When a Coping Strategy Outlives the Situation That Created It
When something that once helped you cope begins to limit the life you're living now
Sometimes the things we most want to change about ourselves began for very good reasons.
Maybe you learned to stay quiet because speaking up tended to make things worse.
Perhaps you became extremely independent because there was a time when relying on other people regularly led to disappointment.
Maybe being helpful, agreeable and easy to get along with helped you maintain connection.
Perhaps working harder than everyone else brought praise, financial security or a sense that you were finally doing enough.
Or maybe keeping your emotions carefully contained was simply what you needed to do to get through an incredibly difficult period of your life.
We can look at these patterns years later and wonder:
Why do I keep doing this?
Why can't I just say no?
Why do I find it so difficult to ask for help?
Why does a small disagreement affect me so much?
Why can't I slow down without feeling guilty?
Why do I shut down when conversations become difficult?
And very quickly, self-awareness can turn into self-criticism.
But perhaps there is another question worth asking first.
What did this way of responding once do for me?
Because a habit that causes difficulty today may have begun as a remarkably sensible response to the circumstances you were living in at the time.
The difficulty comes when the circumstances change, but the response remains.
We learn from what happens to us
Coping strategies rarely appear from nowhere.
We learn from experience.
If speaking openly repeatedly led to criticism, conflict or rejection, becoming careful about what you say can make sense.
If being highly capable meant things got done when nobody else could be relied upon, independence may have become something you depended upon.
If achievement brought approval while mistakes brought criticism, getting everything exactly right may have begun to feel particularly important.
If expressing emotion wasn't welcomed, keeping things to yourself may have felt easier.
If life was unpredictable, planning, checking and preparing for every possibility may have created some sense of control.
And if other people's moods affected what happened around you, becoming very good at noticing subtle changes in tone, expression or behaviour may once have been genuinely useful.
These responses aren't necessarily conscious decisions.
We don't usually sit down one afternoon and decide:
From now on, I'm going to avoid difficult conversations.
Or:
I've decided I'm never going to ask anyone for help again.
Patterns can develop gradually through repetition.
Something happens.
We respond.
The response appears to help in some way.
And eventually it becomes familiar.
That doesn't mean every habit can be traced neatly back to one particular event or experience. Human behaviour is far more complicated than that.
But understanding the context in which a pattern developed can change the way we relate to it.
Instead of asking:
“What's wrong with me?”
we can become curious about:
“When might this have made sense?”
Something can be useful and costly at the same time
One of the reasons old coping patterns can be difficult to recognise is that they often contain genuine strengths.
The person who takes responsibility for everything may be extraordinarily dependable.
The person who avoids conflict may be thoughtful and highly aware of other people's feelings.
The person who keeps going regardless of how tired they are may be resilient and determined.
The person who plans for every possibility may be organised and prepared.
The person who rarely asks for help may be capable and resourceful.
The person who is constantly aware of what is happening around them may be highly perceptive.
Those qualities don't suddenly become bad because there are times when they cost us something.
This is where the conversation needs more nuance than simply labelling behaviours as healthy or unhealthy.
Being independent can be valuable.
But what happens when independence means you can't allow anyone to support you?
Being conscientious can be valuable.
But what happens when you can't rest until everything is finished?
Being considerate of others can strengthen relationships.
But what happens when everyone else's needs consistently come before your own?
Being able to remain composed during difficult situations can be useful.
But what happens when you no longer know how to let someone see that you're struggling?
Perhaps the goal isn't to get rid of these qualities.
It is to develop greater choice around when we use them.
When the situation changes but the response doesn't
Imagine someone who grew up in an environment where disagreement regularly became explosive.
Staying quiet might have been the safest option available.
Years later, they may be in a relationship with someone who is capable of having respectful disagreements.
Logically, they know this person is different.
Yet the moment tension appears, they may still feel an overwhelming urge to withdraw, agree quickly or make the disagreement disappear.
Another person may have experienced years of financial insecurity.
