The Hidden Reason You Keep Putting Things Off (Even When You Care So Much)
Aired November 3, 2025
by Christine Miroddi Yoder
You know those times when you know the right thing to do — you even know exactly what steps to take — but you still don’t do it? You might have taught it to others, lived it before, or said it out loud, but somehow, you can’t make yourself act. There’s always a reason, right? “It’s not the right time.” “I can’t do that right now.”
Today, I want to talk about the myth of the right time.
When I was pregnant with my second baby, I was convinced things would be different. I thought she’d be a better feeder. I hoped she’d inherit my husband’s perfect mouth and palate — no ties, no issues. And even if she did have ties, I felt totally equipped to handle it this time. I’m a feeding specialist, after all. I know what to do.
With my first baby, I had to piece everything together on my own. It was out of order, full of trial and error, frustration, and late nights — but eventually, I figured it out. I even built a business around it. So this time, I thought, Who better to handle this problem than me?
But knowing what to do and actually doing it are two very different things.
Sure enough, she was born with a lip tie and a tongue tie. Not as bad as my son’s, and that became my excuse. When it came time for post-release stretches, I had a million reasons not to do them.
Excuses for me:
“My hands aren’t clean right now.”
“My nails are too long.”
“I’ll do it after I shower.”
Excuses for her:
“She just calmed down.”
“She just fell asleep — I can’t wake her.”
Each time, I told myself these little lies to make procrastination okay. It’s not that bad. Her tongue reaches the roof of her mouth. She’s fine. I convinced myself it was good enough.
If you’ve ever thought your child was eating “good enough,” I get it. But deep down, I knew better. If I did those stretches once a day, that was lucky — and I knew it wasn’t enough.
It all came crashing down one day when my mom watched her so I could take my son to a party. When I got home, I heard her screaming from outside. My mom said she’d been crying for 25 minutes — she gagged and refused the bottle the whole time.
My heart sank. I felt like the worst mom.
Even then, I made excuses: “She’ll only eat for me.” But the next day, I tried myself — and she gagged again. It wasn’t about who was feeding her. She was struggling on the bottle, on the nipple, on the pacifier I’d written off as “she’s just not a pacifier girl.”
That was my oh sht* moment — the threshold where denial meets reality. The gut punch where I realized: She’s struggling because I wasn’t doing my job.
My husband tried to comfort me: “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re just being Mom. You can’t be Mom and therapist.” And on the surface, everything looked fine. She was gaining weight, breastfeeding wasn’t painful — so technically, nothing seemed wrong.
But since when do I wait for things to be really bad before I make them better?
So I sat with it. I asked myself, “Why am I not doing what I know is important?” I’d done everything for my first baby — courses, professionals, therapy, chiropractic, you name it. And now, with all that knowledge and confidence, I couldn’t even do the basics.
Talk about feeling like a failure.
But curiosity kept me moving. I asked, “What am I supposed to learn from this?”
That question led me to understand the psychology of avoidance.
For me, I realized three things:
1. I chase dopamine through learning.
Every new technique or professional used to feel exciting — full of hope. I thrive on newness. But this time, I already knew what to do. There was no novelty, no urgency.
2. It didn’t feel urgent.
She was gaining weight, breastfeeding beautifully, in the 95th percentile. From the outside, nothing looked wrong. I wasn’t pressured to change.
3. I was avoiding discomfort.
I didn’t want to make her cry or feel fussy. Deep down, I was protecting myself from discomfort. My nervous system was saying, “Pump the brakes. This feels like too much.”
Avoidance wears many masks — logic, timing, guilt — but underneath, it’s our brain trying to keep us safe. Eventually, though, the cost of staying the same outweighs the discomfort of change.
That’s what happened when I saw her gag. Within an hour, I was cleaning tools and easing back into the basics — gentle, co-regulated exercises that wouldn’t make her fuss. I didn’t overhaul everything. I started small. And that small start created momentum.
Because it wasn’t laziness. It wasn’t carelessness. It was protection. My nervous system didn’t want me overwhelmed or stressed — and that’s true for so many parents I work with, too.
You know what to do. You care deeply. But you’re tired, overwhelmed, and waiting for the “right time” — after school ends, after the holidays, after life settles down.
But life never settles down.
There’s no perfect time — only safe moments that we create. Little pockets of calm where progress can happen, one tiny step at a time.
So if you’ve been avoiding something — whether it’s feeding work, paperwork, or trying new foods — know this: you’re not lazy. You’re protecting yourself from overwhelm.
But if you wait for “someday,” your brain will keep you waiting forever.
Start imperfect. Start before it feels right. Because the “right time” isn’t coming — you have to create it.
When you notice yourself saying, “Not now,” ask, “Is that true? Or am I protecting myself from discomfort?” That awareness is everything.
It’s how we move forward.
Our brains are wired for safety — not success. Things like loss aversion make us fear losing present comfort more than we value future progress. Or anticipatory stress — we pre-feel the discomfort of a task, so we avoid it to conserve energy. And cognitive dissonance — those excuses we make to feel okay not taking action.
They all make perfect sense. But they also keep us stuck.
So remember: when your brain says, “It’s not safe,” that doesn’t mean it’s not the right time.
Zoom out. Look at the full picture. See what’s really going on — not with judgment, but with curiosity.
That’s what helped me.
Understanding why I avoided what I knew mattered gave me compassion and momentum. Because even an experienced therapist can struggle to help her own child. It’s not that we’re “too close” — it’s that our nervous systems are wired to protect us.
Once I started small again, progress came easily. And now, I’m genuinely excited for her next chapter — exploring new foods, learning, growing — without the dread of struggle.
I hope this story helps you release some guilt and move forward, even in a small way. Awareness really is the first step.
Because the truth is, there’s no “right time.” There’s only right now.
