Why Change Is Hard (Even When We Want To)

We like to believe that change is a matter of willpower. If we really wanted to change, we would. If we were truly disciplined, we would wake up early, follow through on our commitments, break bad habits, and shape ourselves into the people we aspire to be. And yet, despite our best intentions, change often feels impossible.

We tell ourselves stories about why we haven’t followed through:

“It can wait.”

“I don’t have the time.”

“I can't find the motivation right now.”

“Maybe it isn't that big of deal, right?”

And we start to believe these stories are true. But what if the real reason we don’t change isn’t about motivation or ability at all? What if the very nature of change is what makes it so difficult?

This isn’t just about self-discipline—it’s about psychology, self-preservation, and the way our brains process risk. Change, even when we desperately want it, is threatening. And that threat runs deeper than most of us realize.

Change as a Psychological Threat

The idea that change is “hard” feels obvious on the surface. But few people recognize that change is not just difficult—it’s threatening on a fundamental level.

Appraisal Theory, a concept in social psychology, explains how humans interpret and respond to situations based on their personal perceptions rather than objective reality. The way we appraise or evaluate a situation determines our emotional response to it, which then influences how we behave.

Threat Appraisal Theory is a specific branch of this concept that focuses on how we assess stress, change, and potential danger. When we encounter a new situation—whether it’s a difficult conversation, a career shift, a major life change, or even something as small as shifting a habit—our brains go through an automatic process of evaluation. This process asks two fundamental questions:

1. Do I have the resources to handle this?

2. Will this lead to growth, or could it harm me?

If we determine that we have the resources to navigate a situation and that the outcome could be beneficial, we categorize the situation as a challenge. A challenge might be difficult, but it feels manageable. It might even feel motivating—something we can work through and come out stronger on the other side. This is the mindset of an athlete preparing for a competition, a student tackling a difficult subject, or a person pursuing personal growth despite discomfort.

But if we determine that we lack the necessary resources and that the situation could lead to loss or harm, we categorize it as a threat. A threat feels overwhelming, unsafe, or unpredictable. It’s something to avoid, retreat from, or shut down in response to. This is why many people get stuck in harmful but familiar situations—because the alternative feels even more terrifying.

Consider someone who is in an unhappy, maybe even toxic relationship. They may recognize that their partner is manipulative, emotionally abusive, or controlling. They may have even tried to leave before. But each time they think about walking away, their brain automatically evaluates the risk: If they believe they have resources to leave—such as a strong support system, financial independence, a safe place to go, and emotional resilience—they may see leaving as a challenge. It will be hard, but it feels possible. If they believe they don’t have those resources—if they’re financially dependent, isolated from friends and family, exhausted from past failed attempts, or afraid of retaliation—leaving becomes a threat. Even though the relationship is unhealthy, staying feels like the safer option. It’s not that this person wants to stay in a harmful relationship. It’s that their brain perceives leaving as a bigger risk than staying.

Now let's take Threat Appraisal Theory and apply it to something that we come up against everyday in the mental health field: substance use.

Imagine a person who has been struggling with substance use for years. They’ve tried to engage in recovery before, they have returned to use multiple times. Maybe they’ve lost relationships, their job is at risk, or they’ve been given an ultimatum by their family. From the outside, it seems obvious that stopping would be the best decision.

But inside their mind, recovery feels like an overwhelming threat, not a challenge they can overcome. Again, let's consider those two key questions:

1. Do I have the resources to handle this?

• "No, I don’t think so. I’ve tried before, and I failed." "I don’t have strong coping skills. Substances are how I deal with stress, sadness, and anxiety." "I don’t have a strong support system—my friends won’t understand, and my family doesn’t trust me anymore." "I don’t know who I am without drugs/drinking. What if I lose myself?"

• This includes emotional stability, coping skills, access to support, financial stability, a safe environment, and internal belief in one’s recovery.

• If someone believes they don’t have these resources, recovery feels impossible.

2. Will this lead to growth, or could it harm me?

• "Maybe I could get healthier, but at what cost?" "What if I can’t handle sobriety? What if I fail again and disappoint everyone—again?" "What if I try to stop, and I realize I don’t have real friends or a life outside of substances? That’s worse than staying the same."

