Consistency is overrated

Why chasing the same rhythm left me stuck instead of free

Friends, I think the universe is trying to teach me something.

One year ago today, I closed my laptop and walked away from a job I once loved. It was one of the hardest choices I’ve made, but it gave me the course correction I desperately needed.

In the year since, I’ve reshaped my relationship with work, started this newsletter, and, somewhat ironically, found myself back at the same company in a new role I genuinely enjoy. Life has a funny way of bringing you full circle.

I started writing Inner Canvas last year in those glorious weeks of leave between jobs. It felt easy then, when my only deadline was my own. Keeping it up has been equal parts meaningful and maddening. But somehow, I’m now only four weeks away from hitting my goal of publishing every week for a year.

If I’m honest, I thought reaching this point would feel different. For most of my adult life, I believed consistency was the golden ticket. If I could just become one of those steady, dependable, always-on people, then maybe I’d finally feel like I had it together. So I forced myself into a rhythm. Week after week, I wrote. And I discovered something a little awkward. I don’t actually enjoy being that person.

Turns out, steady output just isn’t how I work. I move in cycles. There are weeks when I’m unstoppable and weeks when I need to step back and take a breath. I used to treat that rhythm like a personal flaw. I thought worth was measured by how reliably you showed up, not by the energy or perspective you brought when you did.

Eventually, I realised my rhythm isn’t broken, just different. Less like a steady drumbeat and more like waves rolling in and out. Which sounds lovely in theory, until I bump up against the pressure to keep going. That pressure is always there, humming in the background like bad elevator music. Lately, it has been especially loud. Deadlines pile up, my brain feels overcrowded, and the space where ideas usually appear goes blank.

I thought I would have grown past this by now. That a year of showing up to write would mean the old patterns had finally released their grip. Instead, I’m realising how easily they can return.

I’ll still reach that 52–week milestone (I do love proving a point). But more and more, I find myself wondering what comes after. Maybe the next chapter isn’t about clinging to consistency in the way I once imagined. Perhaps it’s about leaning into seasons. Some weeks will be full of words, others full of friendship or rest. There will be stretches of energy and stretches of stillness. Nature doesn’t bloom all year round, so why should we?

If you’ve ever felt frustrated about not keeping up a perfect rhythm, you’re in good company. Some of us are just built to move in waves. Real consistency shows up in the perspective we bring, not in ticking the same box every week.

As for the universe, I’m sure it will keep sending reminders until I finally learn. Probably right when I’m feeling a little too smug about having it all figured out.

Thank you for reading. It truly means the world to me! 💌