Why I Believe in Experimenting With Growth

Not because I love change — but because rigid plans kept failing me

Did I really change…

or did I just rename the same habits?

The clock on my laptop says 1:12 am.

The room smells like cold tea.

I’m staring at a list I wrote earlier.

New routine.

New rules.

New version of me.

It looks convincing.

And somehow… fake.

I close the document.

Open it again.

Close it again.

Why does every perfect plan feel heavy before it even starts?

Takeaway: If a plan feels heavy before day one, it’s already lying.

---

A few months ago, I believed in strict growth.

Not soft growth.

Not flexible growth.

Hard growth.

Wake up early.

Work deeply.

Track everything.

Never miss.

I liked that idea.

It felt powerful.

Clean.

Like control.

So I built routines like contracts.

If I start this, I must continue.

If I fail once, I’ve failed fully.

For a while, I followed them.

Then one morning, I didn’t.

Not because I was lazy.

Because I was tired.

And suddenly, the whole system collapsed.

I didn’t feel like someone who missed a habit.

I felt like someone who betrayed a promise.

Takeaway: When growth becomes a contract, failure feels like betrayal.

---

I remember the exact moment something cracked.

I was sitting on the floor, back against the wall.

Phone in my hand.

Notes app open.

Old routines.

Old goals.

Old promises.

Some lasted three days.

Some lasted a week.

Most died quietly.

I felt stupid looking at them.

Not because they were bad ideas.

But because I had believed they would save me.

Then a strange thought came.

What if I’m not bad at consistency?

What if I’m bad at choosing systems that don’t fit me?

That thought felt dangerous.

Takeaway: Sometimes the problem isn’t discipline — it’s design.

---

I didn’t change my life that night.

I didn’t throw away routines.

I didn’t embrace chaos.

I did something smaller.

I stopped calling habits forever.

Instead of saying,

This is my new lifestyle,

I started saying,

Let’s test this.

Not motivational.

Not dramatic.

Just temporary.

That single word changed how my mind felt.

Temporary means no pressure.

Temporary means no identity crisis if it fails.

Takeaway: Temporary commitments create honest effort.

---

My first experiment was embarrassingly small.

One glass of water in the morning.

Not five habits.

Not a morning routine.

Just water.

I told myself:

Try it for five days.

Day one — I remembered.

Day two — I forgot.

Day three — I remembered late.

Earlier, I would’ve judged myself.

This time, I didn’t.

I asked something else.

Why did I forget on some days and not others?

I noticed a pattern.

On calm mornings, I remembered.

On rushed mornings, I didn’t.

So the issue wasn’t motivation.

It was environment.

Takeaway: Habits fail inside environments, not inside people.

---

After that, I started experimenting with everything.

Work hours.

Sleep time.

Focus methods.

Break lengths.

Not like a scientist.

Like a confused human.

Some experiments worked.

Some didn’t.

But something strange happened.

I stopped feeling ashamed when things failed.

Because failure wasn’t proof of weakness anymore.

It was information.

When a habit failed, I didn’t ask,

What’s wrong with me?

I asked,

What didn’t fit here?

Takeaway: When failure becomes data, shame loses its voice.

---

There was a phase when I thought experimenting meant I wasn’t serious.

I felt guilty.

Real people commit.

Real people don’t try.

I wondered,

Am I just avoiding discipline?

Am I hiding behind flexibility?

Sometimes the answer was yes.

Sometimes I was lazy.

But even that realization helped.

Because experimentation didn’t make me perfect.

It made me honest.

Takeaway: Experimentation doesn’t remove flaws — it exposes them.

---

One night, I wrote something in my notebook.

Not a quote.

Not a goal.

Just a sentence.

I don’t want a perfect life.

I want a life I understand.

That line stayed with me.

Because most productivity advice promised perfection.

Wake up early.

Stay consistent.

Never quit.

But none of it helped me understand myself.

Experimenting did.

Takeaway: Understanding yourself is deeper than improving yourself.

---

My mindset slowly shifted.

Earlier, I thought growth meant pushing harder.

Now, it felt more like listening.

Listening to energy.

Listening to resistance.

Listening to boredom.

Sometimes boredom wasn’t laziness.

It was a sign that something didn’t matter.

Sometimes resistance wasn’t weakness.

It was a sign that something felt wrong.

Takeaway: Not every resistance is laziness — some are warnings.

---

There were weeks when nothing worked.

Every experiment failed.

Every habit broke.

Every routine felt useless.

Earlier, that would’ve crushed me.

Now, I treated those weeks like weather.

This is a foggy phase.

Not a broken life.

Takeaway: Growth is seasonal, not linear.

---

If you want to try this way of growth, don’t redesign your life.

Try one small experiment.

Tonight, choose one habit you’ve been failing at.

Shrink it until it feels almost silly.

If it’s reading, read one paragraph.

If it’s exercise, move for one minute.

If it’s journaling, write one line.

Do it for five days.

Not forever.

Not perfectly.

After five days, don’t judge yourself.

Ask one question quietly:

Did this feel supportive… or heavy?

Takeaway: Small experiments reveal truths big plans hide.

---

I still believe in discipline.

But I don’t worship it anymore.

I believe more in testing.

Adjusting.

Listening.

Experimenting with growth didn’t make me successful overnight.

It made me less cruel to myself.

And strangely, that’s when real personal growth started.

If this way of thinking feels familiar,

Prosnic is here.

Not to make you better fast.

Not to sell perfect routines.

But to think slowly,

to experiment gently,

and to understand your own growth before you try to fix it.