Working whenever work was available made complete sense.
Later, their financial circumstances may become more stable, yet taking an afternoon off still produces guilt or anxiety.
Someone else may have spent years caring for other people.
They became the organiser, problem-solver and person everyone called.
Even when those responsibilities lessen, they may struggle to know what to do when nobody needs anything from them.
This doesn't mean the past is secretly controlling every decision we make.
Nor does every uncomfortable response indicate trauma.
Sometimes habits are simply habits.
Sometimes personality, current circumstances, stress, culture, relationships and practical realities all play a part.
But sometimes our present response carries more history than the present situation requires.
That is worth noticing.
How do you know when a coping strategy has outlived its purpose?
Rather than asking whether a particular behaviour is good or bad, I think a more useful question is:
“Is this response still serving the life I want to build?”
A coping strategy may deserve some gentle attention when it has become automatic, rigid or increasingly costly.
Perhaps you apologise before expressing a perfectly reasonable need.
You keep yourself busy from morning until night because slowing down feels strangely uncomfortable.
You avoid applying for opportunities because being evaluated feels more threatening than remaining where you are.
You repeatedly seek reassurance when you don't hear from someone.
You keep relationships at a distance even though part of you wants greater connection.
You prepare excessively because you don't trust yourself to manage something unexpected.
Or you continue pushing through exhaustion because stopping somehow feels like failure.
None of these examples automatically tells us why somebody behaves that way.
That's important.
Two people can do exactly the same thing for completely different reasons.
The purpose of reflection isn't to diagnose ourselves.
It is simply to become curious about the patterns that have become so familiar that we rarely question them.
When the response feels bigger than the moment
Another clue can be the intensity of our reaction.
A manager gives us a small piece of constructive feedback, and we're still thinking about it three days later.
Someone takes longer than usual to reply to a message, and our mind immediately starts filling in the gaps.
A friend seems quieter than normal, and we begin wondering what we've done wrong.
Someone disagrees with us, and instead of experiencing it as a difference of opinion, it feels as though the whole relationship has become uncertain.
We make a small mistake and experience it as evidence that we're incompetent.
Again, this doesn't mean the emotion isn't real.
It doesn't mean we're overreacting.
And it certainly doesn't mean we should tell ourselves to just get over it.
It may simply be worth asking:
“Is everything I'm feeling about what is happening now, or has this moment touched something familiar?”
Sometimes the answer will be, No, this situation really is difficult.
Sometimes our anger, fear, sadness or discomfort is giving us important information about what is happening in the present.
But other times we may begin to notice that an old expectation has quietly entered the room with us.
Conflict means something bad is about to happen.
If someone is disappointed in me, I've done something wrong.
If I don't do this perfectly, I'll be judged.
If I need help, I'm failing.
If I slow down, everything will fall apart.
And that is where self-awareness can begin creating something very important.
Not immediate change.
Choice.
Because before we can respond differently, we usually need to notice that there is a pattern there to respond differently to.
Some coping strategies are easy to miss
Not every coping strategy looks like coping.
Some are admired.
Some are rewarded.
Some may even become part of how other people describe us.
She's so reliable.
He never needs any help.
She's always positive.
He's incredibly driven.
She'll do anything for anyone.
And perhaps those things are true.
But sometimes there is another question underneath them:
What happens when I don't behave this way?
What happens if the reliable person says no?
If the independent person asks for help?
If the positive person admits that things aren't going well?
If the high achiever produces something that is simply good enough?
If the person who looks after everyone else allows someone to look after them?
A behaviour doesn't become problematic simply because we do it frequently.
But when we begin to feel that we cannot safely choose anything else, it may be worth becoming curious.
When people-pleasing once helped maintain connection
People-pleasing is often discussed as though it's simply a matter of needing to become more assertive.
But for some people, keeping others happy became closely connected with maintaining relationships.
Perhaps you became very good at anticipating what other people needed.
You learned to agree quickly.
To smooth things over.
To avoid disappointing anyone.
