We’re already halfway through January. Maybe you started something new this year. Or maybe you picked something back up that you’ve been carrying with you for a while.
Sometimes a new year shines a brighter light on the same hopes we’ve had for a long time. We don’t always call them resolutions. Sometimes they’re quiet desires. Sometimes they come and go. And sometimes they only feel urgent when the thing we want to change starts affecting us more than usual.
What I’m really talking about here is coping mechanisms.
You might have noticed that some changes feel easier than others. For example, I found it fairly easy to add certain health habits that helped my nervous system feel more regulated. That kind of change felt doable because I was adding something supportive, not taking away something that felt necessary.
If a change sticks, it’s usually because it doesn’t interfere with a coping mechanism your nervous system relies on.
When we try to change a coping mechanism, everything shifts. Your nervous system can experience that change as a threat, because this is the strategy it has relied on to keep you safe.
It has learned to use that behavior — whatever it is — to create temporary relief from overwhelm. Even if the coping strategy causes problems later, in the moment it helps you survive, function, or get through the day.
I like to use a simple bucket analogy to explain this.
Imagine you have a bucket. That bucket can only hold so much. Into it goes stress of all kinds — physical, emotional, mental, spiritual, relational, work-related, environmental, even political stress. Little by little, the bucket fills. A rough night of sleep, a tense conversation, a packed schedule, worrying about money — none of these alone overflow the bucket, but together they do.
When the water reaches the top, your nervous system looks for an output — a way to release pressure before everything spills over. For one person it might be late-night snacking. For another, saying yes to everything. For someone else, staying busy so they never have to sit still.
That output might also look like:
- eating too much or not enough
- working nonstop
- scrolling endlessly
- trouble sleeping
- anxiety
- physical pain
- rashes or other symptoms
These are all signals. Your nervous system is saying, “The bucket is full. I need some kind of release.”
The problem is that these outputs are often old, patterned responses, ones your system learned a long time ago. They give short-term relief, but they don’t actually lower what’s filling the bucket. And they don’t teach your nervous system any new ways to cope. That’s where learning new skills and building capacity becomes essential.
Deep down, your nervous system isn’t asking you to just “stop the behavior.” It’s hoping you’ll help change some of the inputs.
Recently, I came across a powerful metaphor shared by Dr. Anita Johnston that explains this dynamic so clearly, especially why changing coping mechanisms feels so hard, even when we want to change.
This metaphor paints a clear picture of something many of us have lived through — how a coping mechanism can save you at one point in your life, and later become the very thing that keeps you stuck.
Imagine you’re standing near a huge river during a storm. The water is rushing fast. The ground suddenly gives way, and you fall in. The current is strong, and you’re being pulled under. You’re not thinking about anything but trying to survive.
Then a large log floats by.
You grab it with everything you’ve got. The log keeps your head above water. It steadies you. It saves your life. You hold on tight as the river carries you forward.
After a while, the water calms down. You’re no longer fighting for your life. And in the distance, you can see the riverbank. Safety. The place you actually want to go.
But the problem is, you can’t get there because you still have to hold onto the log.
The very thing that saved you — the log — is now making it harder to get to shore. You’re still holding on with one arm while trying to swim with the other. People on the shore can see that you’re close enough. So they call out, “Just let go of the log!”
But you can’t. And you may feel really stupid for not being able to just let go. Letting go feels terrifying. That log once kept you alive. How could you trust yourself without it?
Your coping mechanism, which could be disordered eating, perfectionism, staying busy, numbing out, people-pleasing, overworking, or trying to control everything, once helped you survive something hard. It kept you afloat when the waters were rough. Your nervous system has deeply embedded this pattern as part of how it learned to survive.
But now, even though life is calmer, that same coping mechanism may be keeping you from getting to where you actually want to be.
And the reason it’s so hard to let go isn’t because you don’t want to, but because your nervous system remembers this was what has worked and it has not learned anything otherwise. And this is where so many of us get stuck — wanting change, but feeling unable to make it last.
Why You Can’t Just Let Go
Dr. Johnston explains that if you let go of the log before you’re ready, something scary can happen.
You might start swimming toward the shore, feel hopeful at first… and then get tired halfway there. Suddenly you realize you don’t have enough strength yet to reach the shore, and you’re too far away to grab the log again. That moment can feel overwhelming and unsafe.
The part of you that won’t let go yet may seem stubborn or self-sabotaging, but in a strange way, it actually knows something important. It knows you don’t have all the tools, skills, or strength you need just yet. And its job is to make sure you don’t end up drowning again.
So instead of pushing for a sudden, all-or-nothing change, this part of you is hoping for something much kinder: a gradual process.
