Why Do I Keep Going Back to Something That Hurts Me?

When I was released from prison, I thought my behavior was cured.

I had spent two years being punished for what I had done. For those two years, I hadn’t returned to my old behavior. And if that wasn’t enough, I had the possibility of eight more years hanging over my head if I violated parole.

Surely that would keep me out of trouble.

I also knew my actions had caused harm, especially to my family. If I was really sorry, there was no way I would go back to something that had cost us so much.

Right?

What I didn’t understand was that I was leaving prison with many of the same feelings I had never learned to handle—and new pressures waiting for me.

Finding housing as a felon was difficult. Finding a job was difficult. Many people who had been my friends before my arrest wanted nothing to do with me afterward.

I was facing fear, shame, rejection, and uncertainty. In some ways, I was under more pressure than before I was arrested.

And I still had only one proven coping mechanism.

By “proven,” I mean familiar. It was the response I knew could give me temporary relief from feelings I didn’t know how to face. I also knew how destructive it could be.

I understood the consequences. I hadn’t learned a healthier way to respond to the pain.

That is an important part of the question so many people ask:

Why do I keep going back to something that hurts me?

We often assume that enough pain will make us change. If the consequences become serious enough, if we lose enough, if we feel sorry enough, surely we will stop.

Consequences matter. Sometimes they interrupt a pattern and create an opportunity to change. But consequences alone don’t necessarily teach us what to do when we feel lonely, afraid, ashamed, or overwhelmed.

Two years without returning to my old behavior had convinced me that the problem was gone. I had mistaken the absence of the behavior for the presence of the skills I needed to live differently.

Coming home exposed that gap.

Many of the behaviors we struggle to leave behind have been doing something for us. They may numb pain, distract us from fear, provide excitement, or offer a temporary escape from loneliness.

Some of us started using those responses years ago, before we had words for what we were feeling or someone safe to help us work through it. Through repetition, we learned where to go for relief.

Over time, we also learned to live with the cost.

We knew the pattern: pressure, behavior, relief, regret, promises. We hated where it took us, but we knew the route.

A healthier response could feel much less certain. What would happen if we called someone and told the truth? Would they reject us? What would happen if we allowed ourselves to feel sadness? Would it ever stop? How could we ask for help when we already believed we should have this figured out?

Familiar pain can feel more manageable than an unfamiliar way forward.

That doesn’t make the pain good. It helps explain why leaving the pattern can be harder than it looks from the outside.

Then shame enters the conversation.

“If you really loved your family, you would stop.”

“You must like what you’re doing.”

“If you were really sorry, you wouldn’t do it again.”

Sometimes people say those things to us. Sometimes we repeat them to ourselves long after the conversation has ended.

We may experience pleasure or relief from a behavior. Being honest about that matters. But experiencing something rewarding in the moment doesn’t mean we want every consequence that comes with it.

A person can love their family, regret the harm they have caused, and still lack the skills and support to respond differently under pressure. Their love and regret need to become part of concrete change. By themselves, they don’t supply every tool that change requires.

Shame can make learning those tools even harder.

When I believe I am hopeless, I am less likely to reach out. When I expect rejection, I hide. When I hide, I am left alone with the feelings I already struggle to handle.

And the old coping mechanism is still available.

The shame about the behavior becomes another painful feeling I want to escape.

Understanding this carries responsibility with it. If I begin to recognize what I am doing and why, I can begin taking steps to interrupt it. The harm still needs to be addressed. Other people’s boundaries still need to be respected. Trust may take time to rebuild.

Compassion gives us room to face those realities honestly.

A useful place to begin is with a question I often encourage:

“What am I expecting this behavior to do for me?”

Am I looking for comfort? Escape? Connection? A sense of control?

Then we can ask, “What would a healthier response to that need look like?”

That response needs to become specific. Who will I call when I feel rejected? What will I do when I am exhausted and overwhelmed? How will I recognize that I am starting to isolate? What boundaries and support do I need while I practice responding differently?

We need opportunities to practice before the pressure becomes intense. We need people who can hear the truth, care about us, and hold us accountable. Sometimes we need professional help to work through pain we have carried for years.

For me, grace belongs in this conversation too.

I can receive God’s grace and still struggle to extend compassion to myself. I can believe forgiveness is available while continuing to speak to myself as though I am beyond hope.

Grace makes room for me to acknowledge the harm, accept responsibility, and keep doing the work of change. I don’t have to hate myself into becoming healthier.

When I came home from prison, I knew what my behavior had cost. I needed help learning how to live with fear, shame, and pain without returning to it.

Perhaps you recognize something of your own experience in that.

Start by getting honest about what the behavior has been doing for you, what it is costing you, and the help you need to respond differently.

You can take responsibility for your next step without shaming yourself for needing help to take it.

If you would like support as you work through these questions, visit RW-Coaching.com. Your first coaching session is free.