The Elaborate Performance of "Trying to Change"

The complex, multilevel, almost artistic mechanisms of avoidance people build to avoid doing the thing they say they want to do.

Clients never fail to impress me with the complex, multilevel, almost artistic mechanisms of avoidance they build to avoid doing the thing they say they want to do.

I’m not talking about simple procrastination. I’m not talking about someone who knows they’re avoiding something and feels guilty about it. I’m talking about sophisticated psychological architecture, the kind where someone constructs an entire narrative about why change is impossible while simultaneously paying someone to help them change.

It’s remarkable, honestly. The human capacity for self-deception is genuinely impressive when you see it up close.

They’ll sit in my office and tell me all the reasons why they “can’t” do the thing. Why they’re “too anxious” or “too busy” or “too broken” or “not ready yet.” They’ll describe their limitations with absolute certainty, using language that closes down possibility before we even explore it.

And the whole time, they’re sitting there. In a room with a specialist. Who they’re paying. To help them with the exact thing they’re saying is impossible.

The contradiction doesn’t register. Or maybe it does, unconsciously, and that’s precisely the point.

How Therapy Becomes the Avoidance

Here’s what I’ve learned after some years of doing this work: showing up to therapy or coaching can itself be a form of avoidance. A highly sophisticated, socially acceptable, expensive form of avoidance.

You get to tell yourself and others that you’re working on your problems. You’re taking action. You’re investing in yourself. Look at you, being so responsible and self-aware.

But if you’re not actually doing anything between sessions, if you’re not taking the small uncomfortable steps that would create real change, then what you’re really doing is outsourcing your accountability to someone else while maintaining the appearance of progress.

This is brilliant, in a fucked up way. You get all the social credit for “working on yourself” without having to face any of the actual discomfort that change requires. You get to feel like you’re trying without actually trying.

And when it doesn’t work, when nothing changes despite months or years of sessions, you have a ready-made explanation: “Not even a specialist could fix me.” Or the softer version: “I need someone more specialized, someone who really understands my specific situation.”

The narrative stays intact. You’re not someone who’s avoiding change. You’re someone who’s too complex to be helped, or who hasn’t found the right helper yet. See the difference? One makes you responsible. The other makes you special.

The Language of Masked Avoidance

The language people use to describe their situation tells you everything if you know how to listen.

“I can’t” is the big one. “I can’t focus.” “I can’t leave my job.” “I can’t set boundaries.” “I can’t start until I feel ready.”

Can’t is absolute language. It closes the door on possibility before we’ve even looked at what might be possible. It frames the situation as something happening to you rather than something you’re participating in creating.

But when you dig into the “can’t,” what you usually find is “I don’t want to deal with the consequences.” Which is a completely different thing.

You can leave your job. You just don’t want to deal with the financial uncertainty. You can set boundaries. You just don’t want to deal with people being upset with you. You can focus. You just don’t want to give up the things that are fragmenting your attention.

These are choices. Reasonable choices, sometimes. But they’re choices, not impossibilities.

The language of identity is the other big reveal. “I’m just not a morning person.” “I’m too anxious to do that.” “I’m not good with confrontation.” “I’m the kind of person who...”

When you define yourself by your limitations, when you make them part of your identity, you’ve built a psychological prison where the bars are made of words. Now you can’t change without changing who you are, which feels impossible, so you don’t change.

And then there’s the masked actionability: “I’m here, therefore I’m doing something about it.”

This is the most sophisticated version. You’re in therapy. You’re reading books. You’re listening to podcasts. You’re thinking about the problem constantly. All of this feels like action because it requires time and energy and sometimes money.

But none of it is actually action. It’s preparation for action. It’s thinking about action. It’s consuming content about action. The actual action, the thing that would create change, remains perpetually in the future, waiting for some condition that never quite arrives.

→ If this feels familiar, you’re probably the kind of person I write for.
→ If you’re curious how this would look applied to your situation, schedule a chemistry call.

The Small Things They Don’t Do

When I work with someone, I pay attention to the small, concrete things they could do to move from A to B. Not the big transformative leaps. The small steps that are entirely within their control.