To notice when somebody's mood changed.
To say “It's fine” when it wasn't.
And perhaps, at one point, those behaviours genuinely helped you navigate the relationships around you.
The difficulty comes when keeping the peace begins costing you your own voice.
You may find yourself agreeing to something while already knowing you'll resent it.
You might spend considerable time deciding how to word a simple boundary so nobody could possibly be offended.
You may feel responsible for other people's disappointment.
Or you might know exactly what everyone around you wants while having very little idea what you want.
The goal isn't to suddenly stop caring about other people.
Consideration is a wonderful quality.
The question is whether consideration has quietly become self-abandonment.
A useful pause can be:
“If I wasn't worried about disappointing this person, what would I actually choose?”
You don't necessarily have to act on the answer immediately.
Sometimes simply hearing your own answer is an important beginning.
When independence becomes isolation
Being able to look after ourselves matters.
There can be enormous satisfaction in knowing we are capable, resourceful and able to solve problems.
But there is a difference between:
“I can do this myself.”
and
“I have to do everything myself.”
For someone who has repeatedly experienced unreliable support, asking for help can feel far more vulnerable than simply managing alone.
Perhaps you learned not to expect too much.
Maybe previous attempts to ask for help were dismissed.
Perhaps you were the responsible one in your family from a young age.
Or maybe independence simply became such an important part of your identity that needing someone now feels uncomfortable.
The difficulty is that extreme self-reliance can eventually become lonely.
People may assume you don't need support because you've become so skilled at appearing as though you don't.
You may even become frustrated that nobody offers to help while simultaneously finding it difficult to let them help when they do.
This is one of those places where two things can be true at once.
You can be independent and still allow yourself to be supported.
Receiving help doesn't erase capability.
When productivity becomes difficult to switch off
There are seasons of life when working hard is necessary.
We may be building a business.
Studying.
Raising children.
Caring for family.
Trying to establish financial security.
Meeting a deadline.
Getting through an unusually demanding period.
Sometimes pushing harder for a while is simply what the situation requires.
But what happens when the demanding season ends and we no longer know how to stop?
Perhaps rest begins to feel uncomfortable.
An empty afternoon feels wasteful.
Sitting down triggers thoughts about everything you could be doing.
Finishing one task simply reveals the next.
Even enjoyable activities begin to need a purpose.
Exercise needs a target.
A hobby needs an outcome.
Learning needs a qualification.
Rest needs to be earned.
The original strategy may have been:
“I need to work hard right now.”
Somewhere along the way it can quietly become:
“My value depends on how much I get done.”
Those are very different messages.
Rest isn't always easy simply because time is available.
Sometimes slowing down means meeting feelings, thoughts or uncertainty that busyness has helped us avoid.
And sometimes we have simply practised being busy for so long that doing less feels unfamiliar.
That doesn't mean we need to force ourselves into an entire weekend of doing nothing.
We can begin much smaller.
Leave one non-urgent task until tomorrow.
Drink the coffee before checking the email.
Go for a walk without turning it into a fitness target.
Spend half an hour doing something that produces absolutely nothing.
Then notice what happens.
Not to judge it.
Just to learn.
When perfectionism protects us from being judged
Perfectionism can look remarkably like high standards.
And sometimes it is.
There is nothing wrong with caring about the quality of our work.
The difficulty appears when good no longer feels safe enough.
A person may rewrite the email six times.
Delay submitting an application.
Keep editing something nobody else would notice.
Avoid beginning because they aren't certain they can do it well.
Or spend so much time preparing that very little actually gets finished.
Underneath perfectionism there can sometimes be a simple hope:
If I get this right enough, perhaps nobody can criticise me.
But perfection can't offer that guarantee.
We can do excellent work and someone may still dislike it.
We can prepare carefully and still make a mistake.
We can be knowledgeable and still encounter something we don't know.
We can do our best and still experience an outcome we didn't want.
At some point, growth may require tolerating the possibility of being imperfect and visible at the same time.
