A Bitter First Sip: The Practice of Self-Control

But the Holy Spirit produces this kind of fruit in our lives: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against these things! 

Galatians 5:22-23 NLT

A Bitter First Sip: The Practice of Self-Control

This morning, I take a sip of my first cup of coffee for the day. My face pulls, and the word that comes out of my mouth is, “Yuck!”

Believe it or not, that was intentional.

I've been attempting to get accustomed to drinking my first cup of coffee black, without sugar. I want to learn to enjoy coffee in different ways again, including a version that, at the moment, my taste buds aren't particularly enthusiastic about.

In a recent Everyday Mavericks article, Adam in the Modern World, I explored the relationship between our biological impulses, our choices, and the practice of self-control.

Today, I want to bring that conversation a little closer to home.

Not through an ancient story or a theological argument, but through something rather ordinary: my relationship with sugar, a memory of a dear friend, and my attempt to learn to enjoy a cup of coffee differently.

There are reasons for this change. Milk doesn't seem to agree with my body when I consume it regularly, so I try to avoid making it part of my everyday routine. I've experienced benefits from giving it up, although I can still have it now and again.

And then there is sugar.

My dear friend sugar. The frenemy. The enemy that's my friend, the friend that's my enemy.

I enjoy sweet things. I enjoy sugar. I enjoy my coffee with sugar. In fact, I enjoy lattes, with their milk and sweetness, but I've had to accept that they can no longer be part of my regular routine in the way they once were.

I've been here before. There was a time when I managed to significantly reduce the added sugar in my coffee, tea, and other foods and drinks. I became more conscious of condiments and sauces, cut down on carbonated and sugary drinks, and maintained those changes for quite a while. I experienced benefits from doing so.

Then life became busier. Work became more demanding, and slowly, almost without my noticing, sugar began creeping back into my routine. What had once required conscious effort became an old habit again.

But I don't think it is quite as simple as saying that I lacked discipline.

Sugar serves a purpose for me, or at least it feels as though it does. When I'm under pressure or facing a demanding day, a sweet drink can give me a quick boost. It feels as though it helps me become more alert, more present, and better able to deal with whatever is in front of me.

To be honest, I haven't found an adequate replacement for that feeling. I know the longer-term consequences of consuming too much sugar are not what I want for myself, and I can see the effects of my habits in my body. Yet knowing something isn't good for us doesn't automatically make it easy to stop doing it.

And perhaps this is where the conversation about self-control becomes interesting.

We often talk about changing a habit as though all we need is a decision, a little determination, and enough willpower to see it through. But our habits don't exist in isolation. They become woven into our routines, our working lives, our responses to stress, and the ways we have learned to get through difficult moments.

Sometimes, when we try to change a habit, we discover that we aren't simply giving something up. We are also giving up a familiar way of coping.

So what do we do when we recognise that something which gives us an immediate benefit may be working against our longer-term wellbeing?

More than a cup of coffee

For me, black coffee offers an interesting place to begin.

My decision to drink it also connects me with a dear friend who is no longer with us. He was one of my best friends, a business partner, a confidant, and someone with whom I shared an enormous amount of history. He was the kind of person whose departure leaves a space that cannot simply be filled by finding another person to take his place.

He drank his coffee black, without sugar.

Whenever I made coffee for him, I would sometimes forget and add sugar to his cup. I'd apologise and offer to make him another one, but he would simply say, “No, Steve, don't worry. It's okay. Bring it, I'll drink it.”

It's a small memory, an ordinary moment that might not mean much to anyone else. But it means something to me.

Now, when I drink black coffee, I'm reminded of him. There is a connection between that first cup, the memories it brings back, and the person I am trying to become again. It is about my health, certainly, but it is also about reconnecting with something familiar and meaningful.

And so, when I take that first sip and my face pulls at the bitterness, I have a choice to make.

I can decide that I don't like it, add sugar, and return to the familiar comfort of my old routine. Or I can recognise the discomfort, remind myself why I'm doing this, and give myself an opportunity to become accustomed to something different.

The first sip might be unpleasant, but it doesn't have to determine the experience of the entire cup.

I've done this before. I know that, with time, my taste can change. I once reached a point where I enjoyed black coffee. I can work towards that again.

Perhaps it will take a week. Perhaps two. I don't know exactly how long it will take, and I'm not particularly interested in turning the process into another deadline against which I can judge myself. What matters is that I'm being intentional about the direction in which I'm moving.

The space between wanting and choosing

This is where I see a connection with agency.

Agency is the recognition that, even when we cannot control every circumstance around us, we can still make choices about how we respond. We can recognise our patterns, question whether they continue to serve us, and take steps towards changing them.

That doesn't mean every choice is easy, or that we will always get it right. Nor does it mean we can simply think our way out of every challenge. Our behaviour is influenced by our bodies, our environment, our experiences, our emotions, and the demands placed on us. Sometimes changing a habit requires more than a decision; it requires changing the circumstances that keep the habit alive.

But we don't have to accept every familiar response as inevitable.

An urge is part of being human. Obeying every urge is not a requirement of being human.

Sometimes self-control begins with something as simple as pausing. We interrupt the automatic response long enough to ask ourselves a few questions.

