One Hundred and Seventy Nagging Beats a Minute: The Harsh Reality of Change

Why is change so hard?

There are many fine details and complexities that contribute to each person’s unique experience in therapy, causing no two therapy sessions to look the same. However, a commonality amongst nearly all people seeking therapy is the desire for change. Almost every therapeutic process is centered around how to foster change. Therapy is complex and intricate, but the solutions to create change are often quite simple. If you have a drug addiction, stop using drugs. If you have restricted eating, eat. If you are depressed, move more. If you are anxious, slow down. If you have relational conflict, stop reacting emotionally, etc. It’s the process of change that is brutal, regardless of how great the benefit is. I am not immune to this construct. Having been trained to always ask “why” as a therapist, I sought to find the answer to “why is change so hard.” 

When Covid-19 hit my corner of the world I was in my last semester of graduate school for Clinical Mental Health Counseling, preparing to move to a different state and planning my wedding. Additionally, I was battling a knee injury. My mind and body have become accustomed to rigorous cardio as a means for releasing stress, time for reflection, and a dopamine boost. Running is a distraction from work and adds structure to my day. It is my main means of regulation. Having been a daily runner for over a decade, not being able to rely on running for my sense of sanity during an extra chaotic time was especially dysregulating. With races being canceled, classes going online, and a constant feeling of chaos around me, I longed for structure and familiarity. To put it simply, I wanted the changes to just stop. 

One thing particularly grounding to me about running is the endless distraction it provides to stressors in my life when trying to reach certain goals. In running there are always new milestones to reach whether it be faster paces or a longer distance. I yearned for something tangible to work towards. With getting faster or going longer not being feasible due to my injury, I decided to focus more on the fine details of exercise. My cadence (amount of steps taken per minute) is lower than the ideal and most efficient running form and is a potential cause of my injury. This seemed like a good place to start. I read up on it a bit and multiple sources told me “the best way to increase cadence is to run with a metronome,” meaning I  would run with an app that beeps every time I was supposed to take a step. I thought nah. A) running with a beep in my ear 170 times a minute annoys me so much, I want to throw my phone just thinking about it. B) Surely, I can increase my cadence without a metronome.  

The harsh reality of change

During this time I was working as a case manager at a residential treatment center for drug addiction. Many times, when asking the residents what their plan to maintain sobriety was they would say they would just stop using. They were sick of their old ways, ready for change, ready for better and willpower was all it would take. I would often challenge their mindset and question their naivety at how “easy” it would be, but here I was falling into the same trap. After all, how hard is it to just take more steps, a simple solution to change, right? Yeah, that didn’t work.  

Just like addictive patterns become engraved in a person, my running form is engraved in me; I couldn’t willpower my way into a higher cadence. I eventually gave in and paid 99 cents for an app with an annoying little beep, cuz you know, I was committed to becoming a better runner. At first, I had the beeping in the background with music on—that didn’t work. I just tuned out the beeping. Then I thought I could have the beeping without the music and my body would naturally fall in sync with it. Nope, that didn’t work. For this to work I literally had to stay focused on the beep the entire time I was running. I had to consciously think 84 times a minute is my right foot stepping in sync with the beat. The second and I mean the literal second my mind wandered (like it typically does when I am running) my cadence dropped. I was experiencing why change was so hard. On my tenth-ish attempt, I finally accepted there was only one way to increase my cadence. I would have to surrender to the beep. It would take over my runs. Half a mile into my run, I thought damn, this is some hard-core change I’m doing here (as soon as I thought that, my cadence dropped because I wasn’t thinking about the beep).  

The treatment program was set up in a way that constantly reminded the residents to not use drugs. There were several hours of group and individual therapy a day focused on changing their behavioral patterns. Residents endured daily drug tests and sanctions for inappropriate language or behavior indicative of their “old ways.” The facility required documentation and notification of where they were at, what they were doing, and when they would come back, sending the message: people are watching you, don’t mess up. I began to realize that my hour-long runs of intentional behavioral change (becoming more and more annoying by the second) were these residents every single waking moment. How exhausting. 

It was not uncommon for residents at the treatment center to start using shortly after graduation, despite how badly they claimed to want sobriety. Were they lying?  I want to become a better runner. I’ll tell you and mean it with all my heart: “I would do anything to become a better runner.” At the same time, I admittedly have said “screw it” and accepted a lower cadence, causing inefficient running, making me more injury prone, and preventing me from becoming a better runner. I want to become a better runner really badly, but the process of change simply sucks. It’s hard to stay so focused and alert and it makes running less fun, ruining my coping skill. It seems like it’s never going to get better and I’ll have to run with a beep in my ear for the rest of my running career—no thanks. I can’t blame the residents for wanting to get rid of their beep. 

It takes more than willpower to change

So often we hear that the reason for people staying stuck in their lives is that they lack willpower, determination, or motivation. It’s easy to scrutinize people for not taking seemingly simple steps to live more fulfilling lives. However, it takes more than willpower to change. Successful change requires attending to the beep 170 times a minute. Usually, the beep is not one behavior like taking a step. It’s every single move they make. For example, individuals in recovery from a drug addiction need to consider where they work, who they hang out with, what they watch on TV., what kind of books they read, what music they listen to, where they live, how they provide for their family, how they interact with others, what they are thinking about, how they are spending their free time, what they do to cope, etc. All of these things factor into recovery, and many of these things have become subconscious behavioral patterns and means of regulation to their daily lives, automatic responses so to speak. It doesn’t matter how bad they want it, there is no way to achieve it without consistent and perpetual practice….and agony.  

Whether in fitness, relationships, bad habits, or toxic traits, change is never easy. The journey of change for me, and so many others is a process along the lines of: 

Try it 

Hate it. 

Quit. 

Try again. 

Become extremely dysregulated. 

Quit. 

Try longer this time. 

Feel defeated because you still can’t get it right. 

Quit again. 

Try again. 

Repeat over and over until you either A) give up for good or B) no longer have to think about it and it becomes an automatic part of you. 

How many times do you have to repeat? The answer to that question remains unknown and varies from person and circumstance, making the change process all the more scary and gruesome. Many of the individuals at the treatment center were in their 3rd, 4th…9th, 10th round of treatment. Whether it be yourself, a loved one, or a client, remember to approach change with compassion and understanding of how painfully difficult it always is.  

The solution is simple, the process is treacherous.  

The preceding article was solely written by the author named above. Any views and opinions expressed are not necessarily shared by GoodTherapy.org. Questions or concerns about the preceding article can be directed to the author or posted as a comment below.