you surrendered to it? What might it look like to welcome it—to let it exist without trying to fix it?"

He shifted in his seat, his brow furrowing. "Surrender to it?" he said, his tone a mix of skepticism and curiosity. "That feels… impossible. If I surrender, won't I just be stuck there forever?"

"That's what it feels like," I said. "But what if surrendering isn't about giving up? What if it's about creating space—space to see what resistance is trying to tell you, instead of letting it control you?"

Jake's dilemma was stark: resistance had become an immovable inner force, a wall he couldn't climb or break through, even with the guidance of highly skilled practitioners. It wasn't just the wall itself—it was the weight of what it represented. Each attempt to scale it left him more depleted, reinforcing the very thing he was trying to overcome.

What Keeps Us Stuck

Resistance is a familiar companion for anyone striving toward something meaningful. You've likely felt its grip—a force holding you back even when every logical step forward is clear. And perhaps, like Jake, you've done the work: therapy, coaching, mindfulness, self-exploration. Yet resistance persists, embedded in the patterns of your thoughts and actions.

Resistance isn't just a barrier—it's a protector. It arises from the parts of us that long to feel safe, avoid pain, or stay within the familiar. These parts don't care about your ambitions or aspirations; they care about keeping you secure. Change doesn't just challenge what you do—it threatens the identity you've built, along with your sense of control, belonging, and stability.

The paradox of resistance is that it doesn't just guard against external risks—it shields us from the discomfort of transformation itself. It's about the stories we tell ourselves when we reach the edge of our own growth. Resistance wraps itself around our deepest fears: fear of failure, fear of success, fear of being seen, fear of stepping into something new.

Over time, this kind of resistance becomes habitual, embedding itself into the patterns of our lives. It shows up in subtle ways—hesitation, procrastination, self-doubt—and keeps us tethered to the familiar, even when the familiar no longer serves us. For Jake, it crept into all corners of his life, from his book project to household responsibilities to unfinished work at his company.

What makes resistance so insidious is that it often disguises itself as personal failure. We misinterpret it as laziness, lack of discipline, or evidence that we're deeply flawed. We tell ourselves, I should be further along by now. I just need to try harder. I have to push through.

But this self-blame obscures the truth: resistance isn't a flaw in our character—it's a natural, human response to uncertainty and fear. It takes enormous effort to resist the things we truly want—effort that leaves us depleted and stuck. Stepping into a larger, more creative life demands a different kind of effort: the courage to move beyond resistance, to create, to face the vulnerability of being seen.

Resistance isn't a failure of effort, but it may be a mirror reflecting the tension between who we've been and who we're becoming. It's there to be understood, not overcome.

Opening the Door

Once you can identify your resistance, the next step is counterintuitive but essential: you welcome it.

Imagine resistance as an unexpected guest arriving at your door—not someone you invited, but someone who insists on being seen. You can ignore them, slam the door shut, or even yell at them to leave. But they'll remain, knocking persistently, until you acknowledge their presence. What might happen if, instead of treating resistance as an unwelcome intruder, you opened the door and said, Come in. Let's talk.

"What if," I suggested to Jake, "instead of trying to push through this resistance, you simply welcomed it?"

He looked at me skeptically. "Welcome it? I've spent 10 years trying to overcome it."

"Try this," I said. "Next time you sit down to write, or when you notice yourself avoiding those household tasks, just pause. Notice the resistance. Smile. Say hello to it, like you would to an old friend who keeps showing up uninvited."

"Hey there, resistance. Welcome back?" Jake's voice carried a mix of doubt and curiosity.

"Exactly. Then get curious about what it brings with it. What sensations do you notice in your body? What thoughts or emotions arise?"

Jake closed his eyes for a moment. "There's this tightness in my solar plexus. And this voice saying I'm not doing enough, that I should be further along by now."

"That's it," I said. "You've started the conversation. Now, instead of trying to silence that voice or push past the tightness, let them be exactly as they are. Ask what they need from you, what they're here to show you."

Over the next few weeks, as Jake began to engage with his resistance, its nature shifted. What once felt like an insurmountable block started to reveal itself as a messenger.