Not without standards.
But without requiring perfection before we allow ourselves to participate.
When avoidance brings relief
Avoidance deserves more compassion than it often receives.
If something makes us uncomfortable, not doing it can bring immediate relief.
We don't make the phone call.
Relief.
We don't open the email.
Relief.
We don't have the difficult conversation.
Relief.
We don't apply for the opportunity.
Relief.
For a little while, the discomfort disappears.
That is precisely why avoidance can become so compelling.
The difficulty is what happens over time.
The unopened email still exists.
The conversation remains unresolved.
The opportunity passes.
The thing we were afraid of can begin to feel even larger because we've had more time to imagine it.
And slowly, avoidance can make our world smaller.
This doesn't mean the answer is to throw ourselves into situations that feel overwhelming.
There is a significant difference between gently expanding what we can tolerate and forcing ourselves through something regardless of what it costs.
Sometimes the next step is surprisingly small.
Opening the email without answering it.
Writing down what we want to say before having the conversation.
Looking at the application without deciding whether we'll submit it.
Asking one question.
Staying in the conversation for another minute.
Change doesn't always begin with doing the thing we're most afraid of.
Sometimes it begins by moving one step closer.
When staying positive leaves no room for what is difficult
Positivity can be another pattern that is difficult to question because optimism is generally considered desirable.
And optimism can be enormously valuable.
But there is a difference between finding hope and feeling unable to acknowledge pain.
Sometimes we become so accustomed to saying:
“It could be worse.”
“I'm fine.”
“Other people have bigger problems.”
“I just need to stay positive.”
that we stop allowing ourselves to recognise when something is genuinely difficult.
Gratitude and disappointment can coexist.
Hope and fear can coexist.
Strength and exhaustion can coexist.
Loving our life doesn't mean every part of it has to feel good.
We don't need to turn every difficult experience into a lesson before we've even had time to experience it.
Sometimes honesty is:
“I'm grateful for many things, and this is still hard.”
Both can be true.
Change works better with curiosity than criticism
Once we recognise a pattern, there can be a temptation to immediately start trying to eliminate it.
I need to stop doing this.
Why am I still like this?
I know better than this.
I've worked on this already.
But if a behaviour developed because it once helped us manage something difficult, attacking ourselves for still having it doesn't necessarily create the conditions for change.
We can try something different.
Imagine noticing yourself about to withdraw from a difficult conversation.
Instead of:
Here I go again. Why can't I just deal with things normally?
perhaps:
“I can see that I want to get away from this conversation. That response makes sense to me. But do I need to leave this conversation now?”
Or perhaps you're about to automatically agree to another request.
Instead of:
I'm such a people-pleaser.
try:
“I notice I'm about to say yes before I've checked whether I actually want to.”
Or you find yourself working late again.
Instead of:
I'm terrible at resting.
perhaps:
“Something about stopping feels uncomfortable tonight. What am I expecting will happen if I leave this until tomorrow?”
Curiosity gives us information.
Criticism usually gives us another problem to manage.
The small space between the urge and the action
We don't need to understand the entire history of a pattern before we begin responding differently.
Sometimes the most useful skill is learning to notice the moment when the familiar response appears.
The urge to say yes.
The urge to apologise.
The urge to withdraw.
The urge to check again.
The urge to keep working.
The urge to reassure someone.
The urge to make everything perfect.
The urge to pretend we're fine.
And then, before automatically following it, creating a little space.
That space might be one breath.
It might be ten minutes.
It might sound like:
“Let me think about that and get back to you.”
It might mean sleeping on a decision.
It might mean putting the email into drafts instead of sending it immediately.
It might mean asking ourselves:
“What does this situation actually require from me now?”
That question brings us back into the present.
Because the goal isn't to prove that nothing difficult will ever happen again.
People will disappoint us.
We will make mistakes.
Some conversations will be uncomfortable.
Some risks won't work out.
There will be times when saying no does upset someone.
And sometimes our instincts will correctly tell us that something isn't right.
