Story 3: This Is On You
The hardest truth wasn’t that comfort had trapped him.
It wasn’t even that nobody was coming.
It was what followed those realisations.
Because once you understand that comfort is dangerous and rescue isn’t arriving, there’s only one place left for responsibility to land.
On you.
He didn’t accept that immediately. At first, he tried to soften it. He told himself he had reasons. Circumstances. Timing issues. Responsibilities that made things harder for him than they were for others.
All of that was partially true.
But partial truths are often the best hiding places.
The more he examined his life, the more he saw a pattern. Whenever progress stalled, he found something external to point at. When energy was low, he blamed workload. When discipline slipped, he blamed stress. When goals stayed distant, he blamed opportunity.
Blame is subtle comfort.
It allows you to feel temporarily justified while staying exactly where you are.
One evening, after a long day of quiet frustration, he sat with a thought he had been avoiding for years.
“What if none of this is anyone else’s fault?”
Not his upbringing.
Not his boss.
Not his lack of connections.
Not his past mistakes.
What if the common denominator in every stalled goal, every abandoned attempt, every half-finished plan… was him?
The question was uncomfortable, but it was clean.
Because if it wasn’t on him, then he was powerless.
And if it was on him, then he had control.
You can’t have both.
He began revisiting moments he used to describe as “bad luck.”
The job he didn’t apply for because he assumed he wouldn’t get it.
The business idea he researched endlessly but never launched.
The training program he quit once results slowed down.
Each time, he told himself the timing wasn’t right.
Each time, he walked away just before effort got uncomfortable enough to reveal something about him.
It wasn’t lack of ability.
It was avoidance.
He realised he had been waiting for certainty before committing.
Waiting to feel confident before taking action.
Waiting to be ready before stepping forward.
But readiness doesn’t arrive first.
Commitment does.
The more he stripped away the stories, the more obvious the pattern became. His life wasn’t the product of one major failure. It was the product of dozens of small withdrawals from effort.
He had withdrawn when things got inconvenient.
Withdrawn when doubt appeared.
Withdrawn when results weren’t immediate.
And then he blamed the outcome.
That recognition hit harder than any external criticism ever had.
Because this time, there was no one else in the frame.
Just him.
For a moment, it felt heavy. Almost overwhelming. If everything was on him, then there were no more shields. No more narratives to hide behind.
But something shifted as the weight settled.
If everything was on him, then everything could change through him.
That was the turning point.
He stopped asking, “Why is this happening to me?”
He started asking, “Where did I allow this?”
He stopped looking at circumstances first.
He looked at his decisions.
His habits.
His standards.
His follow-through.
He noticed that whenever something mattered enough, he found a way. And whenever something didn’t, he found an excuse.
That distinction was painful but empowering.
Because it meant his results weren’t random.
They were reflections.
He didn’t need a new strategy yet.
He needed ownership.
Ownership meant no longer softening reality to protect his ego.
Ownership meant admitting he had tolerated more than he should have.
Ownership meant accepting that the gap between where he was and where he wanted to be wasn’t caused by fate.
It was caused by compromise.
Small compromises. Repeated daily.
He didn’t collapse under that truth.
He stood up inside it.
Because once you accept that it’s on you, something else becomes clear:
You don’t have to wait for permission.
You don’t have to wait for approval.
You don’t have to wait for a shift in circumstances.
You move because you decide to.
He began to act differently.
Not louder. Not dramatically.
But deliberately.
When he noticed himself reaching for distraction, he stopped.
When he noticed himself about to postpone something difficult, he leaned in.
When he caught himself explaining why something wasn’t progressing, he removed the explanation and took action instead.
It wasn’t heroic.
It was accountable.
There is a difference.
Heroic feels intense and temporary.
Accountable feels steady and repeatable.
He realised something most people never fully accept:
As long as you believe your life is controlled by forces outside of you, you will move cautiously.
The moment you accept that it is shaped primarily by your choices, you move differently.
With urgency.
With clarity.
With ownership.
He no longer needed someone to push him.
He no longer needed circumstances to align perfectly.
He no longer needed to feel ready.
Because readiness had never been the requirement.
Responsibility was.
And once he took it, everything else became simpler.
Not easier.
Simpler.
The path forward wasn’t mysterious anymore.
Raise the standard.
Do the work.
Stop negotiating.
The excuses that once felt convincing now felt transparent.
Because he saw their source.
And it was him.
There was no bitterness in that realisation.
No self-hate.
Just clarity.
It had always been on him.
And strangely, that felt like freedom.
That was the moment he stopped asking who would change his life.
And accepted that he already had.
Unleash your storm.