“Between now and next week, talk to one person about this opportunity.”

“Set one boundary this week, even a small one.”

“Spend 30 minutes working on that thing you say you want to start.”

These aren’t big asks. They’re deliberately small, deliberately concrete, deliberately within the person’s control. No one needs to cooperate with you for you to do these things. No circumstances need to align. You just need to choose to do them.

And consistently, the people who are using therapy as sophisticated avoidance don’t do them.

Next session, they’ll have elaborate explanations. The week got away from them. Something came up. They were going to do it but then X happened. They thought about doing it, does that count?

Or sometimes they’ll pivot to a different problem entirely, one that feels more urgent and therefore justifies why they couldn’t address the original thing. The avoidance mechanism is fractal. It reproduces itself at every level.

When I point this out, when I reflect back what’s actually happening, the response tells me everything about whether we’re going to make progress.

Some people get it immediately. The mirror shocks them. They realize they’ve been performing the appearance of trying while actively avoiding the actual trying. This realization, however uncomfortable, is the beginning of real work.

Others get defensive or dismissive. They stop coming. They’ve figured out that I’m not going to participate in the narrative they’re constructing, that I’m not going to be the authority figure who confirms they’re unfixable or the enabler who lets them pretend showing up is enough.

And honestly? I rarely demonstrate patience with this pattern anymore. Not because I’m unkind, but because patience with avoidance is just enabling avoidance with better manners. If someone’s paying me to help them change and they’re actively working against that change while pretending they’re not, the kindest thing I can do is name it clearly.

The Unconscious Goals

Here’s what’s really happening underneath all this: people have unconscious goals that contradict their stated goals.

Consciously, they want to change. They want to be less anxious, more confident, more successful, whatever it is they came to work on.

Unconsciously, they want to prove something else entirely. Usually some version of: “I’m beyond help” or “I’m special and complex” or “Change is impossible for someone like me” or “I tried everything and nothing works.”

These unconscious goals serve protective functions. If you’re beyond help, you don’t have to face the discomfort of actually changing. If you’re special and complex, you get to maintain a certain identity and narrative about yourself. If change is impossible, you don’t have to take responsibility for your current situation.

The therapy or coaching becomes part of proving the unconscious goal. You’re not there to change. You’re there to demonstrate, with evidence, that change isn’t possible. The specialist couldn’t fix you. The methods didn’t work. You tried so hard and it still didn’t happen.

Now you have a story. A good one. One that explains your situation while preserving your self-image as someone who’s trying, who wants better, who’s doing their best.

The problem is this story costs you your life. It costs you years of staying stuck while performing the appearance of working on it. It costs you the actual changes you claim to want. It costs you the truth about your own agency.

→ If this feels familiar, you’re probably the kind of person I write for.
→ If you’re curious how this would look applied to your situation, schedule a chemistry call.

Everything Is a Decision

Let me be clear about something that might be uncomfortable: everything is a decision, including inertia.

You’re not stuck. You’re choosing to stay where you are. You’re choosing it actively, every day, sometimes multiple times a day.

When you say “I can’t leave this job,” what you mean is “I’m choosing to stay in this job because leaving feels more threatening than staying.” That’s a decision. Maybe a reasonable one given your circumstances, but still a decision.

When you say “I can’t set boundaries,” what you mean is “I’m choosing not to set boundaries because other people being upset with me feels more threatening than continuing to overextend myself.” Again, a decision.

When you say “I can’t start until I’m ready,” what you mean is “I’m choosing to wait indefinitely because starting before I feel ready feels more threatening than never starting at all.” Still a decision.

Inertia is a decision. Procrastination is a decision. Avoidance is a decision. You’re choosing comfort over discomfort. You’re choosing the known over the unknown. You’re choosing the pain you’re familiar with over the pain you’d have to face to change.

These aren’t bad choices necessarily. Sometimes staying is the right call. Sometimes the timing genuinely isn’t right. Sometimes the cost of change really does outweigh the benefit.

But they’re still choices. And when you pretend they’re not choices, when you use language like “I can’t” or “I have no choice” or “I’m stuck,” you’re lying to yourself about your own agency. You’re making yourself smaller and less powerful than you actually are.

