june 26 — autonomy

One of my favorite lessons in psychology is self-determination theory.



In a nutshell, it posits that the degree to which your goal is self-directed, or your autonomy in choosing it, affects the quality of your motivation, and in turn, your well-being.



Generally, the more you endorse your own efforts, the more energized you feel to explore, play, practice, and work towards mastery in your field. You may know this as a state of intrinsic motivation. Simple enough, right?



Yet the line between internal and external regulation of motivation is not as clear-cut as many think. It's possible to internalize the goals of others for a host reasons—which can work both for and against you. A child who obediently follows her parents' wish that she become a doctor may end up enjoying the field of medicine, perhaps because of the prestige associated with it, or the bonds she builds with her colleagues, or, if she's fortunate, for its own sake (intrinsic motivation in its purest form.)



On the flip side, consider what happens when one internalizes an external goal that does more harm than good. When I was a competitive athlete, there was a standard of performance my coaches expected of each member of my team, which I struggled to hit during training. I started gymnastics later than most, so I had a long way to go in catching up to my teammates.



My coaches and seniors, however, also expected me to progress fast. As in—their words, not mine—exponentially fast. And I did, for a while, until I got injured learning a skill my body was not ready for. Looking at it now, I see how this past self internalized their expectations to improve rapidly, which compromised not only her enjoyment of the sport, but the soundness of her body.



I revisit this theory today because I've learned a lot about enjoying the process in the year since my first injury. One of the most helpful psychological tools for me has been knowing where others end and where I begin.



I grew up an ambitious kid, so I tend to pursue goals society unquestioningly deems valuable, like high grades or athletic prowess. And while I naturally gravitate to studying psychology or pushing myself during a workout, I think my greatest suffering in school or sport came from putting too much emphasis on how others evaluated my progress.



Ruminating over how I measure up in other people's eyes left me caught in my head, instead of where I needed to be: grounded in my body, open to learning and improving.





There's a scene from the drama Twenty-Five Twenty-One that really hits home. A young fencer visits her ailing father at the hospital, showing off the latest medal she won. "People are saying I'm a prodigy," she says.



Her dad congratulates her, and pauses before asking, "But tell me. Do you like being complimented, or do you like fencing?" Still euphoric from her win, the girl replies, "Well, I like both!"



The dad responds, "Later on, even if things don't go your way with fencing, remember this one thing: Your skills don't improve consistently, but in steps."



I love compliments. Therapy taught me that I feel most secure when others regard me positively for my wins. It's taken a lot of work to remember I am whole even when I've hit a plateau, or when progress is slow. I found myself in a much better place when I stopped rushing towards excellence.



Now, no one tells me the skills or choreographies I find optimally challenging are "too basic." I'm owning my path, mastering the fundamentals to build a strong base for more advanced skills in the long run. Over and over, I remind myself there is value not only in the results, but the doing—showing up, respecting and honoring my body, challenging it on a daily basis.



And for the first time in years, I feel I truly am the author of my goals.