Episode 10: I Have to Do It Myself

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In this episode, we aim at the belief “I have to do it myself.” You’ll see why a brain that can juggle only four things starts to melt down when you add “just one more,” learn a simple thought-to-result model that shows exactly where the stress begins and what it creates, and test a small delegation challenge that frees up real time…without lowering your standards.

If you’ve ever signed school forms at midnight and still woken up to chaos, this episode offers a new way forward, one shared task…and one calmer morning…at a time.

What You'll Learn

• Identify the “I-have-to-do-it-myself” loop using the self-coaching model, and then watch the same pattern pop up at work, at home, and everywhere in between.
• Understand why working memory tops out at four items and how delegating protects your mental bandwidth.
• Practice letting “lived-in” mess stay visible so your nervous system learns that not every untidy moment is an emergency.
• Swap an unintentional self-coaching model for an intentional one with a single bridge thought, then track real-world proof in an evidence log.
• Run a 24-hour delegation experiment that can win back almost two hours a week and teach your brain that collaboration really works.

Episode Transcript

Self-reliance feels heroic—until it sends you hunched over a crumpled field-trip form at 11:30 p.m. on a Tuesday. The dishwasher hums, everyone else is asleep, and you’re at the kitchen island making sure tomorrow’s details don’t unravel. A familiar soundtrack plays in the background: If I don’t do it, no one will.

Six hours later, your oldest can’t find the “perfect” shirt, the dog is licking yogurt off the floor, and you set down your coffee for the third time to repeat Hurry, we’re late. That midnight-multitask-followed-by-morning-resentment loop plays out in far too many households.

Here’s the tricky part: the instinct driving those late-night fixes is often genuine wisdom. You tidy the counters now so future you wakes to calm surfaces and an uncluttered mind. You polish the slide deck so future team you can present with confidence. Planning ahead is powerful; it turns chaos into order and gives tomorrow’s self a softer landing.

The trouble starts when protecting tomorrow becomes the only lens you use. You didn’t start staying up late to become a martyr—you started because a tidy counter or a polished slide deck truly sets future you up for success. But when every dirty plate feels like a threat to future-you peace, the present version of you never clocks out. Self-reliance slides from I’ve got this to I’m on call for everything, and the strength that once served you begins draining every battery you have.

So today we’ll unpack exactly where that line sits—and how to step back from it. You’ll see, through the self-coaching model, that it’s our thought patterns, not the permission slips, T-shirts, or dishes themselves, that create the stress. We’ll gently notice how the belief I have to do everything myself stirs up internal chaos even when everything looks tidy outside.

By the end of our time together you’ll have a concrete practice so that delegating stops being a vague “someday” idea. If you’re ready to keep the empowering part of self-reliance while ditching the midnight hustle, let’s dive in.

SEGMENT 1: CREATE SELF-AWARENESS

Replay that 11:30 p.m. snapshot—or whatever moment currently triggers your overwhelm. Nothing is wrong with you; your prefrontal cortex can comfortably track about four open loops, and every whispered I have to do it myself grabs one of them. The self-coaching model lets us slow the film and see exactly where the pressure starts.

Let’s start with dinner plates at home.

Circumstance: The circumstance is that there is a stack of dinner plates waiting on the counter.

Thought: Your thought about that stack says, “If I don’t wash these now, chaos will erupt tomorrow.”

Feeling: This mental sentence makes you feel jittery pressure tightening your chest.

Action: Because of that feeling, you wave everyone away and scrub the dishes by yourself.

Result: You head to bed late and wake up exhausted, even more certain chores are solely your job.

Now, same movie—different scene: the Slack ping during dinner.

Circumstance: The circumstance is that a Slack notification pops up on your phone.

Thought: Your thought about that ping might be, “If I don’t answer right now, my boss will doubt my commitment."

Feeling: This sentence makes you feel an anxious buzz in your rib cage.

Action: Because of that feeling, you reply while the family eats without you.

Result: Another evening is sacrificed, reinforcing the idea that your absence equals disaster.

One last reel: the crooked planet on the science-fair poster.

Circumstance: The circumstance is that Saturn is sitting crooked on your first-grader’s solar-system board.

Thought: Your thought about that tilt could sound like, “If I don’t fix it, my child will be disappointed.”

Feeling: That sentence sparks another surge of urgency.

Action: Because of that feeling, you grab the glue stick and straighten the rings while your child watches YouTube.

Result: The poster looks perfect, but your child misses a chance to own the project, and you collect more evidence that you alone prevent failure.

Different props, identical script. Seeing the repetition is half the work. The rings aren’t really the issue—the story that they must be perfect is what lights up your nervous system. The model helps you get specific about that story, the feeling it generates, and the result it keeps recreating. Once you can name the loop, you’re ready to loosen it in the next segment.