The Absolute Language Problem

Pay attention to absolute language in how you talk about yourself and your situation. Absolutes are almost always lies.

“I can’t do this” is an absolute. The truth is usually “I could do this but it would be uncomfortable/scary/uncertain.”

“I’m not a person who...” is an absolute. The truth is usually “I haven’t been a person who does this up until now, and I’m choosing not to become one.”

“I always...” or “I never...” are absolutes. The truth is usually “I usually” or “I rarely” or “I have a pattern of.”

The language matters because it shapes what feels possible. When you use absolute language, you close down options. You make change feel impossible before you’ve even explored whether it might be possible.

Here’s a better frame: “I could make 10% progress on this.”

Not 100%. Not perfect execution. Just 10%. One small step. One conversation. One boundary. One hour of work on the thing you say you want to do.

If you can’t identify what 10% progress would look like, or if you refuse to commit to even that, then you’re not serious about changing. You’re serious about appearing to try to change while making sure you don’t actually have to change.

And look, I get it. Change is terrifying. The unknown is scary. What you have now, even if it’s painful, is at least familiar. The devil you know feels safer than the devil you don’t.

But you don’t get to pretend you’re trapped when you’re actually choosing. You don’t get to use “I can’t” when what you mean is “I won’t because I’m scared.” You don’t get to outsource your agency to a therapist or a coach or the universe and then be surprised when nothing changes.

What Happens When You Confront This

When I reflect this pattern back to clients, when I make visible what they’re doing, a few things happen.

Some people stop coming. They realize quickly that I’m not going to play the role they’ve cast me in. I’m not going to be the authority figure who confirms their unfixability. I’m not going to let them use our sessions as evidence that they tried and it didn’t work. They leave, usually with some story about how I “wasn’t the right fit” or “didn’t understand their situation.”

Fine. Better they figure that out early than waste months going through the motions.

Some people get angry. The confrontation feels like an attack. They think I’m saying they’re lazy or that their struggles aren’t real or that they should just magically be able to do things that feel impossible.

That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying their struggles are real and their fear is real and their pain is real, but they’re also making choices that keep them stuck while pretending they have no choice. Both things are true simultaneously.

The anger usually means we’re getting close to something real. The defense mechanism is activating because the underlying vulnerability is being touched. If we can work through the anger, there’s usually something valuable underneath.

But some people, when confronted with this mirror, have a realization that changes everything. They see the pattern. They see how they’ve been constructing elaborate mechanisms to avoid the very thing they claim to want. They see their own agency in situations where they’ve been telling themselves they were powerless.

This realization is uncomfortable as fuck. It’s destabilizing. It means accepting responsibility for where you are, which is harder than blaming circumstances or biology or other people or bad luck.

But it’s also the only place real change becomes possible.

Because if you’re powerless, if you truly can’t do anything, then we’re done. There’s nothing to work on. You’re stuck forever and that’s just how it is.

But if you’re choosing this, even unconsciously, even for protective reasons, then you can choose differently. Not easily. Not without discomfort. But you can.

The Work You’re Actually Avoiding

The elaborate avoidance mechanisms exist for a reason. They’re protecting you from something that feels threatening.

Usually, it’s one of a few things:

The threat of failure. If you actually try and it doesn’t work, you’ll have to face that you’re not capable of what you thought you could do. Better not to really try, so you can always tell yourself you would have succeeded if you’d actually given it your full effort.

The threat of success. If you actually change, you’ll have to let go of your current identity, your current relationships, your current life. Success means becoming someone different, and what if you don’t like who that person is? What if other people don’t like who that person is?

The threat of responsibility. If you admit you have agency, you have to take responsibility for your choices. You can’t blame your circumstances anymore. You can’t be the victim of your situation. You’re the author of your life, which means the state of your life is largely your responsibility.

The threat of discomfort. Change requires feeling things you’d rather not feel. Anxiety. Uncertainty. Embarrassment. Vulnerability. The avoidance mechanisms protect you from having to feel these things, at least in the short term.

The work you’re avoiding isn’t just the practical steps toward change. It’s the emotional experience of changing. It’s facing these threats directly instead of building elaborate systems to avoid them.

