self-love for progress (and avoiding the "avoidance trap")
- Stefanie Robbins
- 6 days ago
- 4 min read
He pulls himself up, finding stability with his hands holding on to the ledge. He scoots sideways, gingerly, until he arrives at the end of the cliff. To reach his goal, he will need to let go. He adjusts his feet and tilts his frame toward his desired direction. His left arm drops and dangles at his side, the right hand holds on, offering a reassuring gesture more than structural support. He weighs his options. He can still change his mind.
He lifts his gaze. There it is. In his line of sight.
The orange racecar with black piping and silver wheels.
"Ca." He squeaks and points. He reaches both hands out, willing the metal toy to drive over with his power of persuasion. Surprising even himself, he is cruising, one small foot in front of the other, ambling toward his prize. He is nearly there. He is walking! His parents and grandparents clap wildly from the sidelines. "You did it" they shout! They slap hands and snap photos like hungry paparazzi.
The old housecat, Butterball, strolls across his path with a whoosh of his fuzzy tail, tossing off an indifferent meow. His knees bend and wobble like an inflatable bop bag until he plops gently onto his behind. He is close enough to reach the toy car but he has to adapt, crawl the rest of the way on his hands and knees. Finally, he holds the car in his tiny hand, grinning triumphantly, then rolls the tiny plastic wheels across his chubby leg.
These are baby’s first steps.
Eventually, he will grow into a child, an adolescent, a man. He will walk across many rooms, many times, without applause. He will run across soccer fields and show his skills in skateboarding. He'll hustle to the bus stop, across campus to get to class on time, and maybe, one day, he will walk across a stage or down an aisle.
Sometimes there will be loved ones there to support his first steps toward each of these milestone moments, cheering him on. Mostly it will be him, alone, trying, faltering, succeeding, losing then finding his balance. And he will fall. Often. Sometimes he will take long pauses or change his mind or direction. Other times, he will push himself, even when it makes sense to rest or redirect. He will injure himself and be forced to take a break. He will heal, recover. He will try again. He will make progress. He will take many more steps.
The Avoidance Trap
On my better and more generous days, I recognize that small steps matter. But more often than I’d like, I dismiss those small steps altogether, get discouraged and end up avoiding action entirely. This, of course, guarantees the outcome I don’t want: no progress at all. The harder I try to force myself out of avoidance, the more resistance I seem to create. It reminds me of one of those Chinese finger traps. The more you pull away, the tighter it gets. I call this the “Avoidance Trap.”
Avoiding the Avoidance Trap
Both through both personal experience and feedback from therapy clients, I’ve found 3 strategies that can help with avoiding the Avoidance Trap.
1. Reframe avoidance as protection, not a character flaw
Avoidance often shows up when we’re trying to protect ourselves from uncomfortable emotions like failure, shame, or disappointment. Acknowledge the intention behind the avoidant behavior.
Example:
Years ago, during the Covid pandemic, I decided to train for a 5K. My internal motto was, “Let’s get this over with!” When I noticed my resistance, I reframed it: my fear of failing was trying to protect me from feeling inadequate. Instead of labeling myself as lazy or unmotivated, I acknowledged that instinct. That shift quieted the self-criticism and made it easier to move forward.
2. Focus on the next smallest step
Big goals can trigger overwhelm, which fuels avoidance. Progress becomes more manageable when you narrow your focus to the next small, doable step.
Example:
My trainer gave me simple yet transferable advice for any big goal. She taught me to pick a visual marker (a leaf! the mailbox! that tall pine tree!) and run to it. As I got closer, I would lift my gaze and choose the next marker. If I had focused only on the full distance as my measure of success, I know myself well enough to say I would have given up. That kind of pressure tends to spark my inner rebel that runs straight to avoidance. Breaking the 5K into small, visible milestones made it manageable and I stayed in motion.
3. Share the Process with Someone Supportive
Avoidance thrives in isolation. Sharing accomplishments, especially the small wins and everyday struggles with a supportive, nonjudgmental person can help you stay grounded and flexible.
Example:
Along the way, I celebrated my progress and setbacks with a good friend. I went from running 3 minutes with 2 minutes walks in between to eventually running 25 minutes straight. I shared this accomplishment and she texted me supportive messages and fun memes. When I hit a rough patch and struggled to run for several days, I shared it with this supportive friend. Instead of pushing me, she gently asked what I felt capable of doing. That helped me realize I could scale back, return to shorter runs with walk breaks, while still moving toward my goal.
(That’s me crossing the finish line!)
By reframing avoidance, focusing on small steps, and staying connected to support, I was able to follow through and eventually cross the finish line!
Self-Love for the Process
Reducing the friction that comes with progress is a gift you can offer yourself right now.
Not every step of growth will be visible or celebrated by others. But YOU can choose to acknowledge every step as progress, especially the smallest steps, as part of the process of growth.
Self-love, at its core, is the practice of offering yourself unconditional support and positive regard. It’s choosing to be the supportive parent, the good friend, the compassionate partner - to yourself. As you build a healthier relationship with yourself, something shifts. You begin to access a deeper kind of support that stays with you through the process, not just at the finish line.
With care,
Stefanie