What That Gradual Process Looks Like
Metaphorically speaking, it often unfolds like this:
Floating first
You let go of the log for just a moment. Long enough to feel the water beneath you. Then, when it feels like too much, you reach back and grab the log again. Nothing is lost. You’re just learning.
Treading water
Over time, you let go a little longer. You start using your own body to stay afloat. You still return to the log when things feel overwhelming, but you’re beginning to trust yourself more.
Swimming laps around the log
Eventually, you let go and swim around the log — once, twice, ten times, maybe a hundred times. With each lap, you build strength, confidence, and trust in yourself. One day, you realize you’re ready. You can swim all the way to shore, and only then do you fully let go of the log.
This is how real change happens — not by forcing yourself to let go, but by slowly teaching your nervous system that you can stay safe without holding on so tightly.
Skills We Learn From the Metaphor
This metaphor points to something many of us already know deep down:
If letting go were easy, none of us would have coping mechanisms in the first place.
Real change involves more than just letting go of that log. It requires getting curious and asking a kinder question:
What did this log do for me — and what skills do I need now that can do that job in a healthier way?
Our behaviors are full of information. When we pay attention, they often point us straight to the skills that need more support and practice.
Here are a few examples:
- If your coping mechanism helped you survive because you couldn’t say “no,” the real work may be learning how to set boundaries.
- If it protected you because speaking up felt unsafe, you may need to practice expressing your needs and asking for help.
- If it helped you avoid feeling overwhelmed emotions, you might need skills for emotional regulation and gentle self-soothing.
Maybe you’re realizing you have more than one skill to learn. Maybe that log represents more than one coping mechanism, and that’s very common. The principle stays the same: skills. One skill at a time will get you there.
If you find yourself grabbing back onto the log here in mid-January, you might feel disappointed, but it doesn’t mean you failed. It means you tried a few reps and are needing a breather.
Maybe those reps helped you build a skill you actually needed. Or maybe they showed you that you were trying to use the wrong skill. Either way, reassessing is a gift you can give yourself.
There are so many skills involved in this process. Self-awareness. Self-compassion. Nervous system regulation. Clarifying who you are and what matters to you. Only you can discover which ones need strengthening right now.
Regardless of what your specific skills are, real change comes from staying committed to building whatever skills are needed to replace the function of the log.
And if you’re thinking, “I don’t even know where to start,” you’re not alone.
I created a blog series that highlights skills and tools one blog post at a time, one step at a time. You’re welcome to use it as a gentle guide for starting to swim a few more laps around your log. Here is the first post in the series, and you can read it chronologically from there.
And if you’re longing for more focused support, I also offer a framework based in neurosomatic intelligence that helps build skills and create habit change in very practical, doable ways. If you’re tired of going around the same mountain and feel ready to try something new with guidance and support, this might be a good next step for you.
You don’t have to figure this out all at once. You just have to keep practicing.
For the Science (and Story) Lovers Among Us
You might be wondering why this metaphor — and stories like it — land so deeply in a way that logical explanations often don’t.
Here’s what’s happening in your brain.
There’s a part of the brain, right above your right ear, that becomes active when you understand a metaphor — when something suddenly clicks. Scientists have found that when this happens, your brain releases bursts of energy called gamma waves — a sign that learning and change are taking place. In other words, the insight is more than just a nice idea. It’s a real event happening in your nervous system.
Stories and metaphors speak mainly to the right side of the brain. This is the part of the brain that handles emotional meaning, patterns, imagination, and building new connections. It’s also the part of the brain where deep change happens in how we think and in how we’re wired.
This is one reason stories can be so powerful. They don’t argue with you. They don’t try to convince or shame you. Instead, they gently slip past the logical defenses many of us have built around our struggles.
I can’t help but think this is why Jesus used so many stories when He taught. Stories reach places that rules and explanations alone often can’t.
By entering the brain through imagery and story, metaphors help create space for new neural pathways, and with that, the possibility of real, lasting transformation.
When it comes to coping mechanisms, there’s almost always a familiar pattern:
something that once saved you is now limiting you.
The river and log metaphor invites you to gently reflect on a few things:
- What is my log?
- What skills do I need before I can let it go safely?
- Why does change feel scary — and how might it still be possible?
- What small, repeated efforts can build strength and confidence over time?
I encourage you to take some time to sit with these questions and notice how they show up in your own life. From there, you can begin to think about how you want to intentionally train and build skills throughout the year, so that, little by little, you become strong enough to let go of the log when the time is right.
There’s no rush. And there’s no failure here. There’s only learning, practice, and growing trust in yourself. And when the time is right, you’ll know because you’ve become strong enough to swim.