And here’s the fucked up part: the avoidance itself creates the very outcomes you’re afraid of. You avoid trying because you’re afraid of failure, but the avoidance guarantees failure. You avoid changing because you’re afraid of who you might become, but staying stuck creates a different kind of person, one who’s diminished by years of not living fully. You avoid taking responsibility because it feels too heavy, but the lack of responsibility makes you helpless, which is heavier in its own way.

The mechanisms you’ve built to protect yourself are the main thing hurting you now. That’s the realization that changes everything.

What This Means for You

If you’re reading this and recognizing yourself, here’s what you need to know:

First, this isn’t about being a bad person or being lazy or being weak. This is about being human. Avoidance is a normal protective mechanism. The sophistication of your avoidance just means you’re smart and creative. You’ve built something complex to solve a problem, even if that solution is now creating bigger problems.

Second, no therapist or coach can fix you if you’re actively working against the fixing while pretending you’re not. We can provide tools and insights and frameworks and support, but we can’t want change more than you do. We can’t do your work for you. We can’t make you take the uncomfortable steps you’re avoiding.

If you’re in therapy or coaching right now and nothing’s changing, ask yourself honestly: am I using this as sophisticated avoidance? Am I showing up so I can tell myself I’m working on it while making sure I never have to actually change?

Third, start paying attention to your language. Every time you say “I can’t,” pause and ask: is this true? Or do I mean “I don’t want to because it would be uncomfortable”?

Every time you use identity language like “I’m just not the kind of person who...,” ask: is this an immutable fact about me, or is this a story I’m telling to avoid having to change?

Every time you feel like you’re stuck, ask: what am I choosing here? What would 10% progress look like? What’s one small thing I could do that’s entirely within my control?

Fourth, get honest about your unconscious goals. What would it mean if you actually changed? What would you have to give up? What would you have to face? What story about yourself would you have to let go of?

Sometimes the unconscious goal is more important to you than the stated goal. That’s okay. But you should know that’s what’s happening rather than pretending you’re trying to change when you’re actually trying to prove change is impossible.

Finally, make a decision. Not a half-decision where you sort of try while keeping all your escape routes open. An actual decision.

Either decide you’re going to change, which means accepting the discomfort and uncertainty and doing the small concrete things even when they feel impossible.

Or decide you’re not going to change right now, which means accepting your current situation without the story that you’re stuck or powerless or that it’s anyone’s fault.

Both are legitimate choices. But the worst place to be is the middle ground where you’re pretending you want to change while actively ensuring you don’t. That’s where you waste years of your life.

The Truth About Agency

Here’s what I believe after the years of doing this work: you have more agency than you think you do, and less than you wish you did.

You’re not powerless. You’re not stuck. You’re not unfixable. You’re making choices, consciously and unconsciously, that create your current reality. That’s agency.

But you also can’t just decide to be different and have it be so. You can’t think your way out of patterns built over decades. You can’t overcome trauma or conditioning or circumstance through willpower alone. That’s the limit of agency.

The work is in the middle. Recognizing where you do have choice and power, even when it’s uncomfortable to admit it. Using that choice and power to take small steps. Building evidence that change is possible by actually changing in small ways. Not waiting until you feel ready but starting before you’re ready and discovering you can handle more than you thought.

And stopping the performance. Stopping the elaborate avoidance mechanisms. Stopping the outsourcing of accountability. Stopping the use of therapy or coaching as a way to prove you’re beyond help.

If you’re going to pay someone to help you, actually let them help you. Do the small things they suggest. Take the uncomfortable steps. Stop explaining why you can’t and start exploring what 10% progress would look like.

Or don’t. Save your money. Stop performing the appearance of trying to change. Accept where you are without the story that you’re working on it.

Either way, you get your agency back. You’re choosing consciously instead of unconsciously. You’re being honest with yourself about what you’re actually doing and why.

That honesty, however uncomfortable, is worth more than any elaborate mechanism you could build to avoid it.

→ If this feels familiar, you’re probably the kind of person I write for.
→ If you’re curious how this would look applied to your situation, schedule a chemistry call.

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