Bad at Coping

A Love Letter to My Flawed Survival Tactics

Last night I caught myself doing it again - that thing where I scroll through Twitter until my eyes burn, chasing the dopamine hit of someone else's drama to avoid sitting with my own thoughts. My thumb moved on autopilot while my anxiety whispered: "Just five more minutes and maybe you'll feel better."

Spoiler: I never do.

We all have these rituals. Mine include:

• The Midnight Confessional - Oversharing to strangers online because 2AM me believes trauma-dumping in DMs is somehow more socially acceptable than calling a real friend

• The Great Avoidance - Suddenly becoming intensely interested in reorganizing my sock drawer when there's actual emotional work to be done

• Selective Muteness - Going radio silent for days, then reappearing with a casual "Sorry, was busy" when really I'd just convinced myself no one would notice my absence

The older I get, the more I realize most "bad" coping mechanisms are just love letters to survival - imperfect, sometimes messy, but written with the best intentions. That third cup of coffee isn't about caffeine, it's about believing if I move fast enough I can outrun the dread. Those "I'm fine" texts aren't lies, they're placeholders for emotions too heavy to type out.

But here's what no one tells you about survival mode: it was never meant to be permanent housing. Those coping mechanisms that got you through the worst nights? They make terrible roommates for the life you're trying to build.

I'm learning to spot the difference between what helps and what just numbs. Between running toward healing and running from pain. Between coping and... well, just existing.

It's messy work. I still forget sometimes. But today, I put my phone down after 20 minutes of doomscrolling instead of 2 hours. Small win.

Your turn - what's one flawed but well-intentioned coping mechanism you're gently trying to outgrow?