On identity, behavior change, self-talk, and the complicated relationship between understanding ourselves and actually doing something about it.
I’ve been thinking about how often we encourage people to get back to themselves.
Get back to your routine. Get back to feeling confident. Get back to being productive. Get back to normal.
In mental health, we even have a phrase for it: returning to a previous level of functioning.
And listen, I understand why we use it. Clinically, it serves a purpose. When someone’s life has been disrupted, helping them regain stability, independence, and the ability to do things that matter to them is important.
But I’ve always found myself wondering something.
What exactly are we asking people to return to?
Because what if the version of yourself you’re trying so hard to recover was already exhausted? Overextended? Operating on autopilot? Holding everything together with caffeine, anxiety, and a Google Calendar?
What if you were functioning, but you weren’t actually doing that well?
And what if you’re simply not that person anymore?
I’m not suggesting that everything about our past selves needs to be discarded. Sometimes we lose parts of ourselves that we genuinely want back. Sometimes restoration is exactly what recovery looks like.
But I think we should be a little more curious about why we so often treat the past as the destination.
And that got me thinking about identity.
Because how do we know when we’re trying to get back to ourselves versus trying to get back to who we’ve always believed we’re supposed to be?
Who Told You That’s Who You Are?
I’ve been thinking about James Clear’s Atomic Habits, specifically his framework for the three layers of behavior change: outcomes, processes, and identity.
Basically, what you want, what you do, and what you believe about yourself.
Cool. Makes sense.
I like the idea that our beliefs about ourselves influence our behavior, and our repeated behaviors reinforce those beliefs.
But naturally, I had questions.
Where did those beliefs come from in the first place?
Seriously. How many things do we believe about ourselves simply because we’ve repeated them enough times?
“I’m not disciplined.”
“I’m bad at relationships.”
“I’m just not that kind of person.”
Okay, but according to who?
Because there’s a difference between struggling with consistency and being an inherently undisciplined person. There’s a difference between making a bad decision and being a bad person.
Yet somehow we’re very comfortable turning temporary experiences into permanent identities.
You miss one workout and suddenly you’re someone who never follows through.
You struggle with something new and decide you’re just not good at it.
You make a mistake in a relationship and somehow turn one decision into a conclusion about your entire character.
You had a bad day. Okay. Why are we turning that into a personality trait?
And here’s what makes that interesting.
Once we start believing these things about ourselves, they can influence what we attempt, what we avoid, and how we interpret our experiences.
So now we’re behaving in ways that reinforce beliefs we may not have consciously chosen in the first place.
Which brings me back to the question.
Who told you that’s who you are?
You Think You Just Fell Out of a Coconut Tree?
Yes, Kamala Harris. 😂
For anyone who missed this particular moment on the internet, Harris was referencing something her mother used to say about understanding people within the context of their surroundings and experiences.
“You think you just fell out of a coconut tree?”
She followed that with a point that I think deserves more attention than the memes gave it:
“You exist in the context of all in which you live and what came before you.”
And that’s actually a pretty important concept when we’re talking about identity.
Because none of us just appeared out of nowhere with fully formed personalities, beliefs, habits, and ways of navigating the world.
We exist within a context.
Our families, environments, relationships, cultures, experiences, opportunities, and expectations all influence how we understand ourselves.
Which brings me back to my original question.
Who told you that’s who you are?
And how much of what you believe about yourself was shaped by circumstances you didn’t choose?
Maybe you became fiercely independent because relying on other people wasn’t particularly reliable.
Maybe you became a perfectionist because mistakes weren’t tolerated.
Maybe you learned to avoid conflict because speaking up had consequences.
Those behaviors didn’t necessarily come out of nowhere. They may have served a purpose.
But here’s where things get complicated.
Something can make complete sense in the context in which it developed and still be worth changing.
Hyperindependence might have helped you navigate one chapter of life while creating challenges in another.
Being highly self-critical might have contributed to certain achievements without being the most sustainable way to continue growing.
Avoiding conflict might have protected you in one environment without being necessary in every environment that follows.
And sometimes the circumstances have changed, but we’re still operating according to the rules of an environment we’re no longer in.
That’s interesting to me.
Because how much of what we call personality is actually learned behavior?
And how much of that behavior are we continuing simply because it’s familiar?
Now, I’m not suggesting we can just think our way out of everything we’ve experienced. That’s not how any of this works.
But I do think there’s value in recognizing the difference between something that shaped us and something that has to define us.
Context explains. It doesn’t automatically excuse. And it doesn’t have to determine what comes next.
Which leads me to another thought.
Please Don’t Tell Me to Just Think Positive
I talk with my clients a lot about self-talk.
