When Effort Stops Moving Us Forward
We grow up believing that effort leads to reward. That if we just keep going, something will eventually give. It’s easy to internalise the idea that striving means we’re on the right path. That perseverance guarantees progress. But for many of us, effort becomes a weight. We keep applying pressure, only to watch things stay the same. We invest more, but feel further behind. The sense of traction disappears.
At some point, we begin to question why nothing is shifting. We wonder what more we could possibly give. The system we’re operating in doesn’t pause to ask whether the effort is aligned. It simply tells us to keep going. So we do. But the result is often disconnection: from our own needs, from our sense of clarity; and, disconnection from the movement we were hoping to create in the first place.
We don’t always recognise the cost of this cycle until it becomes unsustainable. What started as motivation morphs into depletion. We’re still moving, but not in a way that feels grounded or true. The tools we once relied on no longer support us. And in that space, we begin to sense that continuing to try harder will not bring us closer to the life we want.
The Woman Who Stopped Trying
Carla Ondrasik is the creator of the No Try philosophy and author of Stop Trying! The Life-Transforming Power of Trying Less and Doing More. Her work spans creative leadership, songwriting, and personal development. Across more than two decades, she has supported individuals in recognising when perfectionism has disguised itself as effort—and how to shift into real action instead.
She continues to mentor musicians while also expanding her work into leadership, education, and women’s communities. Whether in professional spaces or intimate conversations, Carla helps people find their way back to meaningful movement. Her message doesn’t demand more. It asks for honesty.
Carla lives in Southern California with her husband, musician John Ondrasik (Five for Fighting), and is a lifelong swimmer and proud mother of two adult children. Her approach is both grounded and creative, encouraging others to live in alignment with what matters.
The Hidden Strain of Constant Effort
There is a kind of pressure that becomes so familiar, we no longer notice it. We associate effort with growth, but rarely stop to consider what kind of effort actually serves us. For many, trying becomes a coping mechanism. It gives a sense of purpose, but also conceals the fact that we’re overwhelmed. We keep doing, without checking whether our actions are truly connected to our needs.
This pattern often feels responsible. It looks like commitment. But it masks an undercurrent of anxiety. We’re not responding from clarity. We’re reacting from tension. The nervous system remains in a heightened state, managing expectations, keeping everything moving, never fully landing. In this state, no amount of output brings ease.
Effort that is unexamined tends to compound over time. The longer we operate in this way, the more difficult it becomes to access what feels true. We stop asking whether the effort is needed. We forget that ease and efficiency can coexist. And we begin to accept exhaustion as a normal part of doing our best.
The Loop of Incomplete Action
Unfinished ideas, delayed choices, and unexecuted plans often sit beneath the surface of constant effort. We refine concepts again and again, waiting for the perfect moment to begin. But perfection rarely arrives. So we stay in motion, convincing ourselves we’re being productive, while avoiding the uncertainty that comes with actually moving forward.
This loop can be subtle. We may not notice how many times we’ve rewritten the same plan or re-evaluated the same next step. It gives the illusion of momentum, but we remain exactly where we started. Action becomes something we prepare for endlessly, but rarely initiate. The longer we stay here, the more difficult it becomes to recognise what we’re avoiding.
The cost is not just in time or output. The real cost is in confidence. When we don’t follow through, we begin to doubt our own capacity. The self-trust we’re hoping to build through preparation quietly erodes. We start to believe we’re the problem, when in reality, it’s the system of trying without direction that keeps us stuck.
The Nervous System’s Role
Our physiological state directly affects how we interpret our experiences. When the nervous system is in survival mode, our view of what’s possible narrows. Decisions become harder. Boundaries feel risky. And even simple choices feel loaded with pressure. No mindset shift can override a body that feels unsafe.
When the nervous system settles, we can see more clearly. We can act without overcompensating. We can return to the present without being pulled into imagined futures or unresolved pasts.
This shift is often subtle at first: a deeper breath, a clearer thought; or, a moment of stillness where urgency used to live. These are signs that our system is beginning to support real movement again. Movement that is grounded, not forced.
