Becoming Human Again, Part 1 – The Space Between Knowing Better and Doing Better

Written by Dana Hatch, Executive and Neurolinguistics Coach

Dana Hatch is renowned for employing a variety of coaching methods to assist leaders in overcoming their struggles and achieving the next level of success.

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Let’s not sugarcoat it, we’re navigating the turbulent waters of growth right now. Imagine standing in the eye of a storm, where the wind rages between who you were and who you are becoming. This chaotic in-between is where we find ourselves.

This is Part I of my series, Becoming Human Again, a four-part, unapologetic unraveling of what it really means to stop performing, to feel what you’ve numbed, and to face the parts of yourself you’ve avoided because they’re too damn honest.

Over the next four parts, we’re going to dissect the anatomy of becoming, the awakening that cracks you open, the grieving that guts you, the reckoning that humbles you, and the reclaiming that finally sets you free.

And it all starts here, in the most excruciatingly human stage of all, the space between knowing better and doing better.

That brutal, beautiful middle

Be honest, you say you want growth, but do you really want this part? The part where awareness drags your defenses into the light and forces you to confront the habits and identities that no longer fit, even though they once kept you safe.

This is the psychological tension of transformation, when your mind recognizes the pattern, but your body still worships its familiarity. It’s the tug-of-war between cognitive dissonance and nervous system loyalty, the cruel, necessary middle ground between chaos and peace.

You’ve survived chaos, this isn’t that. And you haven’t earned peace yet, that’s still ahead. This is the in-between, the space where you can finally see your patterns clearly and, honestly, wish you hadn’t.

You know it’s happening when you catch yourself shrinking the moment someone raises their voice. When you make a joke instead of admitting you’re hurt. When you chase people who make you question your worth and call it chemistry, like self-destruction is a love language. When you keep proving yourself to people who stopped noticing you years ago.

You call it growth, but let’s tell the truth, it’s emotional demolition with better lighting.

Here’s where it starts to shift. Try this, identify one reflex or coping strategy you still repeat, even though you know it keeps you small, the overexplaining, the appeasing, the silence that masquerades as peace. Write it down. Name it without judgment. That single act of observation interrupts the automatic. And what’s interruptible becomes changeable.

Because awareness alone doesn’t heal you, it exposes you. It shows you exactly how often you mistake comfort for safety. It reminds you that the chaos you once escaped became the place you learned to breathe. And now, as you try to leave it behind, every cell in your body resists, loyal to the prison it once called home.

You’re not broken, you’re in between identities. One foot in survival, one foot in becoming. Wobbling on the edge of who you were and who you’re meant to be. And yes, it’s ugly. You thought self-awareness would make you calm and wise. Spoiler alert, it just ruins your ability to lie to yourself. Because awareness isn’t the finish line, it’s the moment the denial dies and the real work finally begins.

Why awareness alone doesn’t rewire behavior

Let's stop pretending awareness is the same thing as growth. It's not. It's exposure. I remember a time when "exposure" hit me hard. I was in the middle of a work presentation, projecting confidence while my inner voice screamed that everyone could see through the facade. In that moment, the awareness of my deep-seated fear paralyzed me. It was my wake-up call, showing me that recognizing a pattern is only the beginning. It’s the uncomfortable acknowledgment of reality that compels us to move forward.

Everyone loves to brag about being self-aware. You can name your attachment style, quote Brené Brown, identify your triggers, and still act like a walking contradiction. That’s not evolution, that’s spiritual cosplay.

Because once you see your patterns, you don’t magically transcend them, you just become uncomfortably aware of the circus you’re still running. Awareness alone doesn’t fix you, it simply destroys your comfort with delusion.

You’re not healed because you can describe the wound. You’re healed when you stop picking the scab every time life tests you.

Awareness feels like progress, clean, safe, and intellectual. But it’s not a transformation, just a tease. Change begins when you stop narrating your patterns and start breaking them. Awareness shows you the door. Action makes you walk through it.

The dirty truth about why you’re still stuck

You say you want change, but you keep trying to think your way out of something that was built on feeling.

Your logic wants progress. Your body wants proof. And until your body believes it’s safe, your brain will drag you back to what’s familiar, even if familiar is hell.

That’s why you keep choosing chaos. That’s why you keep replaying the same dynamic in different outfits. That’s why peace feels suspicious and pain feels productive.

You call it self-sabotage, but it’s really self-protection. Your nervous system isn’t broken, it’s loyal. It’s doing exactly what it was trained to do, survive.

And survival doesn’t care about your goals, it cares about predictability. If pain was predictable, your body called it safe. If peace was unknown, it called it danger.