The words we use. The stories we tell ourselves. The way we frame and reframe our experiences.
And I promise you, I will never be the annoying therapist telling everybody to just think positive.
Sometimes shit sucks.
Sometimes things are unfair. Sometimes you’re overwhelmed. Sometimes you’ve done everything you reasonably can and the situation still isn’t working out.
I’m not going to pretend every difficult experience is secretly a blessing.
Please. Sometimes the lesson is that the situation was terrible.
But I also think there’s a difference between acknowledging reality and adding an entire narrative about what that reality means for who we are.
Let’s say you try something and it doesn’t work.
You could decide, “I’m terrible at this.”
But are you terrible at it? Or are you inexperienced? Underprepared? Working with the wrong strategy? Trying to learn something difficult?
Maybe you actually aren’t very good at it right now.
That’s also a possibility. 😂
But that’s information, not necessarily an identity.
And I think that’s where reframing gets misunderstood.
You don’t have to go from “I can’t do this” to “I can do anything I put my mind to.”
What if you just said, “I don’t know how to do this yet”?
Or “This is harder than I expected.”
Or “I don’t have the capacity for this right now, so what needs to change?”
And sometimes, “I really don’t feel like doing this, but I know it needs to get done.”
None of those statements requires you to lie to yourself.
They’re simply more specific, more accurate, and potentially more useful.
Sometimes the most helpful reframe isn’t positive.
It’s neutral.
And I think that’s important because the goal shouldn’t be to convince ourselves that everything is fine.
The goal is to understand what’s happening well enough to respond intentionally.
Which, naturally, brings me to accountability.
Grace Is Not a Get Out of Jail Free Card
I think we’ve created an unnecessary divide between compassion and accountability.
As if understanding why someone behaves a certain way means we can no longer expect them to do anything differently.
Or as if holding someone accountable requires us to disregard everything they’ve experienced.
I don’t buy that.
I’m a therapist, a coach, a personal trainer, and a former Division I athlete. I’ve spent a lot of time in environments where performance matters, preparation matters, and your decisions have consequences.
I’ve also spent a lot of time studying and working with people whose behaviors make considerably more sense once you understand their experiences and circumstances.
Those perspectives don’t have to compete.
Think about an athlete who says, “I’m just not good at shooting.”
Okay. Why?
Is their technique off? Are they afraid of missing? Have they spent years being criticized every time they make a mistake?
Or have they simply not practiced enough?
Because those are different situations, and they probably require different responses.
Telling every athlete to work harder isn’t good coaching.
But neither is deciding that because something is difficult, we shouldn’t expect them to work on it.
Sometimes they need better instruction. Sometimes they need confidence. Sometimes they need to recover.
And sometimes, respectfully, they need to stop negotiating with themselves and do the drill.
The challenge is figuring out which one you’re dealing with.
And I think that applies well beyond sports.
Understanding why something is difficult doesn’t mean we stop expecting ourselves to try.
But expecting ourselves to try doesn’t mean we ignore the things making it difficult.
Both can be true.
And here’s another distinction I think matters.
Accountability is not the same thing as control.
You can prepare, practice, make thoughtful decisions, and still not get the outcome you wanted.
That doesn’t automatically mean you failed.
Sometimes you did everything within your influence and the result still wasn’t what you hoped for.
Sometimes circumstances genuinely limit your options.
And sometimes the most accountable decision isn’t to push harder. It’s to rest, ask for help, change your approach, or acknowledge that something isn’t working.
I think we get into trouble when we confuse accountability with constantly demanding more from ourselves.
Because accountability isn’t about controlling every outcome.
It’s about being intentional with the decisions we actually get to make.
Grace isn’t the absence of accountability. It’s the ability to hold yourself accountable without treating yourself like shit in the process.
And understanding yourself should help you make more informed decisions, not become a reason to avoid making them.
Insight Is Great. Now What?
Here’s where I come back to Clear’s framework.
If identity influences behavior, then behavior also has to play a role in shaping identity.
But I don’t think that relationship always happens in one direction.
Sometimes we believe something about ourselves and act accordingly.
Other times, we have to act differently before we can genuinely believe something different.
Think about the athlete who doesn’t believe they’re a good shooter.
They can repeat “I’m a great shooter” in the mirror every morning if they want.
But at some point, they’re probably going to need to get some shots up.
And maybe they start making more of them.
Maybe they develop better mechanics. Maybe they begin recognizing situations where they previously hesitated.
Eventually, their experiences provide evidence that challenges the original belief.
The behavior helps change the identity.
And I think that happens in other areas of life, too.
Sometimes you have to establish a boundary before you actually feel comfortable having boundaries.
