De-villainising Coping Strategies

We often talk about coping strategies as though they're either good or bad.

Healthy coping. Unhealthy coping. Helpful. Unhelpful.

Whilst I understand why we categorise them in this way, I do think that this misses something really important.

A coping strategy is, first and foremost, exactly that: a way of coping.

It didn't become someone's coping strategy because it was the most ideal option out there. It became their coping strategy because, at that point in their life, it was the best strategy available to them at the time and it helped them get through whatever they were trying to get through. Whether that's restricting food, binge eating, compulsive exercise, alcohol, overworking, people pleasing, endlessly staying busy, withdrawing from others or any number of other behaviours, they all tend to have one thing in common.

At some point, they worked.

Perhaps they reduced overwhelming emotion. Perhaps they created a sense of control when life felt chaotic. Perhaps they offered distraction, relief, certainty, numbness or simply a way of making it through the day.

That doesn't mean they were ideal. Nor does it mean they no longer come at a cost.

But I think it's difficult to understand a coping strategy if we only focus on what it looks like, without also asking what it has been doing for the person all this time.

Because when we bypass that, shame often fills the gap.

By the time someone seeks therapy, it's common for them to be deeply frustrated by the coping strategy that once helped them. They often question why they keep returning to the same behaviour despite desperately wanting to stop.

"I can’t understand why I keep doing this?" they may say, while also being quite clear why they don’t want to do it. This is often accompanied by self-criticism, judgement and at times a sense that maybe this is just who they are, and it can’t be changed.

However entrenched a coping strategy may feel, it is still something a person does, not who they are.

But, coping strategies rarely disappear simply because we've decided we no longer like them.

If there isn't another way of managing whatever sits underneath them then it's understandable that we return to the strategy that our nervous system already knows. Familiarity has a remarkable pull, particularly when we're distressed.

This is why I don't think therapy is about taking coping strategies away. Instead, it’s about asking: "What keeps making this one feel necessary?"

It's about understanding what the coping strategy has been doing, whilst slowly developing other ways of meeting the underlying need.

Because if we remove the only thing has helped manage difficult emotions and simply leave everything else untouched, then we're likely to feel too exposed rather than supported.

So, therapy is about gradually widening the options.

That process is rarely immediate. And this can be where, at times, the therapeutic process can feel frustrating.  It would, of course, be brilliant if we could replace the outdated way of coping with the perfect alternative, integrate it seamlessly and feel much better. But unfortunately, that’s not usually how change happens. Or certainly not sustainable change.

Usually, it happens in smaller shifts and in cumulative moments that are only recognised as new way of coping when we reflect back on them.

Sometimes it's about moving from a coping strategy that causes significant harm to one that causes a little less. This can be an important change point in the process, yet not always noticed as so by others.

In my work with eating disorders, for example, I sometimes meet people who have spent years coping through varying food and exercise compulsions. As recovery begins, it isn't uncommon for one of those coping strategies to soften before the other.

Perhaps they begin nourishing themselves more consistently, but exercise still feels like an important way of regulating difficult emotions. They might be able to take the occasional rest day, become more flexible in their routines, or exercise from a place that's beginning to feel a little less rigid. Yet they also know that the dependency hasn't disappeared completely.

So, recovery isn't necessarily about exchanging one coping strategy for the ideal alternative. Sometimes it's about making repeated moves towards something that asks a little less of you, harms you a little less, brings more freedom into your world, or gives you a little more room to breathe.

With each step we can gently explore what that strategy is still doing, what need it continues to meet, and whether, over time, other ways of meeting that need can begin to emerge. What a relief to do this rather than try to remove everything all once.

From the outside, it can be easy for others to focus on what remains. They may wonder why the person still needs to exercise so much or question whether they've really made progress at all.

But that perspective risks missing the important fact that the person is no longer where they were.

Their relationship with food may be more nourishing and as a result their world may already have become a little bigger, even if it doesn't yet feel completely free.

That isn't necessarily the end of recovery, but neither should it not be acknowledged simply because there is further to go. Recognising progress doesn't necessarily mean settling there. Some coping strategies remain physically or psychologically costly, even when they represent a meaningful step forward from where someone began. The aim then isn't to stop growing but to acknowledge the distance already travelled whilst continuing to move towards greater freedom.

I understand that it can be easy to judge progress by whether someone has stopped coping in a particular way, rather than noticing how far they've already come.

But I genuinely believe that a really important part of the process is celebrating those moments along the way.

I don't think people change because they finally learn to hate their coping strategy enough. More often, I think change begins when they understand why it became necessary in the first place. And alternative options become clearer.

That’s what I mean by ‘de-villainising’ a coping strategy—not lowering expectation for change, but to understand it well enough that something different can eventually take its place.