Therapy isn't magic, but it did wreck my favorite coping strategy.

I used to pride myself on how well I held it together. Nothing could rattle me. Not really. Not on the outside, anyway. I was calm, capable, in control. People said they admired how level-headed I was in a crisis—and I believed them.

What they didn’t see was that the calm was a fortress. A coping strategy dressed up as strength. And therapy? Therapy came in with a metaphorical wrecking ball and asked, “Hey, what if you didn’t need this wall anymore?”

I didn’t love that question.

I really didn’t love the answer.

See, therapy didn’t just help me grow. It also made some of my best survival skills completely unusable.

Detached humor? Doesn’t hit the same when you’re actually feeling your feelings.

Hyper-productivity? Kind of loses its magic when you realize you’re using it to outrun grief.

Emotional shutdown? Gets real awkward when your therapist won’t let you dissociate in peace.

There’s a strange grief in letting go of the things that used to protect you—even if they were also quietly hurting you. Even if they were built on trauma or fear. Because for a long time, those defenses worked. They got you through. They kept you moving.

And now?

Now they don’t fit.

I remember one session—I was halfway through a story when I reached for a joke. Not to be funny. To deflect. To dodge something sharp. My therapist didn’t laugh. She just looked at me—kind, calm, unflinching.

And in that silence, I realized what I was doing.

I’d used that exact move a hundred times before. But this time, it felt… false. Off.

And I didn’t want it anymore.

That’s what growth does. It makes your old armor uncomfortable.

It makes your go-to moves feel like the wrong dance.

And you’ll still try them. For a while.

You’ll reach for the shutdown. You’ll default to over-explaining or sarcasm or ghosting.

And it won’t work. Not like it used to.

That moment sucks. But it’s also sacred.

Because it means the work is working.

You’re changing. Slowly. Awkwardly. Beautifully.

And yeah, sometimes that means letting go of what got you here.

Not because it was wrong.

But because it’s no longer required.