There's a thing you've corrected a thousand times.
The wet towel. The cabinet door. The way they stack the dishes, the light left on, the shoes. You've got a whole speech for it and you can do it in your sleep.
Ten years ago a woman wrote down the day she stopped. Screaming and cussing about something that small, she said, was not helping him remember. It was not changing the habit. All it was doing was adding baggage. So she stopped having a cow about the small stuff, and she called it the smartest decision she ever made in the marriage.
Notice what she found out. Not that she was wrong. She was right. The towel was on the floor. A man in an anger forum said it cleaner: even if you're a hundred percent right, with evidence, it doesn't matter.
Here's the part that stings. If the correction was for them, it would have worked by now, or you'd have given up on it. You've done neither.
So it was never for them. It was the one place in the day you got to be certain.
The one thing for the weekend:
Name the thing you've corrected most.
Then say, out loud, whether it's changed.
If it hasn't, you know who the speech was for.
Josh
P.S. I finished my 30-day Ash Journal run on July 30. In public, one page a day, no edits, all thirty.
Five minutes. One prompt. One line of ash. The first seven days are free: truevitalyou.com/journal