We often try to get what we want from others through demands, only to be met with a subtle discontent, a quiet resistance. People don't work like roly-poly dolls, bouncing back with a smile no matter how hard you push them. A new manager who only makes demands quickly learns this lesson.

So, why do we believe that demands addressed to ourselves should work any differently?

Think about it. "I demand that I lead a healthy lifestyle." "I demand that I stick to the decision I've made." The moment you frame it this way, an internal resistance automatically begins to build. As soon as you aim for perfection, for a result so flawless that "a mosquito couldn't find a flaw," something inside you starts to squirm and look for an exit. A little voice pipes up, "Hmm, maybe we could just… not?"

This puts us in a difficult position, especially when we demand that we follow our own instructions. It’s a path to a bad infinity. We make demands on ourselves, we fail to meet them—perhaps by eating more than we planned or eating something we explicitly forbid. We made the demand, something went wrong, and we successfully violated our own rule. What comes next is the cycle of self-blame. You start scolding yourself, suffering over the failure, and then, inevitably, you might turn to food as an antidepressant to soothe the pain you've inflicted on yourself.

When you've tormented yourself enough, the only thing left to do is comfort yourself. You slipped up, broke the diet, and berated yourself for it. So you sit down with a large container of ice cream. If you're going to suffer, you might as well punish yourself with a tub of it, as if to induce a state of shock so the brain finally shuts down and we can stop feeling bad about ourselves. In a state of hyperglycemia, brain function slows; in extreme cases, it can lead to a coma. It’s a drastic, unconscious attempt to stop the suffering caused by our own excessive demands. These are vicious circles, and we often don't even notice when we've fallen into them. On the surface, it all looks noble: "I made a demand, I must have willpower, I must cope." But who are you demanding this from? And for whom? Why all the drama?

A Shift from Confrontation to Observation

If we have accumulated excess food in our bodies, it’s already a fact. It's there. So why make demands? Instead, you can simply look at the situation and observe. "Oh, look at that. I have enough reserves here for a month, maybe two. And there's even a bit more over here. I'm well-stocked."

This isn't about giving up; it’s about changing the entire frame of mind. You are no longer going head-to-head with yourself, locked in a battle of wills. You are using your head, your reason, to understand. Why do you need the excess? Why carry extra kilograms with you? People walk around carrying canisters of fat—to work, from work, on the bus, up to the fifth floor, and back down again. It's like you're constantly warming up with two five-liter containers of fat strapped to your body.

When you start thinking like that, your logic is built differently. The motivation isn't a harsh demand but a reasonable question: "Why do you want to carry these extra containers?" When you approach it from this angle, you find that the desire to consume excessive food begins to fade. And that is the most important part—to not feel the necessity for food where there is no necessity.

The Inborn Drive for Freedom

Demands are an attempt to impose discipline. But we must remember the work of Ivan Petrovich Pavlov. He wasn't just a scientist; in a way, he was a philosopher of behavior. In his article on the "Reflex of Freedom," he observed that if you restrain a dog, it will struggle frantically until it is free. We are hardwired to want freedom.

Therefore, simply making demands on yourself is an attempt to tie yourself up. And believe me, the internal resistance of our body, its fundamental striving for freedom, will almost always ensure that the forbidden fruit becomes too attractive to resist. It’s far better not to enter that battle in the first place.