The Bullshit of Excuses

Most people don’t stay stuck because they don’t know better. They stay stuck because they’ve gotten really good at explaining why they are the way they are. Not fixing it. Not confronting it. Explaining it. Justifying it. Wrapping it up in a story that sounds reasonable enough to live with. “That’s just how I am.” “I’ve always been like this.” “It’s how I was raised.” And once that story gets comfortable, it becomes identity. Not something you deal with, but something you defend. And the moment you start defending what’s holding you back, you stop changing.

It starts with small things. A short temper you don’t address. A habit you don’t break. A pattern you repeat but never question. And instead of confronting it, you label it. You normalize it. You tell yourself it’s just part of who you are. And the longer you do that, the harder it becomes to separate yourself from it. Because now it’s not just something you do. It’s something you believe you are. And once it becomes identity, it feels permanent. It feels fixed. It feels like something you can’t change, even when deep down, you know it’s costing you.

There’s a moment in the Bible that doesn’t get the attention it should, but it hits this exact issue without any softness. It’s in John 5, where Jesus encounters a man who had been unable to walk for thirty-eight years. Thirty-eight. Not a short struggle. Not something recent. This had been his reality for longer than most people can even imagine. And when Jesus approaches him, the question isn’t what people expect. He doesn’t ask what happened. He doesn’t ask who’s to blame. He doesn’t even ask how long it’s been. He asks something direct and uncomfortable.

“Do you want to get well?”

That question sounds simple until you actually think about it. Because for someone who had been in that condition for nearly four decades, healing wasn’t just physical. It meant change. It meant a different life. It meant leaving behind the identity he had built around his situation. And his response shows exactly where he was stuck. He doesn’t say yes. He doesn’t say no. He gives an excuse.

“Sir, I have no one to help me into the pool when the water is stirred. While I am trying to get in, someone else goes down ahead of me.”

He immediately points outward. Circumstances. People. Timing. He explains why it hasn’t happened. Why it can’t happen. Why he’s still where he is. And if you’re not paying attention, it sounds valid. It sounds understandable. It even sounds justified. But it’s still an excuse. Not because his situation wasn’t real, but because he had settled into explaining it instead of expecting anything different.

That’s where most people live. Not in denial of their problems, but in explanation of them. They know what’s wrong. They can articulate it. They can break it down. They can tell you exactly why they struggle, exactly why things haven’t changed, exactly why they are the way they are. But none of that changes anything. Because explanation without action is just a polished excuse.

The man had been in that condition for thirty-eight years. Think about that. That’s enough time to build an entire identity around limitation. Enough time to get used to it. Enough time for it to become normal. And once something becomes normal, you stop questioning it. You stop challenging it. You stop believing it can be different. You just explain it. Over and over again.

You see it everywhere. People who know their patterns but won’t break them. People who know their habits but won’t change them. People who know what’s holding them back but keep explaining why it’s there. Not because they don’t want better, but because changing means letting go of the identity they’ve built around their struggle. And that’s uncomfortable. Because now there’s no excuse left. Now it’s on them.

Jesus doesn’t engage with the explanation. He doesn’t debate it. He doesn’t validate it. He doesn’t even respond to it. He cuts straight through it.

“Get up. Pick up your mat and walk.”

No discussion. No breakdown. No process. Just action.

And immediately, the man is healed.

But here’s what matters. The healing didn’t come from the explanation. It came from the moment the excuse was no longer allowed to be the final answer. That’s the shift most people avoid. Because as long as you have an excuse, you have something to lean on. Something to point to. Something that keeps the responsibility just out of reach. But the moment the excuse is removed, you’re left with a decision. Act or stay where you are. And most people would rather keep the excuse than face that decision.

The dangerous part is that excuses don’t feel like lies. They feel like reasons. They feel justified. They feel earned. And in some cases, they are. But just because something explains your situation doesn’t mean it has to define it. And that’s where people get stuck. They take something that explains their past and use it to limit their future.

The man at the pool had a valid reason for why he hadn’t been healed. But that reason had become his reality. Not because it had to, but because it was easier to live with than change. And that’s what excuses do. They make your current situation easier to accept while quietly keeping you from anything different.

Here’s the Bullshit Factor Lesson. Stop explaining what you need to change. Stop hiding behind reasons that make your situation make sense but don’t move it forward. Stop saying “that’s just how I am” like it’s something you’re stuck with. Because it’s not. It’s something you’ve accepted.

Most people don’t need more awareness. They already know. They know what they need to fix. They know what they need to confront. They know what they keep avoiding. What they lack isn’t clarity. It’s action. Because action removes excuses. And without excuses, there’s nothing left between you and change.

The lie is that your reasons are your reality. The truth is, your response is your reality.

And at some point, you have to decide whether you’re going to keep explaining your life…

Or actually change it.