Balance Is a Battle I Keep Choosing

I think it’s time I conduct another personal trial of willpower.

I do this from time to time… take something I love, something I rely on, and see how long I can go without it. Sometimes just three days. Sometimes longer. I’ve been doing this since at least age seven.

It started with Halloween candy.

I’d come home, dump the haul onto my bedroom floor, and organize it like a tiny CEO of sugar. Piles by size. By flavor. Then I’d catalog them, write a list of my winnings, allow myself a piece or two… and hide the rest in a caboodle under my bed. Out of sight. But never out of mind.

I’d think about it all the time. And I’d be so damn proud of myself for not touching it. Until the next year came. And I’d open the container and find moldy, stale remains of what once tempted me. I had forgotten it existed. Or maybe I made myself forget. Either way… it was wasted.

Maybe that’s why candy never held much power over me in adulthood. I spent my childhood learning how to starve the craving.

I’d do the same sort of practice with donuts. Around the same age, my mom would drop me off at YMCA summer camp. On special mornings, we’d stop at Dunkin Donuts. I’d always order jelly. Even though I wanted sprinkles.

And when she handed it to me in the folded paper bag, I wouldn’t grab for it right away. I’d place the bag on my lap and grip it with all of my might… waiting until we reached a specific spot on the highway on-ramp. Only then would I let myself take a bite. Thirty seconds later, it’d be gone.

That was my ritual. No one told me to do this. No one modeled it. It came from somewhere else. Somewhere inside. It felt like discipline. Like power. Like I had control over something.

Except… I didn’t really enjoy the donut. I didn’t really enjoy the candy. I didn’t really let myself have the pleasure I was rationing.

That pattern followed me into adulthood.

But the candy and donuts turned into cigarettes and alcohol.

I could smoke a cigarette… but only if my daughter was asleep… and only if I was drinking. The logic? If I didn’t drink often, I wouldn’t smoke often. But that fell apart fast. Soon, I was buying beer just to justify a smoke.

Creating rituals around my vices. Making excuses feel like boundaries. Telling myself it was balanced when really, it was survival mode dressed in discipline’s clothing.

Still, I held onto the illusion. Of control. Of restraint. Of reward.

There were so many times I ignored the voice in my head… the one that asked me to wait, to pause, to choose differently. Eventually, that voice went quiet. And I didn’t even notice. Because the silence was filled up with strangers on a screen.

My new donut. First, it was Facebook. Then Instagram. Then TikTok.

I told myself I was learning. That it was educational. And in many ways, it was. I connected with brilliant minds, heard brave stories, found creators who felt like friends.

But my brain has begun to ache. My body is telling me it is too much. I’ve started to feel my eyes adjust to the screen like they were preparing for battle.

And still I reach for it. To fill the silence. To escape the stillness. To numb the craving I can’t quite name.

But here’s what I know about myself: I’ve been training my whole life to give up comfort. I’ve practiced restraint as a way of survival. But now, I don’t want survival. I want balance.

I want to post, connect, share, and then log off. I want to tell my story without being drowned in everyone else’s. I want to live my life without outsourcing my attention to someone else’s algorithm.

Because as long as I eat the donut… I’m not truly in control.

So here’s what I’m doing about it: I’m going on a digital detox. Three days. No TikTok scrolling. I can post, yes. But I have to ghost. No comments. No likes. No FYP rabbit holes.

Not because I think they’re bad. But because I need to be the voice in my head right now. Not someone trending. Not someone selling. Not someone subtly weaving in the next layer of propaganda. Just me.

And it’s wild how fast my brain has started to thank me.

If you’re feeling the itch to unplug, join me. Three days. That’s all. Let your nervous system breathe. Let your thoughts come home. Let silence speak.

I’ll be over here… not eating the donut.

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If you’ve ever felt the ache of wanting something that doesn’t serve you… if you’ve ever trained yourself to wait… if you’ve ever longed for balance and found yourself buried in habits that once felt holy… know this: you’re not alone. And it’s never too late to step back into conscious choice.

— AudraHealing out loud, so you don't have to heal in silence.