The Courage to Begin Imperfectly
There’s a kind of momentum that only comes from taking the next step, even when it feels incomplete. We often wait for certainty before we begin. But clarity grows through action, not ahead of it. The decision to begin, without all the answers, becomes the foundation of change.
This is a return to what’s real. We make a decision based on what’s here, not what we wish it were. We meet the experience instead of rehearsing for it. Moving into contact with the real experience. When we stop rehearsing and start participating, we build a new kind of trust. Not the kind that needs guarantees, but the kind that grows from direct experience.
Progress doesn’t always feel satisfying at first. It can feel vulnerable, awkward, or disorienting. But those feelings are often signs that we’re no longer circling. That we’ve stepped into something more honest. And with each step, we begin to understand what movement truly feels like.
Doing from Alignment, Not Anxiety
When action comes from pressure, it often leads to burnout. We try to manage uncertainty through control, and the result is rigidity. There’s little room for adjustment. But when action comes from alignment, it creates space. It opens up possibilities. It reflects values, not just expectations.
We may still feel discomfort when doing from this place. But it’s a discomfort that leads somewhere. The difference is in how it lands in the body. Alignment feels like internal coherence. Like something has clicked into place, even if the path is still unfolding.
This way of doing doesn’t rely on external validation. It holds up under pressure because it comes from within. It asks us to stay present, to listen, and to move with what’s real instead of what’s assumed.
Three Shifts That Support Real Movement
Choosing What Matters Over What Impresses
Doing from a place of alignment requires us to pause and ask: Who is this for? What is the intention? We stop choosing based on what looks good and start acting based on what feels right. This kind of action doesn’t seek applause. It seeks resonance.
Moving at the Speed of Presence
We’ve been taught to move fast, to stay ahead, to optimise. But real presence often asks us to slow down. To act from where we are, not where we think we should be. There’s power in adjusting pace to match capacity instead of expectation.
Creating Before We’re Certain
Waiting for confidence delays action. Doing builds confidence. The decision to begin, even imperfectly, signals to the nervous system that we’re capable of participation. That participation becomes the source of clarity.
Listening for Internal Cues
Internal guidance doesn’t always shout. Often, it shows up as intuition. A signal that something feels right or that something doesn’t. When we stop over-performing, those signals become easier to access. We can distinguish between what fuels us and what drains us. Between what fits and what doesn’t.
This kind of intuitive listening takes practice. It asks us to notice without judgment. To pay attention without immediately needing to fix or adjust. The cues are already there. But they get drowned out when we’re locked in a cycle of doing for the sake of being seen.
As awareness grows, decisions become more fluid. We don’t need a framework for every action. We begin to trust our capacity to respond in the moment, based on what we’re actually sensing, not based on what we’ve been taught to prioritise.
Rebuilding a Relationship with Trust
When we don’t trust ourselves, we compensate with over-effort. We try harder to stay safe. We try harder to avoid making the wrong choice. But trust doesn’t grow through exertion. It grows through presence. Through consistency. Through following through in ways that matter to us.
The path to self-trust is often incremental. It’s shaped by small moments: keeping a boundary, following an impulse, completing something meaningful. Over time, those actions begin to recalibrate how we see ourselves. They signal that we can be relied on, even by our own nervous system.
This kind of trust makes it possible to move without second-guessing every step. It allows action to feel direct. It creates the conditions for movement to happen without constant inner negotiation. And in that space, we can build momentum that holds.
The TAKEAWAY
Effort alone doesn’t guarantee progress. It can feel familiar. It can keep us occupied. But without direction, it becomes a loop. A state of readiness that never turns into reality. Movement asks for something different. It asks for contact. For clarity. For decisions rooted in what’s real.
When we shift into doing, we release the need to prove. We begin to respond instead of react. We stop waiting for conditions to align and start participating in what’s already here. That participation changes everything; not because we’re doing more, but because we’re doing what matters.
We don’t need permission to move forward. We need presence. We need rhythm. We need actions that reflect where we are, not where we think we should be. That’s where real change takes shape...
...not in trying harder, but in doing differently.