So every time you overextend, chase, fix, fold, or stay too long, your body exhales in relief, Ah, yes. This I understand. That’s not a lack of awareness, that’s loyalty to your old programming. Your body isn’t resisting growth, it’s protecting the only safety it’s ever known.

But here’s the punchline, that safety is the cage. And the key isn’t more insight, it’s new evidence.

Stop calling it healing if you’re still hiding

Honestly, half the time, healing is just performance with prettier language. You journal about your boundaries but never enforce them. You go to therapy but still apologize for existing. You talk about your triggers like they’re personality traits instead of rehearsed reactions.

That’s not growth, that’s emotional brand management. Gaining further intellectual insight is insufficient without experiential evidence that substantiates the possibility of behavioral change. It is necessary to actively demonstrate to yourself that you can refrain from habitual over-functioning, tolerate emotional discomfort without intervening in others’ processes, and remain grounded during periods of calm without manufacturing crises.

To cultivate such evidence, consider the following reflective practice. When you notice the impulse to intervene in a situation that does not require your involvement, intentionally pause, take a measured breath, and count to five before responding. During this interval, deliberately observe the situation as it unfolds in your absence.

This exercise functions as both a practical application of the essay’s central theme, the transition from habitual coping mechanisms to intentional behavioral change, and as an opportunity for self-reflection. By engaging in this micro-experiment, you increase your capacity to tolerate discomfort, thereby reinforcing safety within yourself and advancing genuine, embodied transformation.

Rewiring doesn't start with awareness, it starts with contradiction. Doing the opposite of what your reflex tells you and letting your nervous system realize the world doesn't end.

That’s what growth actually looks like:

• Not epiphanies, but through experiments.

• Not enlightenment, but through repetition.

• Not inspiration, but through nervous system reprogramming.

Because healing isn’t an aesthetic, it’s not candles, sage, or journal prompts that never translate into action. It’s discipline, the quiet kind that no one applauds because it looks boring from the outside.

You don’t heal by understanding yourself. You heal by retraining yourself to do what understanding demands.

The call-out you probably need

Stop waiting to feel ready. You won’t. Readiness is a myth invented by avoidance. Stop saying “I’m working on it” when what you really mean is “I’m thinking about it.”

You’ve done enough thinking. Your brain is bloated with insight. Your body’s starving for evidence. You keep wanting healing to feel inspiring, but it mostly feels like withdrawal.

Like detoxing from your own drama, that’s what rewiring actually is, replacing adrenaline with peace and mistaking the boredom for loss.

You don’t need another book, retreat, or caption about boundaries. You need practice. Be the version of you that no longer abandons yourself. Not when it’s easy, but especially when it’s inconvenient. Nike said it best, Just Do It.

Do it scared. Do it shaking. Do it messy. Because awareness might hand you the flashlight, but only action builds the bridge.

The bridge between knowing and doing

You already know what to do. You’ve known for a while. You know the conversation you’re avoiding. The boundary you keep rationalizing away. The habit that’s killing your momentum. The relationship you outgrew six months ago.

You know. You just don’t want to feel what doing better will cost you. That’s the truth most people choke on. You don’t struggle with clarity. You struggle with courage. You’re not confused. You’re comfortable. And comfort is the most addictive drug there is.

You keep saying, “I don’t know where to start.” You do. You just don’t like the answer.

It starts with the confrontation you keep dodging. It starts with the silence instead of the explanation. It starts with one boundary that actually holds, even if someone doesn’t like it.

You say you want change, but change isn’t a vibe. It’s a funeral. Something in you has to die for something new to live. And most people want rebirth without the burial.

That’s why you’re stuck on the bridge, the place between knowing and doing. The place where self-awareness meets resistance and your nervous system bargains for one last hit of the familiar.

This is where growth stops being poetic and starts being war. Except this war isn't fought with weapons or strategy. It’s fought with vulnerability and the messy humility of being human. I’ve found myself in the trenches of my own self-discovery, battling the urge to retreat into old habits. And I’ll admit, sometimes my attempts to “do better” look more like awkward missteps than graceful victories.

This war isn’t meant to be fought alone. You can’t heal in isolation from the very connection your nervous system was built for. Reach out, not for rescue, but for regulation. Let someone hold space while you unlearn the instinct to hold it all yourself.

Consider engaging with trusted friends or family who provide non-judgmental support. Joining a supportive community, such as a therapy group or an online support network, can offer a safe haven for sharing experiences and receiving encouragement.

Practice asking for help with specific requests, like scheduling regular check-ins or having someone join you in activities that promote growth. Remember, seeking support isn't a sign of weakness, but a step towards reclaiming your strength.