The goal isn't to eliminate every protective response.
It is to develop enough awareness that protection isn't automatically making every decision for us.
Building evidence that something different is possible
Old patterns often change through experience rather than insight alone.
We can understand intellectually that we're allowed to say no.
Then we say no to a small request and discover the relationship survives.
We can know we're allowed to rest.
Then we leave something unfinished and discover the world doesn't collapse overnight.
We can understand that asking for help isn't weakness.
Then we ask someone for one small thing and experience what it is like to be supported.
We can know disagreement doesn't automatically mean rejection.
Then we express a different opinion and remain connected.
These moments can seem insignificant.
But each one provides new information.
I have another option here.
That is very different from demanding:
I must never respond this way again.
We're not trying to erase the person who learned to cope.
We're gradually expanding the number of ways that person is able to respond.
And sometimes that is what change looks like.
Not becoming somebody entirely different.
Simply discovering that the strategy you once needed is no longer the only strategy available to you.
Sometimes the body notices before we do
We often think of coping strategies as behaviours.
Saying yes when we want to say no.
Working too much.
Avoiding difficult conversations.
Keeping people at a distance.
Trying to make everything perfect.
But familiar patterns can also have a physical component.
You might notice your shoulders tense when someone asks something of you.
Your chest tightens before you express a different opinion.
Your jaw clenches during conflict.
Your mind becomes unusually busy when you finally stop for the day.
You feel an urge to leave a conversation before you have consciously decided that you want to.
Or perhaps you notice the opposite.
You feel blank.
Disconnected.
Unsure what you're feeling or what you want to say.
None of these sensations tells us, on its own, exactly what is happening.
A racing heart can mean anxiety, excitement, exertion, stress or any number of things.
Tension can have many causes.
Feeling tired doesn't automatically mean we're emotionally overwhelmed.
We need to be careful not to interpret every physical sensation as evidence of a deeper psychological problem.
But our bodies can still provide useful information.
Sometimes simply noticing:
“My shoulders have tightened.”
“I'm holding my breath.”
“I suddenly feel like I need to get out of this conversation.”
creates enough space to become curious about what is happening.
Bringing yourself back to what is happening now
This is one place where mindfulness can be useful.
Not because meditation will magically remove an old coping pattern.
And not because we should use breathing or grounding techniques to make uncomfortable emotions disappear.
Mindful awareness can simply help us notice our experience before automatically responding to it.
Perhaps you feel the familiar urge to agree immediately.
You pause.
Feel your feet against the floor.
Take a slower breath.
Notice what's happening in your body.
And give yourself another few seconds before answering.
Maybe the answer is still yes.
But this time, it is a considered yes rather than an automatic one.
Or perhaps you notice yourself becoming defensive during a conversation.
Instead of immediately responding, you recognise:
I'm feeling very activated by this.
That doesn't tell you whether the other person is right or wrong.
It doesn't mean you should ignore your feelings.
It simply gives you a little more information before deciding what to do next.
Sometimes grounding can be as ordinary as noticing the chair underneath you, looking around the room, stepping outside, having a drink of water or feeling your feet on the floor.
The purpose isn't to convince yourself that everything is fine.
It is to help bring some of your attention back to where you actually are now.
For readers who would like to explore this further, our Knowledge Hub article How to Ground Yourself When Life Feels Uncertain looks more closely at simple grounding practices and how they can be used without expecting ourselves to instantly become calm.
Meditation isn't always the answer
Because AMHCC teaches meditation, I think it's particularly important to say this clearly.
Meditation can be a valuable practice.
It can help us develop awareness of thoughts, emotions, habits and reactions.
It can give us opportunities to notice an urge without immediately following it.
It can help us become more familiar with our internal experience.
But meditation isn't the answer to every difficulty.
And more meditation isn't always better.
For some people, particularly when they are highly distressed or dealing with difficult experiences, sitting quietly with internal sensations may initially feel uncomfortable or overwhelming.