SEGMENT 2: ALLOW YOUR HUMAN EXPERIENCE

Once we have awareness, the next step is to allow things to be exactly as they are—messes, feelings, awkward pauses, all of it.

We talk a lot about allowing emotions, but today let’s talk about allowing messes—literal and figurative. Perfectionism whispers that every surface should sparkle and every plan should unfold on schedule. Real life disagrees. Juice spills, inboxes pile up, and a five-year-old will empty half her dresser before choosing a shirt. Allowing messy reality means greeting these moments as proof we’re living, not proof we’re behind.

I’m sharing this topic because it’s my own growth edge right now. Since moving into our new home, I’ve been laser-focused on arranging every drawer like a Pinterest photo. That same tunnel vision crept into how I handled my kids’ routines during the move. The key is: I see it, I’ve named it, and now I can work with it instead of letting it run me.

Remember that late-night field-trip form. Six hours of sleep vanished for a signature you could have handled at breakfast. The trip still happened—and you would’ve met the morning T-shirt crisis with a much calmer voice.

So, when a Lego tower topples and bricks scatter, notice the urge to tidy because your brain claims it’s “saving energy.” Pause and narrate the facts like a news anchor: “Red, blue, and yellow bricks are on the rug.” That one neutral sentence tells your nervous system this is not an emergency. Decide—after your coffee—whether the tower needs attention. Each time you create space between the mess and your action, you practice saving mental energy for the long term.

Messy reality shows up at work too. Suppose a teammate formats the pivot table in Comic Sans. Before you overhaul the sheet, name the fact: “The headings use a playful font.” If the numbers are readable, ship the draft and suggest a template next time. Every time you resist polishing, you prove collaboration can work even when it looks imperfect.

Try a simple experiment tonight: choose one visible sign of family life—a pile of markers, mismatched socks, or a half-finished puzzle—and leave it in place until tomorrow. Whenever you see it, take one breath and remind yourself, “Mess means we live here.” In the morning, notice whether the clutter harmed anyone. Your brain will log evidence that a little disorder can be harmless.

Allowing reality isn’t “lowering standards”; it’s reallocating energy to priorities. A UCLA study found women’s cortisol spiked in spotless homes but leveled off when families tolerated a bit of clutter. I remind myself of that data whenever I feel an urge to wipe every counter at 10 p.m. The mess stays. I notice I don’t explode. And I give myself grace while I practice.

Getting out of the loop takes time, but we have to start somewhere—and it starts with letting the dishes, the Comic Sans, and the crooked planet be exactly as they are for a moment longer than feels comfortable. Your nervous system will thank you.

SEGMENT 3: ANALYZE YOUR HUMAN EXPERIENCE

Earlier we talked about “the manual”—that silent rulebook our brains keep titled Everyone Else Should Just… Because the rules live only in our heads, people break them, and each breach becomes fresh “proof” that you must handle life solo.

Think back to Thursday morning. You went to bed assuming your partner would pack lunches because you handled bedtime. At 6 a.m. you opened the fridge to find empty boxes, and a surge of frustration washed through you. Before you even reached for the bread your lower brain had already published its headline: See? I have to do it myself.

Let’s slow that movie frame-by-frame. Grab a sheet of paper and write one sentence that starts with, “They should…” The moment the words hit the page notice what your body does—maybe shoulders lift, jaw tightens, stomach clenches. Those sensations are proof the sentence is just a story, and stories can be edited.

Now walk the thought through Byron Katie’s four gentle questions as if you’re chatting with a wise friend:

1. Is it true I must do it myself?

 2. Can I absolutely know it’s true?

 3. How do I react when I believe that?

 4. Who would I be without it?

When you believe you must pack lunches—or fix Comic Sans, or glue Saturn back on the poster—you wake up irritated, rush through the task, and greet your family with clipped answers. Without that thought you might still toss an apple in a lunchbox, but you’d do it from steady leadership, or you’d simply turn and ask, “Hey, can you handle lunches now?” Your body would feel noticeably lighter.

And remember our nuance from the introduction: decisive self-reliance is genuinely useful. The problem starts when I’ve got this morphs into I’m on call for everything. Questioning the thought doesn’t erase your competence; it widens your options.

If dropping the belief feels too big, bridge it. Try a sentence that’s at least 51 percent believable: Someone else could handle this—maybe not my way, but well enough. Whisper it each time your lower brain mutters do it yourself. Every repetition weakens the old neural path and lays fresh tracks for collaboration.

One last reality check: chronic rescuing quietly trains others to underperform. Research on team dynamics shows that groups with a habitual “sweeper” see double-digit drops in individual learning within a single quarter. So questioning your thought isn’t self-indulgent; it’s an investment in everyone’s growth.

Write that bridge thought on a sticky note, slap it on your laptop, and get ready—our next segment turns it into visible, evening-saving change.