What am I feeling? What am I looking for? Why do I want this? What does it offer me now, and what might it cost me later? Is there another way to meet the need I'm trying to meet?

These questions don't guarantee that we'll always make the best choice. But they create space for a choice to be made.

And that space matters.

I want to take greater responsibility for my health because my health matters to me. It matters to my family, to my business, and to the wider network of people and communities in which I live and contribute. Looking after myself is not just about feeling better today. It is also about giving myself a better opportunity to be present and contribute positively over the longer term.

For me, this is part of what it means to become more intentional: to recognise that what feels good in the moment and what serves us well over time are not always the same thing.

Practising a different response

Perhaps transforming our minds sometimes begins with something as ordinary as a cup of coffee.

We recognise an old habit, understand what it offers us, consider what it costs us, and make a conscious decision to practise a different response.

The decision doesn't instantly transform us. It begins the process.

And tomorrow morning, when I make my first cup of coffee, I will have another opportunity to practise.

Not because black coffee is a measure of my character, or because adding sugar would somehow make me a failure. There is no moral victory in drinking coffee without sugar. This is about a personal choice, a health goal, and the willingness to work towards something I believe will benefit me.

It is also a reminder that self-control is not simply about saying no. Sometimes it is about understanding why we want to say yes in the first place, and deciding whether that desire deserves to determine our actions.

There may be times when we need to remove a temptation, change our surroundings, find a healthier way to cope with stress, or ask someone for support. There may be times when we slip back into an old routine. None of that makes the effort meaningless.

We are not trying to become people who never experience temptation, discomfort, or desire. We are learning to become people who can recognise these experiences without automatically surrendering our choices to them.

Adam in the modern world. Adam in my world.

And so, I return to my cup of coffee, and to the theme of Adam in the Modern World.

Adam in my world would love to have sugar and milk with his coffee. In fact, Adam would love a latte. He would enjoy the sweetness, the creaminess, the familiar comfort, and the immediate pleasure of drinking something he already knows he likes.

And there is nothing inherently wrong with enjoying a latte.

But the Adam part of me represents those immediate desires and impulses, those familiar responses that promise pleasure, comfort, or relief. It is the part of me that wants what it wants, often without much consideration for what comes afterwards.

Then there is the Jesus part of me.

I don't mean that I can become Jesus, or that I am somehow divided into two different people. As a Christian, I recognise Jesus as far more than a symbol of self-discipline. He is understood as God incarnate, fully divine and fully human. But his example also challenges me to think about how I live, how I respond to temptation, and how I make choices.

So the Jesus part of me needs to pause and say, “Steve, let's take a breath. Let's think about this. Let's consider the bigger picture. What do we actually need here? What are the benefits, and what are the costs? Is there a way to enjoy this experience without automatically reaching for the thing that gives us the greatest immediate pleasure?”

Perhaps I don't need the milk in my everyday coffee. Perhaps I don't need the sugar. Perhaps I can learn to enjoy a black cup of coffee again.

Not because pleasure is wrong, but because immediate pleasure isn't the only consideration that matters.

If I can learn to enjoy my coffee without sugar, I may be able to keep something I enjoy while making a choice that better supports my longer-term health goals. I can exchange an immediate sweetness for a different kind of satisfaction: knowing that I am practising a response that aligns with what matters to me.

And perhaps, over time, the bitter first sip will become less bitter. Perhaps I will discover that I enjoy the coffee for what it is, without needing to change it to suit an old preference.

That is the practice of self-control I want to explore.

Not the elimination of desire, but the development of discernment. Not the rejection of pleasure, but the ability to consider pleasure alongside purpose, consequences, and responsibility. Not the expectation that I will always get it right, but the willingness to keep practising.

Adam in the modern world still has appetites, impulses, and desires. I do too. I cannot simply wish them away, nor do I need to treat them as enemies. But I can become more aware of them. I can question them. I can learn to respond rather than react.

And perhaps that is where the opportunity for transformation begins: in the small space between what I want and what I choose to do.

For now, the coffee is bitter.

But I know from experience that bitter doesn't necessarily mean it will always taste this way.

Tomorrow morning, I will have another opportunity to practise.

This little experiment with coffee has brought me back to a much bigger question: how do we learn to live intentionally in a world that constantly invites us to respond to our immediate desires?

I explored that question further in Adam in the Modern World, where I considered the relationship between our biological inheritance, our choices, and the practice of self-control.

If you haven't read it yet, I invite you to explore it. And if you have, perhaps this little story has offered another way of looking at the same question.

Sometimes the bigger ideas become clearer when we encounter them in the smallest moments of our lives.

Live curiously. Lead courageously. Life is worth living. The Everyday Mavericks keep moving forward with intention. 

Shalom.

Try this Related Blog... Adam in the Modern World 

A Note on Our Process

AI tools are part of my editorial process. I use them to help transcribe, research, fact-check, proofread, refine and sometimes structure my ideas.

The experiences, observations, questions and conclusions shared here come from me. AI may help me work with the words, but it does not replace the thinking, experience or intention behind them. I remain the author and final editorial decision-maker.

Thank you for reading The Everyday Mavericks and for continuing to make this conversation worthwhile.

Kind regards,
Steven Wayne Nicholls