A shorter practice may be more appropriate.
Movement might feel better.
A guided practice may feel more supportive than silence.
Grounding through the senses may be more useful in that moment.
Or meditation may simply not be what is needed at all.
Good wellbeing practice isn't about forcing one method to work for everybody.
It's about developing enough awareness to ask:
“What would actually support me here?”
Sometimes the answer is meditation.
Sometimes it's rest.
Sometimes it's movement.
Sometimes it's a conversation.
Sometimes it's practical action.
And sometimes it's professional support.
What this means when we're supporting other people
Becoming curious about what sits beneath a person's response also connects with the skill of listening to understand rather than immediately trying to fix.
This conversation becomes particularly important for those working in counselling, coaching, meditation teaching, community services and other helping roles.
When we see another person repeatedly doing something that appears to make their situation harder, it can be tempting to focus immediately on changing the behaviour.
Why won't they just say no?
Why do they keep going back?
Why aren't they following through?
Why won't they ask for help?
Why do they keep avoiding it?
From the outside, the solution can sometimes appear obvious.
But behaviour usually makes more sense when we understand the context around it.
A person who repeatedly avoids conflict may not simply lack assertiveness.
Someone who struggles to accept help may not simply be stubborn.
A person who finds change difficult may not be unmotivated.
Someone who doesn't follow our advice isn't necessarily resistant.
This doesn't mean every behaviour needs to be explained through somebody's past.
Nor does understanding why something developed mean pretending it has no consequences.
But curiosity can change the quality of the questions we ask.
Instead of:
“How do we stop this behaviour?”
we might first become interested in:
“What does this response seem to do for this person?”
“When does it appear?”
“What happens just before it?”
“What might feel difficult about responding differently?”
“What does the person themselves want to change?”
That last question matters.
Because our idea of what somebody should change isn't automatically their goal.
Understanding isn't the same as excusing
There is another important distinction here.
Understanding the origins of a behaviour doesn't mean every behaviour becomes acceptable.
Someone may have very understandable reasons for becoming angry during conflict.
That doesn't make harmful behaviour towards another person acceptable.
Someone may have learned to protect themselves by withdrawing.
That doesn't mean the impact of repeatedly disappearing from relationships doesn't matter.
Someone may have developed controlling behaviours because uncertainty feels frightening.
Understanding that fear doesn't remove another person's right to boundaries or safety.
Compassion and accountability can exist together.
We can understand why something happens while still recognising that something needs to change.
In professional helping relationships, that balance matters.
The practitioner doesn't need to uncover the whole story
There can also be a temptation in helping professions to assume that if we can find the origin of a pattern, we can solve it.
But people aren't puzzles.
And practitioners aren't detectives trying to uncover the one hidden event that explains everything.
Sometimes we don't know exactly why a pattern developed.
The client may not know either.
There may be several influences.
And in many cases, understanding what is happening now is just as important as understanding where it began.
What triggers the pattern today?
What does the person notice?
What choices are available?
What support do they have?
What would they like to be different?
What is within our professional role to support?
Those questions can often be more useful than trying to create a perfectly complete explanation of someone's past.
Compassion needs professional boundaries
For practitioners, understanding coping strategies also requires clear awareness of scope of practice.
Compassion doesn't mean believing we should be able to help with everything.
Clear professional boundaries can actually strengthen trust by helping both practitioner and client understand the limits and responsibilities of the relationship.
Some experiences require specialist mental health care.
Some require medical assessment.
Some require crisis support.
Some require services or expertise beyond our training.
Recognising that isn't a failure of holistic practice.
It is part of ethical practice.
A meditation teacher, coach or holistic practitioner can offer valuable support within their area of competence while still recognising when another professional needs to become involved.
Sometimes the most helpful thing we can do is not provide another technique.
It is to say:
“I think you deserve support with this from someone who is specifically trained in this area.”
Professional confidence includes knowing what we can offer.
It also includes knowing where our role ends.
