Taming the Child Within

The silent war between comfort and control—and how to rise from it, one decision at a time.

May 30, 2025

Each morning, I wake up fighting the child within—the battle always rages.

The Battle Begins Before You Open Your Eyes

Doo-doo-doo-doo... Doo-doo-doo-doo...
Dee-dee-dee-dee-dee-doo-doo
TIN-tin-tin-tin-TIN-tin-tin

WHACK!

That deceptively pleasant tune—once harmless, now dreaded—filled the room.
A saccharine kind of torture.
It tore me from sleep’s gentle embrace.

“Just 5 more minutes,” I think, drifting off to sleep.

Doo-doo-doo-doo... Doo-doo-doo-doo...
Dee-dee-dee-dee-dee-doo-doo
TIN-tin-tin-tin-TIN-tin-tin

WHACK!

Again, my phone erupts with its signature jingle.
A tune now marks the death of peace.

An hour passes
5 minutes at a time.

The warmth of the blanket,
The softness of the pillow.
Comfort wrapped around me like chains.

Then panic.
“I'm late for work!”

And just like that, the battle is lost before it began.

To the younger me:
You didn’t know what you were doing.
I do now.
I’ve got us from here.

The Quiet War

There’s a quiet war that rages long after the world has gone to sleep.
It begins again with the first breath of morning.
Day after day—never ending.

This war isn't waged with weapons, but with will.

Inside each of us, is a child who longs to be cradled by ease, ruled by craving, softened by distraction.

Growth? Demands fire.
Discipline? Requires action.
Strength? Expects silence.

The path forward often begins with the refusal to answer that old voice calling us back to comfort.

This piece came from that threshold—the moment where something innocent must be restrained so that something worthy can lead.

Taming the inner child isn’t about destruction. It’s about guiding the untamed part of you into stillness, so the stronger part can rise.

This isn't about hustle.
Nor avoiding all pleasure.
It's about not letting it control you.

From the ashes of innocence, discipline rises wrapped in flame.

Poem: Taming the Child

The child still stirs within my soul,
Clutching lust I can't control.
Each dawn returns the silent fight—
A savage war, concealed from sight.

I drive the blade, both sharp and true.
My fate is mine—I'm holding true.
And from that grave, the man takes lead—
Forged in fire, not slavish greed.

He begged for ease; I begged for meaning—only one of us shall lead.

What the Child Within Cost Me

I spent years addicted to nearly every vice—TV binges, video games, junk food, alcohol. Not drugs, but almost everything else.

Each indulgence just another thread in the cocoon I wrapped around myself.

The day was lost before it began. I couldn’t figure out why I was falling behind.
Why others passed me by so easily. Why life felt like a treadmill going nowhere.

Out of frustration, I retreated deeper. And in doing so, I handed the crown to the child within. Letting it rule from comfort, unaware they were bankrupting my future.

Two decades disappeared. Thousands of hours—gone.

For what?

Frailty.
Brain fog.
Exhaustion.
Excess weight.
A stagnated career.
Broken relationships.
A bank account hovering near zero.

That time is gone. I can’t get it back.
I have a career, and I’m grateful for it—but that could change at any moment.

If I were laid off tomorrow, I’d have one niche skill.
If my HVAC went out, I’d take out a loan.

That’s not freedom. That’s survival.

Eventually, I realized something brutal but true:
Security doesn’t come from a job. It comes from how you live—today.

If we spend too much time pursuing comfort, we sentence our future selves to suffering. If we sacrifice a little comfort now, we give our future selves control.

Your car dies? You’re fine.
You get fired? You pivot.
Your child gets into their dream school? You pay for it.

The specifics don’t matter.

What matters is: You controlled today.
You invested.
You chose to lead.
You took control.

From the ashes of innocence, discipline rises wrapped in flame.

From Comfort to Control

As children, our lives are built on play and pleasure.
We chase whatever we want, whenever we want it.

But if the child within rules, we are without, and everything collapses.

The modern world feeds that child nonstop.
Dopamine on demand.
Pleasure without pause.

But to rise—something must die. And every day, the question returns:

Which part of me walks forward—and which part stays buried?

Share Threads of Growth

I killed what was killing me—and in that ash, I learned to breathe.

What You Can Do Now

Taming the inner child doesn’t happen in one grand moment.
It happens in a thousand quiet ones:

Where you choose discomfort over ease,
Discipline over delay, and
Purpose over pleasure.

Here’s how you start:

1. Choose Your Comforts Intentionally

You don’t need to give up every pleasure.
You need to stop letting them lead.
Decide when, where, and how long you’ll indulge—before the craving hits.

Pleasure isn’t the problem.
Compulsion is.

2. Wake with Resistance, Not Resentment

The child will beg for five more minutes.

Ignore them.
Put your feet on the floor.
Breathe.
Stand.
Move.
This is the first victory of the day.

Win it.

3. Choose One Discipline and Honor It Daily

Exercise.
Write.
Walk.
Hike.
Work for 2 hours straight.

Pick one act that builds the adult you’re becoming.
Take Actions. Do it, no matter what.

Discipline isn’t doing everything.
It’s doing something on purpose.

4. Identify the Voice

When the craving hits. Pause.
Ask: “Who’s speaking?”

The adult builds.
The child consumes.

Don’t confuse the two.

5. Replace the Vice with Fire

Vices don’t vanish.
They’re replaced.

Swap scrolling for silence.
Swap junk food for fuel.
Swap escape for effort—even if it’s quiet and unseen.

6. Keep a Ledger of Small Wins

Write it down each time you say NO to the child within.
It’s proof that you’re changing.

Over time, this becomes your armor.

7. Lead Yourself Like You’d Lead Someone You Love

Would you want someone you care about to follow the example you're setting today?

If not…
Shift your actions.
Gently.
Daily.

Without excuse.

Final Challenge:

Tomorrow, when the alarm hits.
Don’t negotiate with the child within.
Don’t reason.
Don’t compromise.
Don’t delay.

Just get up.

You can still hear them.
But you don’t have to obey them.

I didn’t change overnight—I bled, broke, and clawed my way out of the dirt.

Author’s Note

I didn’t write this poem from a place of mastery. I wrote it from the trenches. Between 4 a.m. and sunrise. Where discipline isn’t romantic and the war is quiet but unrelenting.

The "child" isn’t just a metaphor for youth.
It’s every distraction I used to justify.
Every craving I used to obey.
Every moment I hesitated when I knew what needed to be done.

This isn’t about conquering.
It’s a reminder that some parts of us aren’t meant to be healed.
They’re meant to be buried, again and again, so something greater can rise.