You’ll want to explain yourself. Don’t. You’ll want to fix it. Don’t. You’ll want to numb it. Resist.

Let the discomfort break you open instead of breaking you down. Because change doesn’t feel good at first, your body still believes danger lives on the other side of peace. Every pause, every boundary, every “no” feels like rebellion, because it is.

Micro-rebellions: how you start crossing

Forget the fantasy of transformation that happens all at once. That’s not how this works. Change doesn’t show up as a grand moment of arrival. It shows up as small acts of rebellion that no one else notices.

The breath you take before you explain yourself. The message you type and delete. The moment you say, “Let me think about it,” instead of the automatic yes. The night you sit with your loneliness instead of running back to the chaos that created it.

That’s rewiring in real time. That’s your nervous system learning that safety doesn't require self-betrayal.

If you’re wondering where to begin, start here. Notice one reflex. Interrupt one loop. Take one breath before reacting. Walk away for sixty seconds before rescuing someone else’s discomfort. These aren’t small acts. They’re the scaffolding of your new self.

Make it a habit to jot down your daily micro-rebellions or small wins. Tracking these moments helps you notice your progress and builds motivation through visible change.

At first, it feels like loss, like you’re giving up connection, closeness, and control. But what you’re really giving up is the illusion of all three. And in their place, a softer feeling begins to grow, a quiet confidence that replaces chaos. It feels like glimpses of calm and moments of peace, where you start to trust yourself and experience the comforting embrace of authenticity.

This is the emotional reward of these micro-rebellions, the taste of freedom that slowly transforms reluctance into genuine enrollment.

Change doesn’t start with certainty. It starts with contradiction, and it won’t feel good, not at first. Peace always feels awkward to people who learned to equate chaos with love. But that’s how you know you’re doing it right.

You’re not losing yourself. You’re finally meeting the version of you who doesn’t need to earn safety anymore.

Here’s the part that’ll piss you off and free you

You don’t get to think your way across this bridge. You have to walk it. And walking it will cost you your comfort, your validation, and your old identity. That’s the price of freedom, and it’s steep.

Every time you choose the pause over the reaction, the truth over performance, the boundary over approval, you’re burning a bridge back to who you used to be.

And yes, it will hurt. It’s supposed to. Because this isn’t self-improvement, it’s self-demolition. You’re not finding yourself. You’re shedding the version of you that settled. And that’s not peaceful work. It’s a war with your own patterns.

The bridge between knowing and doing was never meant to feel safe. It’s meant to feel real. So stop waiting for it to get easier. Step forward anyway. Shake, stumble, ugly cry, do it half-right, just move.

Because “someday” is the most dangerous word in your vocabulary. And you’ve been standing here long enough.

Self-compassion is the catalyst

Ask yourself, would I talk to anyone the way that I talk to myself? The answer is probably not. The way most of us talk to ourselves is brutal. You’d never say half that to someone you love, yet we narrate our own lives like a hostile commentator.

What if, instead of saying, “There she goes again, ruining it,” you asked yourself with curiosity, “What might I learn from this moment?”

Instead of, “Why can’t you just get it right?” consider, “What would help me approach this differently next time?”

And, “Maybe you’re just not built for this,” could become, “What strengths can I draw on to handle this challenge?”

You call it accountability, but it’s cruelty in disguise. You think that if you hate yourself hard enough, you’ll finally become someone worth loving. But here’s the truth you keep dodging, you can’t hate yourself into loving yourself.

Shame belongs to the old version of you, the one who survived by performing, the one who learned that approval had to be earned through exhaustion. If you keep speaking to yourself in her language, you’ll keep living her life.

Self-compassion isn’t about letting yourself off the hook. It’s about keeping yourself on the path without using shame as a leash. It’s not softness without structure, it’s grace that still expects you to grow.

If the goal is to feel safe enough to do things differently, you have to start creating safety inside your own head.

Your self-talk isn’t background noise, it’s instruction. Your body is always listening, deciding whether you’re safe or under attack. So if every thought sounds like a threat, guess what? Your body goes to war against you. You don’t need more discipline. You need a truce. Replace punishment with permission.

“I should know better” becomes “I’m learning how to live differently.” You’re not failing, you’re rewiring. That takes practice.

“I always do this” becomes “I’m catching it sooner each time.” That’s not a setback, it’s proof the pattern’s losing power.

“I failed again” becomes “I paused for one second. That’s one second more than before.” That’s how neural pathways are built, one second at a time.

Self-compassion isn’t a reward you earn when you’re finally good enough. It’s the fuel that gets you there. It’s the only voice your system will ever trust.