SEGMENT 4: ALIGN TO WHAT YOU WANT

Take a moment to notice your progress—awareness, allowance, and analysis all get a hearty check. Now we turn the dial from insight to intention. We’ll do it in four narrative moves, each building on the last.

Step one: sketch the unintentional model you’re living now.
Picture last night’s dishes. They’re sitting on the counter—that’s the neutral circumstance. The sentence that pops up next is, I have to do it myself. The instant that thought lands, pressure clamps your chest, you wave the family off, and you load every plate alone. Sure, the kitchen gleams, but you’ve silently taught everyone that chores equal “Mom’s job.” That’s your default, unintentional loop.

Step two: flip only the Thought line.
Keep the very same dishes in the very same sink and swap in a sentence that feels at least 51 percent believable: Collaboration teaches skills and saves energy. When you try that thought on, notice what shifts—maybe your shoulders drop an inch, maybe curiosity trickles in. From that feeling you call the kids over, hand one the detergent pod, and let them clatter plates into the rack. Same circumstance, entirely different cascade of feeling, action, and result.

Step three: paint the bigger picture so your brain has a target.
Imagine a Wednesday night where the kids rinse their dishes without a prompt, your partner reviews tomorrow’s calendar unasked, and a teammate uploads the quarterly numbers before you even think to remind them. That scene isn’t fantasy; it’s simply the Result line of your intentional model lived out over time. Hold that mental snapshot so your nervous system knows what you’re aiming for.

Step four: paddle through the river of misery.
Early on, your bridge thought will feel wobbly, and your lower brain will beg you to grab the sponge yourself. This in-between period—no longer ruled by the old story but not yet flooded with new evidence—can feel miserable. Help everyone, including yourself, across. Turn cleanup into a two-minute race, cue a favorite song, promise a three-minute dance party at the end. Every plate someone else loads and every spreadsheet cell someone else types is a data point that collaboration works. Jot those wins down; your brain needs the receipts.

A month of reinforcing this model will change your evenings—and your nervous system. Let’s lock it in with one tangible assignment in the next segment.

SEGMENT 5: TAKE AN INCREMENTAL ACTION STEP

Take a breath and notice how far you’ve come. Awareness—check. Allowance—check. Analysis—check. Alignment—check. You’ve untangled the belief, felt the messy emotions, questioned the story, and imagined a new way forward. Now let’s turn all that insight into lived experience, one tiny but powerful experiment at a time.

Step one—Choose a micro-task.
Pick something you reflexively grab: packing lunches, fixing slide formatting, wiping counters before bed. Fifteen minutes or less is ideal; you’re proving a concept, not remodeling the kitchen.

Step two—Make a clear ask.
“Jordan, could you rough-in the Q3 numbers by 3 p.m.? I’ll proofread tomorrow.”
“Tessa, please load plates and silverware. I’ll wipe the table when you’re done.”
Define “done,” hand it over, then close your mouth and your laptop.

Step three—Ride the 90-second urge wave.
The moment your brain shouts Just do it yourself! name the body signal (“tight chest, buzzing ribs”), breathe in four counts, hold two, exhale six. Two cycles carry you past the adrenaline crest.

Step four—Follow up once, not five times.
Adults: “I noticed the column’s still blank—what’s your plan by four?”
Kids: “Plates are still out; let’s try again after the timer.”
Then stand back. Natural consequences teach faster than hover-rescuing.

Step five—Call out the win.
When the task is finished—perfect or imperfect—say aloud, “Delegated and done; energy saved.” Your nervous system hears the verdict and files it under safe to repeat.

My clients who run this experiment—one fifteen-minute task each weekday—reclaim almost two hours a week within a month. That’s one leisurely run, a few chapters of a novel, or an evening chore routine for you that ends before ten.

Tonight, when the day winds down, jot how you feel after delegating. Pride? Discomfort? Relief? Whatever shows up is fine; you’re carving a fresh neural groove. Progress, not polishing—that’s the goal. One ask, one deep breath at a time.

CONCLUSION

Remember that 11:30-p.m. field-trip form? In your new timeline, the waiver is signed at eight, the kitchen hums with shared cleanup, and you close your laptop by ten—energized instead of wrung out. Tonight’s tiny experiment just disproved the belief I have to do it myself.

Celebrate that. You weren’t wrong for carrying the load solo; you were resourceful with the tools you had. Now you have a different tool—one that swaps midnight heroics for collaborative ease. Stack these small wins each week and the ripple effects grow: lighter mornings, calmer meetings, batteries that actually recharge overnight.

And if this taste of freedom feels good, imagine weaving it through every corner of your life. That’s exactly what we do inside the Choose Better Thoughts Coaching Program—turning hidden beliefs into measurable gains: more time, steadier leadership, and the kind of evenings where you read one more chapter because you want to, not because you’re too wired to sleep. If that resonates, I’d love to coach you there.

Thanks for listening, and I’ll see you next week.