For those interested in developing these skills professionally, AMHCC offers pathways in Holistic Counselling, Meditation Teaching and combined Meditation Teaching & Holistic Counselling, beginning with our foundation training and progressing into advanced and Master Practitioner qualifications.
For those interested in developing these skills further, our Holistic Counselling and Master Practitioner pathways explore the practical and reflective skills involved in supporting people while maintaining appropriate professional boundaries and scope.
When additional support may be important
Some coping patterns are connected with experiences that are difficult to work through alone.
If a pattern is causing significant distress, affecting daily functioning, contributing to unsafe behaviour or connected with trauma, abuse, addiction, eating concerns, severe anxiety, depression or other mental health difficulties, support from an appropriately qualified health or mental health professional may be important.
Self-awareness can be valuable.
So can meditation, journalling, reflection and supportive relationships.
But there are times when they aren't enough on their own.
Seeking appropriate support doesn't mean you've failed at personal growth.
Sometimes recognising that we need more support is part of personal growth.
And if you are concerned about your immediate safety or someone else's, seek urgent assistance through emergency or appropriate crisis services in your location.
You don't have to fight the person you had to become
Perhaps there are things you learned to do because, at one point in your life, they genuinely helped.
You became independent.
Careful.
Productive.
Quiet.
Agreeable.
Watchful.
Strong.
Perhaps you became the person who could cope.
The person who didn't need much.
The person who kept everybody happy.
The person who got things done.
The person who always had a plan.
There is no need to turn those parts of yourself into an enemy simply because you're beginning to recognise their cost.
You can appreciate why a pattern developed and still decide that you want something different now.
You can value your independence and practise receiving help.
You can remain conscientious without demanding perfection.
You can care about other people without taking responsibility for every feeling they have.
You can be strong and allow yourself to be supported.
You can be thoughtful about risk without preparing for every possible disaster.
You can recognise that something once helped you without requiring it to guide the rest of your life.
Maybe the question isn't:
“How do I get rid of this part of myself?”
Maybe it is:
“Do I still need this here?”
A few questions for reflection
You might like to consider:
What do I do automatically when I feel uncomfortable, uncertain or under pressure?
When might that response have been useful to me?
What does it protect me from now?
What does it currently cost me?
Are there situations where I have more choice than I sometimes realise?
What feels difficult about responding differently?
What is one small situation in which I could experiment with another response?
What support might make that easier?
Is there a strength within this pattern that I want to keep, even if I change how I use it?
Is this response still serving the life I want to build?
You don't need to answer all of those questions.
Sometimes one is enough.
Change doesn't have to begin dramatically
We often imagine change as a moment when we finally stop doing something we've done for years.
But perhaps it is usually quieter than that.
You notice yourself about to say yes.
And you pause.
You feel the urge to withdraw.
And you stay in the conversation for another moment.
You want to make something perfect.
And you decide that good enough really is good enough today.
You automatically say, “I'm fine.”
And then add:
“Actually, I've had a difficult week.”
You start doing something yourself.
And this time you ask:
“Would you mind helping me?”
Nothing dramatic happens.
But something important has.
The old response appeared.
And this time, it wasn't the only response available.
Perhaps that is one of the gentlest ways we can think about growth.
Not rejecting who we were.
Not criticising the ways we learned to cope.
Not trying to become an entirely different person.
Just gradually recognising that our circumstances, resources, relationships and capacities can change.
And allowing our ways of responding to change with them.
Because something can have helped you survive one part of your life without needing to determine how you live the next.
Sometimes change begins with one small moment in which the familiar response appears and, this time, you realise:
I have another choice.
Explore Your Next Step
If these areas of personal growth, meditation or supporting others are drawing your interest, you don't need to know exactly which training pathway is right for you.Try the AMHCC Course Finder to explore pathways based on your interests and goals, or download the free Course & Career Pathways Guide to compare your options.
Natalee Hudson
Founder & Principal
Australian Meditation & Holistic Counselling College
Empower Your Mind. Transform Lives.
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