Why I'm done pretending to care about making sacrifices

I was supposed to write an essay on sacrifices this week but I kept stumbling.

I wanted it to be super motivational. The type of piece that once you read it you’d want to get up off your ass and make something happen. And if not you, I wanted to write the thing that would make me finally do the things I’d been putting off for my own self. It had noteworthy quotes, there were lists and reader takeaways, it was SEO optimized – the algorithm would have loved it.

But every time I went to open the draft and complete the outline I’d get sucked into this vortex of phoniness.

Who the hell was I, the least disciplined person I actually know, to talk about sacrifice?

I’ve never even looked the thing in the eye, let alone could talk about it like we were best friends.

I’d written down lines like, “Sacrifice makes space for the blank pages waiting to be filled with words more beautiful than you could ever imagine,” and, “What feels like a loss today may feel like freedom tomorrow,” only to then turn around and actively avoid getting ready to go to the gym, unwilling to sacrifice my time. I’d tell myself I’m saving money while knowing that if I do decide to go, I’m going to order an Uber, unwilling to sacrifice my comfort.

So my qualifications on the subject are moot. I can’t talk about sacrifice because I’m a slave to my own self-satisfaction and gratification. I let myself do what I want when I want, without shame.

My very own yes-man.

The essay was also difficult to write because I could never really resonate with many of the ways sacrifice shows up in our culture. When researching the piece, I went on Pinterest and saw posts about sacrifice that read like the cautionary story in a fairy tale, where we must offer things to the bridge troll lest it come out its cave, steal our children, and eat us.

With big, bold words written on flowery backgrounds, the quotes would read things like, “If you don’t sacrifice for what you want, what you want becomes the sacrifice,”“You must sacrifice everything you are to become everything you can be,” and my personal favorite, “If you love it you’ll sacrifice all your blood, sweat, and tears.” Sounds very messy. I hate mess. Though I’m sure the monster will be pleased.

What I actually hate about these phrases is that we’re talking about sacrifices as if we’re making some blood oath to the universe, or even worse, negotiating a bartering system with God.

We walk ourselves into positions of sacrifice, arrogantly believing that by giving away one thing, we’ve instantly become deserving of another. An oversimplification that glosses over what sacrifice truly can be: grief, mourning, and loss – not over something as trivial as a kitchen mixer but of our desires, dreams, and the lives we envisioned. We’ve even gone as far as to assign worthiness to the tolls we’ve had to pay to get to our present-day reality. How moving across the country could never compare to having to let go of your marriage, but a silly little marriage pales in comparison to making the call of life or death for a loved one. In our world, your sacrifice is really only as good as your suffering.

It wasn’t until I opened an edition of James Clear’s 3-2-1 newsletter that I read something I could truly align to:

“At any moment, you are one good choice away from a meaningfully better life.”

Choices.

Not all or nothing ultimatums, but micro decisions that dictate our short- and long-term outcomes. The idea that we are only one next best step away from better.

I’ve realized it’s what I’d been doing by adding something green to each meal to make it more balanced, or by thinking about the impact I’ll make on my project and my team by powering through that boring work assignment.

It’s even how I managed to reach 350 days of sobriety.

Not by making some grand sweeping motion to never drink again, falling to my knees with a dramatic vow to swear it all away. I’d done that many, many times, and it never stuck.

Because it’s not about the big proclamation. It’s not about saying, “This is the moment I’ll change my life forever.” It’s about what comes after that.

The choices you make next when no one’s looking, the quiet small steps, the unglamorous moments.

I didn’t quit drinking because of one monumental decision; I quit because I kept stringing together days through a series of yes’s and no’s. Yes, I’ll order that mocktail on vacation. No, I won’t befriend the girl who only wants to spend weekends going shot for shot. Yes, I’ll attend, but I’m leaving early. No, I won’t let the voice in my head talk me into just one glass.

It was about showing up, moment after moment, and saying, this choice matters, even if it feels small. Eventually those choices became threads that were woven together so tightly they now felt like armor.

My choices were never about sacrifice, they were about alignment. Every decision brought me closer to the person I wanted to be – not by depriving myself, but by being intentional. I wasn’t losing something; I was gaining clarity, freedom, and control over my own life.

This is why the idea of sacrifice never sat well with me. It makes it sound like we’re losing parts of ourselves in exchange for something greater. But the truth is, when we focus on the next right step, we’re not giving up – we’re building up. Letting each choice moves us toward something better.

And if that’s true, then each decision we make is just as important as the last one.

So I ask you, what’s your next best choice? Not the big, dramatic gesture. Not the “starting tomorrow” promise that eventually gives in under its own weight. What’s the one small decision that nudges you toward better?

Let it be simple. Let it be enough. A yes to something that feels right. A no to something that doesn’t.

Because it’s not about sacrificing your comfort or proving your worth through struggle. It’s about showing up for yourself, one choice at a time, until those choices stack into something meaningful.