So the next time you catch yourself mid-spiral, instead of demanding change, whisper like you would to a scared child, “You’re safe. We can do this differently.”

You don’t need to perfect yourself. You need to stop abandoning yourself every time you’re imperfect. That’s what changes everything. That’s when your body finally believes you’re not the enemy anymore. That’s when healing stops being theory and starts becoming home.

You’re not behind, you’re rebuilding

Let’s get one thing straight, you’re not behind. You’re rebuilding. Rebuilding rarely aligns with the idealized progress narratives prevalent in society. Rather, it manifests in the tangible and often uncomfortable realities of personal transformation, such as the deliberate and painstaking process of reconstructing one’s life after disruption. This process may be experienced as persistent rumination during sleepless nights, moments of emotional vulnerability in solitude, or the necessary withdrawal from social obligations when psychological burdens become overwhelming.

Such instances should not be misconstrued as personal deficiencies or failures. Instead, they are integral aspects of growth that underscore the universality of human struggle during periods of change. Reflecting on these experiences reveals their practical significance, they serve as critical reminders that emotional difficulties are a normative component of transition, shared across individual and cultural contexts.

By acknowledging the prevalence of such challenges, individuals can mitigate self-stigmatization and promote self-compassion, thus fostering a collective sense of empathy and acceptance essential for authentic personal development.

It looks like progress no one else sees because the only thing changing right now is you.

Progress at this stage doesn’t sparkle. It hums quietly. It sounds like, “I almost reacted but didn’t.” It looks like fewer spirals, shorter recoveries, softer comebacks. That’s what real motivation feeds on, noticing the quiet wins no one claps for.

But that’s the part that matters most. The rebuild always happens in private, long before the foundation looks stable.

You keep calling yourself stuck, but you’re not stuck, you’re stripped. You’ve outgrown your old patterns, but the new ones aren’t fully built yet. So yes, it’s uncomfortable. You’re too aware to go back and too scared to move forward.

That’s not failure. That’s transition. That’s rebirth without anesthesia.

The truth no one tells you about growth is that it’s violent. It doesn’t whisper affirmations. It rips away your armor. It forces you to sit in the silence you used to run from. It burns through your excuses and asks, “Who are you without them?”

You call it falling apart, but it’s really just the demolition phase. And demolition always feels like destruction until you realize it’s making space for something sturdier.

Stop saying, “I should be further along.” Further along, where? Into another version of pretending? Into another loop that looks healed but still feels hollow?

You’re not late to your life. You’re right on time for your rebuild. You’re finally meeting yourself without the noise. Without the performance. Without the mask that made you likable but miserable.

And yes, it hurts. Growth always does. You’re learning that peace isn’t supposed to be comfortable. It’s supposed to be quiet. And quiet feels terrifying when you’ve lived your whole life in noise.

So if you’re here, exhausted, uncertain, rebuilding brick by shaky brick, stop asking for certainty. Ask for courage. Ask for honesty. Ask for the strength to stay when everything in you wants to run.

Because this is what becoming human again actually looks like. Not lighter but truer. Not prettier but realer. Not finished, but free. You’re not behind. You’re rebuilding. And that means you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

Author’s note

This is where we begin, not with inspiration, but with truth. Not with the version of healing that fits neatly into a caption, but the kind that ruins your appetite before it sets you free.

If this made you uncomfortable, good. It was supposed to. This is the excavation before the rebuild, the place where awareness cracks you open and everything familiar starts to ache, where the lies that once kept you safe start to rot in your hands.

But this is also where it gets real. Because the only thing harder than facing yourself is pretending you don’t need to anymore.

In Part II, Grieving the Almosts, we’ll go deeper into the losses that never got a funeral. The endings that didn’t end cleanly. The people, dreams, and identities you keep revisiting in your mind, like unfinished conversations.

Before we dive in, I invite you to gently prepare yourself. Take a moment to reflect on your own “almosts,” those moments, relationships, or dreams that linger. Consider jotting them down to give them the recognition they’ve long needed. This reflection will prime you for deeper engagement and emotional readiness.

So take a breath. Unclench your jaw. You’re not falling apart. You’re finally falling into yourself. Welcome to Becoming Human Again. It’s not pretty. It’s not easy. But it’s real. And that’s the point.

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Read more from Dana Hatch

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Dana Hatch, Executive and Neurolinguistics Coach

As a certified executive and neurolinguistics coach with over 15 years of experience in business consulting, I bring a unique blend of psychological insight and practical business acumen to help leaders and organizations achieve transformative results. My approach combines cutting-edge coaching techniques with deep industry knowledge to unlock potential, drive performance, and foster sustainable growth.