Choosing Your Response (When You Feel You Have No Choice)

There's something I've been noticing in myself, in my therapy clients, in the therapists I supervise, and in so many people I talk to.

We're often saying the same thing: "I have to."

I have to handle this.
I have to figure this out.
I have to take care of this.
I have to push through.

And underneath those words, I sometimes hear something else: I have no choice.

But what if that's not quite the whole truth?

Where This Started

I've been thinking about where I first learned that I had no choice.

As a child, I didn't feel like I had choice in managing my emotions. When big feelings came (anger, sadness, fear), there wasn't much space to pause, to feel them, to choose how to respond. There was just the overwhelming wave and the message, spoken or unspoken, that I needed to manage it differently. Quickly. Quietly. Appropriately.

So I learned to push feelings down. To override what I was experiencing. To comply, adjust, keep the peace. I learned that my responses weren't really mine to choose.

I carried that pattern for decades. It showed up in both personal and professional situations. Sometimes it took so much (my body breaking down, my relationships suffering, my quality of life declining) before I could finally see that I did have a choice. Most recently, the pattern showed up in my work, where I kept telling myself I had to stay, even though, logically, I knew I had a choice. The demands, the systems, my own story that I had to be the strong one who could handle it all... it all reinforced that "I have to" feeling.

Until my body told me otherwise. The burnout showed up in ways I couldn't ignore anymore.

That's when I finally saw it clearly: I did have a choice. I'd been making one all along. I just hadn't been willing to see it as a choice because the alternative felt too scary.

Once I recognized I had agency, that I could respond differently, everything shifted. I left. I built my own practice. I designed work that sustains me.

What I've Learned

Over the years, with maturity and mindfulness practice, I've learned something that changed my life:

While it may not feel like we have a choice, and it might not be easy, we can learn to pause.

That pause, that space between what happens and how we respond, allows the opportunity for choice.

And to me? That's priceless.

It's not about having perfect control over our emotions or always responding "correctly." It's about creating just enough space to notice: There's a feeling here. There's a reaction rising. And I have a moment, even just a breath, to choose what I do next.

When we're reactive, caught up in stress or old patterns, there's often very little space. Stimulus and response can feel fused together. Someone says something, we react. A demand comes in, we automatically comply. The pause isn't accessible.

But when we're mindful, when we're present with what is, a gap can open up. In that gap, we might notice: I have options here. I can choose.

The Practice

This year, as Halloween approached, I noticed something. For years, we've done the whole thing: set up chairs outside, decorated, built a fire, handed out candy to all of the neighborhood kids. It became this tradition. And somewhere along the way it became something I felt I had to do.

This year, I just wasn't feeling it. And I paused. I noticed the "but we always do this" thought rising up and "what about the kids who love to stop by to see our dog and the light-up ghosts!"

And then I chose. I chose not to. I turned off the light, stayed inside, and had a quiet evening watching shows with my teenage son.

Was I totally ok with it? Initially, not entirely. Did I feel a little guilty? A bit. But I owned my choice. And honestly? It felt like a relief and I got to hang with my son.

For the therapists I supervise, I often see this same pattern: "I have to take on more clients." "I have to say yes to this." "I have to just deal with it."

And I gently invite them to pause, to notice, to reframe: "I get to choose to speak up when something doesn't feel right." "I can choose to say no and set a boundary, even within this system."

Because it's hard to provide sustainable care from depletion and obligation. We tend to serve better when we choose intentionally.

When We Can't (Because We're Human)

Here's something important: even after years of practice, I still have moments when I can't access that pause. When I react automatically. When old patterns take over. When I'm too tired, too stressed, or too triggered.

That still happens. Because I'm human.

In those moments, what matters most is compassion, toward myself and toward others.

When I snap because I'm overwhelmed, I need compassion.
When I say yes automatically and regret it, I need compassion.
When others react from their own stress or old wounds, they need compassion too.

There's no ideal state we're trying to reach. The pause matters. It creates space for choice. And it's also true that sometimes we can't access it. Both are part of being human. It's about cultivating awareness of where we are in any given moment, and meeting ourselves with kindness whether we're able to pause or not.

What I'm coming to understand is that the practice isn't just about learning to pause. It's also about what we do when we can't. And maybe that's where self-compassion becomes most important.

An Invitation

I invite you to practice the pause.

Notice when you say "I have to."

Pause, even for a breath, when you can.

Ask: Do I have to, or am I choosing to?

Choose consciously when it's possible.

And when you can't, when you react automatically or feel overwhelmed, offer yourself compassion.

This is the practice. Noticing. Pausing when we can. Bringing ourselves back to what matters. Meeting ourselves with compassion whether we can pause or not.

If you're finding yourself stuck, feeling trapped by trauma, by circumstances, by patterns you learned long ago, know that I'm here. I offer individual therapy, clinical supervision for therapists, and workplace wellness trainings for organizations. I work from a foundation of mindfulness-based, trauma-informed care, believing deeply that healing happens when we move from automatic reaction to conscious response, and that we all need compassion for the times when we can't.

You're not as trapped as you feel. You may have more choice than you think. And when you can't access that choice? You deserve compassion, not judgment.

The pause that creates choice is priceless. And it's available to you, even if it takes practice to find it.

I wonder: where in your life are you saying "I have to" when you might actually be choosing? And when you can't pause, when you react automatically, can you offer yourself a little compassion?

Be well,
Kristin