The paradoxical comfort of CRISIS
“I do this every time,” my client declares. “I get myself out of debt and then embark upon some new venture that puts me right back into it. I really want to change this pattern.”
I consider this. And while I’m at it, I notice that he appears different in this session - more energized and purposeful than before. As we deepen into this, he agrees that as much as he hates being in debt, he does like having a big problem to solve.
(Well then. Perhaps it’s no surprise that he keeps finding himself in this pattern.
He is not alone with this dynamic. There are many people for whom calm feels unsettling while adversity feels stimulating and strangely comforting. I have another client who recently quit her stressful job at a start-up at which her boss would yell at her (and others) whenever he was in a bad mood. For the first month, my client loved her unstructured days. Now she is “chronically irritable” and her relationship with her partner is struggling. For her, growing up with two alcoholic parents means that her nervous system feels very familiar with crisis, and fearful of calm, wondering when the next “blow” will come.
There are a few reasons that crisis feels safe and calm feels dangerous to some people. Here are some:
Crisis/adversity feels more familiar (our brains seek familiarity).
A high arousal state can feel more alive and purposeful whereas being calm can feel empty, anxiety-provoking or boring.
Crisis can bring an illusion of control as the crisis state brings a mission to “fix and survive.”
When life feels calm, the uncertainty of what will happen next can feel very unsettling.
With calm, buried, vulnerable, often overwhelming emotions have the chance to emerge - for example shame, loneliness or fear.
With my debt-ridden client, we spent time with the part of him that preferred debt to financial freedom. We explored what was at stake and what it needed to feel safe. Throughout this exploration, a memory popped into his mind. He had fallen into depression in his mid-twenties, which lifted when he bought a house. Even though the purchase was highly stressful, he preferred that to how he’d felt before. We appreciated that part for how hard it was working for him to keep him free of depression. Later, a voice emerged in his mind saying, “you know we were happy before we had money. Money ruined our family.” I remembered that he had moved from Germany to America when he was eight. His Dad had made good money upon his move to the US, and shortly thereafter, his parents had got divorced.
We realized there were many layers to peel back here.
If this sounds familiar to you, know that your brain is working this way as an adaptation, not a flaw. With work, you can teach yourself to redefine safety as presence and choice, not just intensity and control. Here are some strategies you could try:
Practice orienting to safety. Incorporate simple regulation tools that downshift arousal without demanding total stillness, like slow, extended exhales, mindful walking, or deliberate, slower movements. Notice what happens in your body as you do this and link it with the thought, “right now I am safe.” This will help your body learn that brief, calm states are survivable and even helpful.
Try sitting with a pet or trusted person so that stillness is paired with co-regulation/connection rather than isolation.
Work with the parts of you that prefer crisis and hate stillness. Get to know them and assure them that you are there for them; that they are still competent, needed and alive even when nothing is on fire.
Don’t be discouraged if your situation doesn’t change right away. These parts of you that have adapted to protect you aren’t going to let down their guard overnight. Any time you engage in new thoughts of behavior, there tends to be two steps forward and one step back. Self-compassion at this stage is essential.
Over time, as you keep offering safety to the parts of you that equate calm with threat, something shifts. Stillness stops feeling like emptiness and starts to feel like home. That is the slow, courageous work of transformation.