Trader’s Metabolism : “Dragon, Well Done… Please”

Trading isn’t just skill.
It’s survival.

And survival isn’t a phase—it’s a permanent residency. It’s 90% of the job. The other 10%?

We’ll get to that when you’ve stopped bleeding.

Because when the market burns you down, it doesn’t just torch your wallet.

It leaves a mark. Personal. Intimate.

Like an ex who knew your passwords and your childhood traumas.

You don’t just lose money—parts of you are marked with an invisible highlighter and then used against you. That is the feeling. No specific term for it—it’s different for everyone, but it’s there.

A delayed punch. The shock hits first, then the sting.

You thought you were unfazed? Cute. It always hits.
Every loss leaves a signature.

You’re basically a walking hall of fame. Who’s fame though?
The market makers, the "manipulators" as some may say?

Of course there are traders who rise. It’s not because they cracked the code.

It’s because they paid the maintenance fee.
Not in dollars—but in discipline.

And the only way to pay that? You keep your trading metabolism in check—at all costs.

That spark of momentum?

Momentum doesn’t arrive in grand gestures.

It sneaks in through the absurd:

• Scrubbing your stove like it insulted your ancestors.

• Folding socks with military precision.

• Blending kale and chia like it’s alchemical fuel that could summon capital gains.

It’s ridiculous.
But it’s survival.

These micro-wins? They’re dopamine.

Pure. Primal.

When the market denies you progress, you hunt that feeling down elsewhere. Anywhere.

Invisible anchors.

Here’s the con:

You set a goal—“By this day, I’ll hit X and I’ll buy Y.”

Sounds motivational. Feels empowering.
It’s not. It’s a booby-trap with your name on it.

You just promised your nervous system salvation through consumerism. And when the market delays the payout?
That thing you prescribed? It becomes poisonous.

You’re not chasing gains—you’re fleeing your own unmet expectations. It drags. It suffocates. It taunts.

Euphoria’s Dark Side:

Dopamine doesn’t care if you’re building an empire or torching it.

You set a magic number. You dream about the condo. You think shiny gear will fix your edge.

Sure. Until it doesn’t. Then what?

You start resenting dreams you haven’t bought. Blaming the strategy that wasn’t the problem. Watching motivation rot into mockery.

Your trading plan looked good—right up until your emotions co-signed the exit.

That trade wasn’t bad.
You were.
And that’s the part we don’t backtest.

The Metabolic Reset:

How do you fight back?

You stop begging the market for meaning.

You stop trading for things.

You start building systems for hardcore exposure and unkind weather.

Discipline becomes your operating system—one that doesn’t crash, only upgrades.

We tend to address and slay the exterior dragons first:

Habits.
Routines.
Appearance.
Our environment.

Don’t get me wrong, they are an absolute must.

The acrobatic part is to turn inward—face the lurking dragons hidden beneath layered gates of facade in your psyche:

It’s typically titled, “This is how I am”.

The market doesn’t see you, let alone your dreams.

However it will mirror your chaos back to you, with laser precision. Like a funhouse reflection—only it costs real money and sanity.

This 2D screen you look at was built on leveraging you against yourself. Whoever made it is a sick genius who carved a niche in demand. Props to them. Diabolical. Elegant.

Honestly, deserves a Netflix origin story.
Maybe call it:

"The Algorithm: A Love Letter to Human Delusion. Starring you… as every character.”

The Fuel. This is your metabolism.

Messy. Brutal. Relentless.

But it’s also the separator. Between those who stay the same—and those who evolve.

So kill the fantasy.
Drop the anchors.
Burn the wishlist.

And if you ever do buy that yacht? Do Keep the AC running. Because the second you slack on overhead maintenance cost—you’re not sailing, you’re renovating… again.

So when you rebuild yourself for the ninth, twentieth, seventy-fifth time…thinking, “Surely this is it. I’m done now.”

You’re not.
It’s infinite.

Like they say, “More money, more problems…”
Well, more experience? More sophisticated problems.

The only thing left to do…is see yourself clearly enough that the market can’t use you against you anymore.

Keep slaying.
The tides do turn.

Just don’t forget: dragons respawn.

Craft