Sometimes you have to do something difficult while still believing you’re not particularly good at difficult things.
Sometimes confidence is the result of action, not the prerequisite.
Which is why I think self-awareness can become a little tricky.
Because you can spend a lot of time understanding why you do something without ever changing what you do.
You can identify the pattern. Name the trigger. Understand the origin. Explain exactly how it affects your life.
Great.
Now what?
I’m not dismissing the importance of insight. Understanding ourselves is valuable, and sometimes that understanding is a significant part of the work.
But insight and action aren’t interchangeable.
At some point, something has to happen differently.
And again, I’m not saying every problem can be solved through individual effort. Structural barriers are real. Resources matter. Environments matter.
But understanding those circumstances can help us determine what’s within our influence, what isn’t, and what might need to change.
Sometimes that’s an individual decision.
Sometimes it requires support, resources, or collective action.
The point is that understanding should open up possibilities, not automatically close them.
Maybe the Baseline Needs to Change
Okay, so let’s bring this back to where we started.
Returning to a previous level of functioning.
I understand why clinicians use that language. It helps us describe how symptoms affect someone’s daily life, establish treatment goals, and evaluate progress.
And sometimes returning to a previous level of functioning is exactly what someone wants.
But I think there’s a distinction between using someone’s previous functioning as a reference point and assuming it should always be the destination.
Because what are we actually measuring?
Are we helping someone regain a meaningful level of independence and stability?
Or are we helping them become productive enough to resume the same patterns that contributed to their difficulties?
Those aren’t necessarily the same thing.
Someone can go back to work, maintain relationships, meet responsibilities, and appear to be functioning just fine while still feeling completely disconnected from themselves.
Meanwhile, someone else might make meaningful progress by working fewer hours, establishing boundaries, asking for help, or deciding they no longer want the life they previously maintained.
From the outside, that might not look like returning to baseline.
It might look like changing the baseline altogether.
And I think that’s worth considering.
Not every disruption needs to become some grand opportunity for reinvention. Sometimes people just want relief. They want to regain what they’ve lost, and there’s nothing wrong with that.
But I don’t think we should assume that the version of someone who existed before a difficult experience is automatically the version they need to become afterward.
Sometimes the goal is restoration.
Sometimes it’s adaptation.
Sometimes it’s becoming someone different.
And sometimes it’s a combination of all three.
Which is why I keep coming back to identity.
Because maybe the question isn’t just whether we can return to who we were.
Maybe it’s whether we even want to.
So, Who Are You Becoming?
I’ve experienced enough transitions to know that identity can get complicated.
When you’ve spent years being known for something, whether that’s a sport, a profession, a relationship, or a particular role, it can be difficult to imagine yourself outside of it.
There’s comfort in knowing who you are.
Even when that identity no longer fits.
And sometimes changing your behavior means challenging something you’ve believed about yourself for a very long time.
Maybe you’re no longer the person who can handle everything alone.
Maybe you’re learning that being disciplined doesn’t mean ignoring your body.
Maybe being dependable doesn’t require being available to everyone all the time.
Maybe the qualities that helped you succeed in one chapter of life aren’t necessarily the qualities you need to rely on in the next.
That doesn’t mean the old version of you was wrong.
It means you’re allowed to evolve.
But evolution also requires participation.
You can’t sit around waiting for a new identity to appear while continuing to reinforce every belief and behavior you’re trying to leave behind.
At some point, you have to give yourself opportunities to become someone different.
And yes, that might feel uncomfortable.
That’s not automatically a sign that you’re doing something wrong.
I think meaningful change involves being willing to examine the stories we’ve accepted about ourselves, recognize the behaviors that reinforce them, and decide which ones still deserve a place in our lives.
Some of those stories need to be challenged.
Some habits need to change.
Some parts of ourselves are worth holding on to.
Others might have served their purpose.
And sometimes the next version of ourselves is going to require something different.
More effort. More honesty. More patience. Better boundaries. Different priorities.
Maybe all of the above.
So maybe the question isn’t always, “How do I get back to who I was?”
Maybe it’s:
“Who am I becoming, and are my words and actions helping me get there?”
And maybe just as importantly, which parts of who I used to be am I still holding on to simply because they’re familiar?
Because we spend so much time trying to get back to ourselves that I wonder if we sometimes forget we’re allowed to become someone different.
Anyway, I’ve been thinking.
Inspired in part by James Clear’s discussion of identity, processes, and outcomes in Atomic Habits and the broader conversation about how our experiences shape who we become.
References
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Clear, J. (2018). Atomic habits: An easy & proven way to build good habits & break bad ones. Avery.
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