Change Stinks!

After a much-needed retreat from the day-to-day rhythm of life in Africa, including my birthplace Ghana, this past holiday season, I returned to my regularly scheduled activities back home. While away, my days were full- equally busy, even- but at a pace that felt purposeful and fueling rather than depleting. Coming back required a reset.

That reset met me immediately on my first day back at the gym.

The parking lot was packed. Inside, space was limited and wait times stretched long just to access equipment. It was that time of year, the annual influx of new faces armed with fresh resolutions and shiny commitments to better health. You could almost smell the newcomers: crisp sneakers, brand-new Lululemon or Gymshark outfits, Christmas gifts still stiff with newly removed tags.

Those of us who’ve been grinding for years steady, committed, familiar with the rhythms, quietly lament how the “short stayers” disrupt our routines and crowd our space. But as I moved from machine to machine with my friends and trainer, something deeper hit me.

Change is hard. Harder than we often like to admit.

That realization took me back to my own decision to finally check off a long-standing bucket list goal: competing in an amateur bodybuilding competition a couple of years ago. What surprised me most wasn’t the obvious shifts-the workouts, the strict diet, the six-days-a-week commitment (yes, it was grueling, and whine was always sold separately). What challenged me most was the mindset shift required to sustain the change.

It demanded a daily recommitment:

On days I was tired.

On days I was annoyed.

On days I was traveling, busy, emotionally full, or simply uninterested.

The real work wasn’t physical, it was internal. It was the discipline of managing my inner dialogue. Choosing, over and over again, for over eight months, to stay locked in for this

workout, this meal, this hour long cardio, without obsessing over the end goal. Because more often than not, when I focused too far ahead, the goal felt overwhelming, even evasive. My coach’s suggestion that I lose 25 pounds, while not framed in that way, felt unattainable in week three, but ensuring my meals were prepped for the week, drinking enough water and yes, identifying my cheat meals or snack cravings within that same week felt quite doable. Progress only became possible when I stayed present.

We often say change is inevitable. And yet, human behavior tells a different story through our resistance to it. For me, I didn’t resist, I was merely justifying. Ok so the excuses sounded like this: I’m traveling and can’t meal prep. I have a major work deliverable to finish. It’s cold outside. I had to pick up and drop off my kid. It’s too dark, or too early, to be in the gym. My back hurts. My knees hurt. Honestly, all this effort probably won’t matter anyway. The list could easily fill this entire page.

I had to come to terms with the moments when I gave myself off-ramps and permission to opt out. I listened closely to how often I tried to outsmart myself. And every single day, for over 8 months, I had to find a workaround that still moved me toward my goal.

Even on days when I wasn’t feeling well, I’d say, Okay, just go in. Thirty minutes. Fifteen walking. Maybe one piece of equipment. More often than not, that was a win. Unsexy, unglamorous consistency! The truth is, change disrupts identity, habits, and comfort. It requires us to live in ambiguity long enough for something new to take root. Naming a small change, planning for it, and then living the details long enough for it to stick is no small feat. It’s a massive undertaking, one that deserves recognition and celebration.

Change doesn’t come from intensity; it comes from consistency. Small, unglamarous, repeated actions, done even when they feel boring or mundane, reshape identity over time. Real change doesn’t come with a prescription; it is adaptive. It asks us not just to learn new skills, but to release old ways of being. That kind of change challenges who we think we are and that’s why it’s so uncomfortable. That’s also why we’re wired to resist it.

So here are the insights my journey has afforded me in my imperfect practice: change requires a trusted circle- those critical friends who cheer you on, tell the truth and remind you of your greatness when you’re not at your best, coaches with both expertise and lived experience, and people who can hold you accountable without shame. It also requires remembering that your process is yours alone. Comparison is a distraction and the thief of joy. Discipline is just a refocusing of the choices we make, daily. Growth is not a performance.

In the end, I did accomplish my goal of competing in that amateur body building contest. I even came home with a couple of medals, first-timer bragging rights 😊. But the real reward was the lesson: the human spirit, body, and mind are far more capable than we give them credit for.

Extraordinary things happen when we are willing to be disturbed by our own efforts to transform, when we commit to the unsexy work of consistency, focus, grace, and patience with ourselves.

In life, change rarely announces itself with clarity or comfort. It simply asks us to move before we feel ready. The invitation is often simple, but never easy: stay present, stay consistent, and trust that becoming is happening, even when it feels slow.

Believe me, I know, change stinks. But not because it’s impossible. It stinks because it requires us to choose ourselves again and again. And that daily practice of commitment, reflection, and courage is what transforms discomfort into distinction.

So, as you think about your own relationship with change, consider taking a few quiet moments to sit with these questions:

● What change am I currently resisting—even though I know it may be necessary for my growth?

● What part of this change feels most uncomfortable: the effort, the uncertainty, or the shift in how I see myself? What small, consistent action could I commit to today—not next month, not when it feels easier?

● Who is in my tribe, my support circle, and where might I need to invite more honesty, accountability, or care?

● How might my life or leadership be different if I offered myself more grace while staying committed to the process?

By Dr. Ruby Ababio-Fernandez