Resistance often carries more than just obstacles—it brings signals. Sometimes it warns us of risks we haven't yet addressed. Other times, it holds wisdom, urging us to slow down, reconsider, or realign. Often, it carries unresolved emotions that need to be felt before we can move forward.

When you approach resistance with curiosity instead of hostility, it stops being a wall you hit your head against. It reflects back the fears, beliefs, and unmet needs that hold you in place. What you once dismissed as procrastination might actually hold a clue about what matters most.

Welcoming resistance takes more than mental acknowledgment—it requires softening into the experience. Notice where it resides: a tightness in the chest, heaviness in the limbs, or a restless energy that keeps you pacing. Instead of tensing against these sensations, lean into them. Take a deep breath. Allow the tightness to expand with the inhale, creating space for it to soften.

This act of surrender doesn't mean giving up. It means creating room for resistance to exist without needing to fix it. It means trusting that even discomfort has wisdom to offer.

What Calls Us Forward

Welcoming resistance is the first step. But to truly shift, we need to reconnect with what lies on the other side: the deeper longings that make the action meaningful to us.

If resistance is the wall, then longing is the light that shines just beyond it. At first glance, resistance feels like a force pulling us away from action. But look closer, and you might find it's actually standing guard over what matters most: our deepest desires for growth, connection, impact, and authentic expression.

"Let's take the book," I said to Jake. "Why does it matter to you?"

At first, his answer was practical: "I think it could have an impact. Maybe even change how people think about technology."

But as we sat with the question, letting it sink beneath the surface, something shifted. "It's more than that," he admitted, his voice softening. "I want to leave something behind that matters. I want my kids to see me follow through, to know I didn't just talk about doing something meaningful—I actually did it. And... I want to show my wife that I can step up. She's been carrying so much while I've been stuck."

In that moment of vulnerability, the book transformed from a daunting project into something sacred: a symbol of Jake's commitment to sharing his voice, supporting his family, and creating a legacy that aligned with his deepest values.

This is the power of connecting with our longings. When we touch what truly matters—when we feel the pull of what's possible—resistance loses some of its grip. The fear doesn't disappear, but it becomes smaller, more manageable, because we can finally see beyond it.

These longings might speak in whispers—a quiet urge to create, to connect, to step into something larger. They might show up as a yearning to make a difference, to heal something broken, to bring beauty into the world, or simply to become more fully yourself.

When we take the time to connect with these deeper longings, the struggle with resistance becomes less about forcing our way forward and more about aligning with what matters most. The wall of resistance became a mirror, and is now a doorway, inviting us to step through—not because we've conquered our fears, but because we've found something worth walking toward.

When Resistance Becomes Your Teacher

In the months that followed our conversation, Jake's relationship with resistance began to shift in subtle but profound ways. The resistance didn't disappear—it still visited him, whispering its familiar doubts. But now, instead of seeing it as an enemy to defeat, he recognized it as a signal worth heeding.

When resistance emerged during his writing sessions, he'd pause to notice it: the tightness in his chest, the urge to check his phone, the whispers of not enough. Instead of fighting these sensations or berating himself for feeling them, he'd acknowledge them with gentle curiosity. "Hello, old friend," he'd say, and then he'd remind himself of what lay beneath the resistance—his desire to create something meaningful, to show his children what it means to follow through, to step fully into his role as husband and father.

This new relationship with resistance rippled outward. Those household tasks he once avoided became opportunities to express care for his family. The lingering projects from his company transformed into chances to complete what he'd started with intention. Even his creative work took on a different quality—less driven by force, more guided by meaning.

Over time, Jake discovered what resistance had been trying to teach him all along: that transformation doesn't happen through force, but through relationship. His "stuck" moments weren't failures—they were portals to deeper understanding. Each pause, each hesitation, became a teacher revealing the truth of what mattered most.

The way through resistance isn't about force—it's about presence, patience, and purpose. It's about learning to hold both the resistance and the longing, the fear and the possibility, as you take one small step, and then another, toward the life that's calling you forward.