Habits we can’t stop & how change comes

Over the years, I’ve sat with so many people who begin by telling me the same thing: “I just can’t stop.” Sometimes it’s food. Sometimes it’s drinking or smoking. Sometimes it’s scrolling until 2am, or gambling, or self-harm. The details may vary, but the experience is strikingly similar — that sense of being caught in a loop, turning to the same habit over and over, even when you know it leaves you feeling worse.

I often say to clients: There’s always a reason you’ve been reaching for that particular habit. Our coping behaviours don’t appear out of thin air. They develop because, at some point, they helped. Maybe they dulled anxiety, created a sense of belonging, or numbed pain. Maybe they gave a rush of energy when everything felt flat, or provided a pocket of safety when life felt overwhelming. That doesn’t mean they’re “good” for us long-term, but it does mean they make sense. And making sense of what we do is the very first step toward change.

Coping habits as a kind of language

I’ve come to see coping habits as almost like a private language the body and mind use to communicate. Each habit is saying something: “I need comfort.” “I need escape.” “I need to feel alive.” When you start to listen with compassion, rather than judgement, the message underneath becomes clearer.

Take binge-watching shows late into the night. On the surface, it might look like “laziness” or “lack of willpower,” but when you scratch beneath, it often speaks of longing — perhaps a craving for story, distraction, or companionship at the loneliest hour. Or think about drinking: yes, alcohol changes brain chemistry, but for many, it also shifts social rules, making it easier to laugh, relax, or feel accepted. When you pause to notice the message, the harsh self-criticism softens.

This shift is vital because shame is one of the biggest blocks to change. People so often arrive in therapy carrying a heavy load of “shoulds”: I should know better. I should just stop. I should have more control. But none of us ever changed by shaming ourselves into submission. We change when we feel understood, safe, and capable of imagining new possibilities.

Why inclusion matters

Something I care deeply about is recognising how our identities shape our coping. If you’re LGBTQIA+, you might carry experiences of exclusion or silence that make soothing harder to find in healthy places. A drink or a dating app might have been the quickest route to belonging. If you’re neurodiverse, habits like gaming, fidgeting, or immersing yourself in routines may not just be distractions but lifelines — regulating senses and emotions in a world that isn’t always designed with your needs in mind.

This is why I believe therapy must be inclusive. Change isn’t about squeezing everyone into one “normal” mould. It’s about understanding how your history, culture, and identity all intertwine with the ways you cope. When we can name those connections openly, new and more nourishing options start to appear.

The myth of pure willpower

A lot of people think breaking habits is just about willpower. I hear phrases like “If only I were stronger” or “I just need more discipline.” But habits are wired into us at a much deeper level than sheer choice. They live in the nervous system, shaped by repetition and reinforced by reward. Every time a behaviour brings even a sliver of relief, the brain makes a note: Do that again next time.

So, of course, you find yourself reaching for the same thing again and again. Your body has learnt that pathway. This doesn’t mean you’re broken. It means your system has been doing its best to survive. The work of therapy isn’t about snapping your fingers and deleting the habit, but gently retraining your nervous system to trust other routes.

Small steps, not giant leaps

When I talk about change, I often compare it to learning a musical instrument. Nobody expects to pick up a guitar and play perfectly on the first day. You start with a few clumsy notes. Your fingers ache. Some days you wonder if you’ll ever get it. But over time, with practice, the shapes become familiar and the sounds sweeter.

New coping strategies are just the same. Breathing exercises, grounding techniques, journalling, mindful movement, calling a friend — they may feel awkward at first. You may not believe they “work.” But every time you try, you’re teaching your system a new possibility. Even five minutes of gentle breathing can begin to carve out a new pathway. The more times you walk that path, the clearer it becomes.

Meeting the habit with compassion

One of the hardest things is staying kind to yourself in the process. Many clients arrive feeling furious with their habit: “Why am I so weak? Why can’t I just stop?” I often invite them to imagine the habit as a younger part of themselves, trying desperately to help. That inner teenager sneaking sweets, or that anxious child clinging to screens, wasn’t trying to ruin your life — they were doing the best they knew to survive.

When you meet that part of yourself with compassion rather than hatred, the grip begins to loosen. You don’t have to love the habit. But you can respect the role it once played, even as you learn to move beyond it.

The role of presence

Another piece of this puzzle is presence — the ability to be with what’s happening right now without running away. Our coping habits usually pull us away from the present: into the numbness of a drink, the glow of a screen, the rush of a bet. They offer a temporary escape from feelings we’d rather not face.

Learning to pause and gently notice the present moment can feel uncomfortable at first. But over time, it gives us back choice. When you can notice, “Ah, my chest feels tight, my mind is racing, I’m craving a cigarette,” you have a sliver of space to decide: Do I light up, or do I try something else? That sliver of space is where freedom begins.

Hope in the messy middle

I want to be honest: change is rarely a straight line. People slip. Old habits creep back in. Some weeks feel worse before they feel better. But none of that means failure. In fact, the messy middle is part of the process. Each time you notice what pulled you back, you gain more insight into what truly helps.

I’ve seen people who once felt completely trapped gradually rediscover choice. They begin to feel proud of small wins: one less drink this week, one more night of sleep, one honest conversation instead of hiding behind a screen. These might seem like tiny steps, but together they add up to transformation.

What i want you to know

If you’re reading this because you’ve been wondering whether therapy might help, I want to say this: your coping habits don’t define you. They are signals, not verdicts. They point to your needs, your longings, and your resilience in finding a way to get through.

Therapy isn’t about shaming you into giving them up. It’s about creating a safe space to understand them, to soften the self-blame, and to discover new tools that feel genuinely possible for you. Sometimes the biggest relief comes simply from knowing you don’t have to figure it all out alone.

A gentle invitation

I don’t believe in quick fixes or one-size-fits-all solutions. What I do believe in is your capacity to grow, even if you don’t feel it yet. I’ve seen it happen, again and again: people discovering new ways to soothe, new ways to connect, new ways to live with more freedom.

So if you’ve found yourself saying “I just can’t stop,” maybe this is the moment to reach out. Not because you’re weak or broken, but because you deserve support. Change is possible, and it begins with the simple courage of taking one step.