First, the only override. Before anything else: is your body in the red? Not hesitant — frozen. Not discomfort — danger. Burnout, no sleep, real depression, a situation that's actually hurting you. If that's where you are, "push harder" isn't medicine; it's the disease with a motivational poster. Your first move is repair: sleep, food, help, less load, sometimes leaving. The rest of this page waits until you're not running on threat.
If your body's fine and you still won't move, you're avoiding something — shame, cringe, uncertainty, or just the first attempt. Find where the block actually lives. The move is different for each.
Then shrink it to a rep. Whatever the block, the output is the same: one real attempt, small enough to survive. If a stranger couldn't physically perform your plan, it isn't a task — it's a wish. Translate it until a body could do it: "open the laptop, search three listings, save five links." Then shrink it until your gut says "fine, that's plausible" — but not past the point where it still touches reality. The rep has to cost a little fantasy.
Move before you're certain. You don't need to believe it'll work. Move before you're certain; update after you collide. Act like the attempt will work, listen like it might not have. Conviction gets you moving — it never overrules what reality says back. You can doubt the outcome and still take the rep. That's the skill, not a compromise.
Let reality grade the attempt, not you. The action is yours; the result was never yours. Do the rep as if it matters, then let go of the grade. Your worth was never on the scoreboard — only your reps were. Which means the attempt can't convict you: do it, read what comes back, go again slightly bigger.
Two beats, always two: name the block out loud, then one rep — immediately, before the mechanism takes the wheel back. Insight expires fast. Spend it while it's hot.
Name the block you're in. Pick the smallest rep that still touches reality. Do it now — then let the result grade the attempt, not you.