In my work, I have become increasingly curious about the difference between movement and avoidance. On the surface, they can look remarkably similar. Both involve action. Both involve doing something. Both can create a sense of relief. But over time, I have noticed that not all action leads us toward growth. Sometimes action helps us move closer to ourselves, and sometimes it helps us stay just far enough away from the things we do not want to face.
Most of us have experienced the relief that comes from taking action when we are anxious. We send the text message we have been agonizing over. We make a plan. We reorganize the house. We research solutions. We throw ourselves into work. We make a decision quickly so we no longer have to sit with uncertainty. And often, we genuinely feel better afterward. The problem is that relief and progress are not always the same thing.
I think anxiety is often misunderstood. We tend to treat it as something that needs to be eliminated as quickly as possible. But many times anxiety is carrying information. It may be drawing our attention toward a fear, a grief, a disappointment, a vulnerability, or a truth that we have not fully acknowledged. When that happens, our instinct is often to move away from the discomfort rather than toward it. The tricky part is that avoidance rarely announces itself as avoidance. In fact, it often disguises itself as productivity.
I have sat with clients who have read every book, listened to every podcast, journaled extensively, talked through an issue with friends, and spent months thinking about a problem from every possible angle. They are exhausted from trying to figure it out, yet they still feel stuck. In those moments, what is often missing is not more insight. It is contact with the feeling underneath all the thinking.
For example, someone may spend months trying to determine whether they should stay in a relationship. They analyze every interaction, replay conversations, make lists of pros and cons, and search endlessly for clarity. From the outside, it looks like they are working hard on the problem. But underneath all that mental activity may be a grief they have not allowed themselves to feel, a fear about what life would look like if they chose differently, or the painful reality that no decision comes with complete certainty. No amount of thinking can resolve an emotion that needs to be experienced.
I see similar patterns in relationships. Couples often come into therapy wanting communication tools, and while communication certainly matters, many relational struggles are not actually communication problems. They are discomfort problems. One partner wants to quickly resolve a conflict because sitting with tension feels unbearable. Another wants reassurance immediately because anxiety has become activated. Another wants to focus on what the other person is doing wrong because that feels safer than exploring their own hurt. These reactions are understandable, but they often move people away from the very experiences that need attention.
One of the hardest lessons in emotional growth is learning that meaningful action is not always the action that brings immediate relief. Sometimes the most important thing you can do is stay with an experience long enough to understand it. That may mean sitting with disappointment before turning it into criticism. It may mean noticing anxiety before immediately seeking reassurance. It may mean allowing yourself to grieve before rushing to solve the problem. None of this is passive. In many ways, it is some of the hardest work we do because it asks us to resist the urge to immediately soothe, fix, distract, explain, or escape.
What I have found is that meaningful change tends to happen when people develop the capacity to stay curious about their internal experience rather than automatically reacting to it. Over time, they become less controlled by urgency, less dependent on certainty, and less likely to mistake action for progress simply because it provides temporary relief. They begin responding more intentionally rather than automatically, which creates a greater sense of agency and freedom.
This is why I often think a more useful question than "What should I do?" is, "What is this action helping me avoid?" Sometimes the answer is nothing. Sometimes the action is exactly what needs to happen. But sometimes the answer reveals that the action is not moving us toward growth at all. It is helping us move away from a feeling we have not yet been willing to face.
And often, that feeling is where the real work begins.
