stuffed peeps, four horsemen, and the questions behind resistance

There was a stretch in 2016 where my hands were telling me a story I did not want to hear.

Not metaphorically. Literally.

I had built a hand-lettering business that was finally doing the thing people dream about when they start a creative project in the first place. Opportunities were growing. Bigger names were showing up. From the outside, it looked like proof that all the effort had finally turned into momentum.

And meanwhile, some mornings I could barely hold a pen.

At the time, I don't think I would have called what was happening resistance.

I would have called it determination. Commitment. Being practical. Not giving up too early.

As I’m entering a new phase and revisiting this part of the spiral, it’s got me thinking about resistance differently lately.

Because the version we’re usually taught to look for is loud and obvious. Procrastination. Avoidance. Self-sabotage. The dramatic movie montage where you’re clearly standing in your own way.

But a lot of resistance is often quieter. 

Sometimes it shows up dressed like responsibility.
Sometimes it sounds like strategy.
Sometimes it borrows the voice of wisdom and says, let’s not be dramatic, let’s just keep going a little longer.

That was the version I knew well. 

I wasn’t resisting the work itself. I loved the work.
I was resisting what it would mean to believe my body. 

Because if I believed my body, I would have had to admit that something about the way I was working was no longer sustainable.
And if I admitted that, I would have had to touch a whole pile of grief I was not ready for. 

The grief of maybe losing income.
The grief of maybe losing momentum.
The grief of maybe losing the version of me I had become attached to — the creative one, the capable one, the one whose hands could make beautiful things and keep going.

That’s the thing I keep coming back to:

Resistance is rarely only about the thing on the surface.

Most of the time, it’s protecting something underneath. 

Not always something noble. Not always something wise. But usually something tender.
Something that feels important enough to guard.

We’re taught to treat resistance like the enemy between us and the life we want.
Push through it.
Out-discipline it.
Ignore it until it gets quieter.

And sometimes, yes, there are moments where fear is fear and the next right thing is to take the step anyway. But I think a lot of us skip a question that would make the whole thing gentler and more useful:

Because when someone resists delegating, it’s often not really about delegation. It may be protecting their sense of being needed. Their control over quality. Their identity as the one who can carry a lot without dropping anything.

When someone resists setting a boundary, it’s often not really about the calendar slot or the delayed reply. It may be protecting connection. Belonging. The safety of being seen as thoughtful, helpful, easy to love.

When someone resists slowing down, it’s often not really about the pace itself. It may be protecting a sense of worth in a culture that keeps teaching us that visible output is proof we matter.

That doesn’t mean the resistance should automatically run the show. It just means it might be carrying useful information. 

In my case, the resistance around my hands wasn’t protecting the work.
It was protecting an identity.

If I stopped, even for a moment, I would have had to face how much of my sense of self had fused with being able to produce, perform, and keep going.
I would have had to ask a much scarier question than How do I push through this?

I would have had to ask, Who am I if I can’t keep being this version of myself?

And that’s not a small question.

And I think a lot of resistance gets mislabeled because the real question underneath it feels too vulnerable, too inconvenient, or too identity-shaking to name right away. 

So instead we fight the symptom.
We make stricter plans.
We gather more information.
We try to become the kind of person who wouldn't hesitate.

Meanwhile, the resistance keeps tapping on the glass like: hi, I’m still here, because the actual issue is still here. 

Sometimes what it’s protecting is something you’ll want to honor.
Sometimes what it’s protecting is something you’ve outgrown.
Sometimes what it’s protecting is a younger survival strategy that makes perfect sense, even if it’s no longer the best guide for this version of your life.

And sometimes, after asking the question, you’ll still decide to move through it.

But there is a real difference between walking through resistance blindly and walking through it after you’ve acknowledged what it came to guard. 

One feels like a never-ending battle.
The other is relationship. 

I don’t think our job is to romanticize resistance or make it sacred every time it appears.
Just like emotions, they don't always have to mean something. They can just be and we can let them pass.
But I also don’t think our job is to flatten it into laziness, weakness, or failure of follow-through, either. 

Sometimes resistance is fear.
Sometimes it is old conditioning.
Sometimes it is a messenger arriving with messy timing and inconvenient information.

Either way, it may be worth listening long enough to hear what it’s trying to keep safe.

Because once you know that, you are no longer fighting in the dark.

You may not have an answer yet.
You may not even know what to do next.
But you'll have a better question and practice in holding two truths at once.

And sometimes that is the beginning of everything.

A Cozy Ruckus is where we go deeper with essays like this every Sunday. On Tuesdays, I share the more practical side with behind‑the‑scenes looks at what I’m building and implementing, plus occasional invitations over on The Bridge.