• Rationally, they might know that recovery would improve their health, relationships, and future.

• But if they associate sobriety with unbearable discomfort, loneliness, failure, or an identity crisis, their brain may perceive recovery as a threat rather than an opportunity.

Even though their rational mind knows they need to stop, their threat appraisal system sees recovery as a dangerous, overwhelming process that they aren’t equipped to handle. The result? They stay stuck—not because they don’t want to change, but because their brain interprets change as a greater risk than staying the same.

The Hidden Anxiety of Taking Responsibility

Another overlooked reason we resist change is that change forces us to take accountability for our own experience. When we attempt to change, we become acutely aware that the outcome—whether it is a success or failure—rests entirely on us. There’s no one else to blame, no external force to pin it on. If we fail, it’s ours alone to own.

In his book, How We Change (And Ten Reasons Why We Don't), social psychologist Ross Ellenhorn describes the immense discomfort of this realization: “The act of attempting change makes you repeatedly aware that the success and failure of your actions belongs to no one but yourself.”

And that’s terrifying.

Because failure, in this case, isn’t just about not achieving a goal. It becomes deeply personal. If we try to change and don’t succeed, what does that say about us? That we’re incapable? That we’re weak? That we were right all along to believe we wouldn’t make it? Suddenly, everything that "inner critic" has been saying was right.

This fear isn’t about failure itself—it’s about the meaning we attach to failure. And for many of us, it’s easier to avoid trying than to risk the pain of proving ourselves right.

Why Staying the Same Feels Safer

Even when we recognize that something isn’t working for us, we stay the same because it is predictable.

The known, even if it’s painful, is still familiar. And familiarity provides a sense of psychological safety.

Going back to our example of someone in an unhappy relationship—they know they aren’t fulfilled, they know they deserve better, and yet they stay. From the outside, this can be baffling. But to the person inside the situation, the idea of leaving is not just about breaking up—it’s about stepping into an unknown future.

What if it doesn’t get better?

What if I regret my decision?

What if I end up alone?

The certainty of what they have, even if it’s painful, feels less risky than the uncertainty of what comes next. This applies to nearly every kind of change: quitting a job, breaking a bad habit, setting boundaries, even changing our internal narratives. It’s not just about making a different choice—it’s about accepting the anxiety that comes with stepping into the unknown.

The Emotional Risk of Hope

Hope, at its core, is the belief that a better future is possible. And while hope is a beautiful thing, it carries an enormous emotional risk. Because if we hope, we also open ourselves up to disappointment. Arguably one of the most devastating emotions a person can experience is hopelessness—the feeling that no matter what they do, things will never get better.

If you’ve tried and failed before, if you’ve been let down by others, if life has reinforced the belief that good things don’t happen for you, then protecting yourself from hope has probably become a survival mechanism.

By refusing to hope, you avoid the crushing weight of hopelessness.

This is one of the hardest psychological barriers to break—because hope is fragile. And when it’s been shattered before, it’s natural to avoid rebuilding it.

This is why real change isn’t just about taking action—it’s about rebuilding a belief system that says, Trying is worth it, even if I don’t know how it will turn out.

So How the Heck Do We Change?

Ok, thus far in this post, it's been pretty doom and gloom that change is really hard and really scary and really uncomfortable. But, change is not impossible. Here is how we can do it 🪄

Why We Have to Want Change for the Right Reasons

One of the biggest misconceptions about change is that simply wanting it is enough. We assume that if we recognize something in our lives needs to shift, then that recognition alone should be enough to push us forward. But in reality, wanting to change and being ready to change are two very different things.

We often believe we should change—because society tells us to, because our friends and family expect it, because it aligns with an image we think we’re supposed to uphold. Maybe we feel like we should exercise more, stop procrastinating, leave a relationship, be more emotionally regulated, or speak up for ourselves. These are all valid goals, but when we attempt change simply because we feel pressured to, that change usually doesn’t last.

Why? Because external motivation only takes us so far.

Psychologists have long studied the difference between extrinsic (external) and intrinsic (internal) motivation when it comes to behavior change. External motivation comes from outside forces—pressure from society, family, or expectations we feel we must meet. Internal motivation, on the other hand, comes from a personal, deeply meaningful desire to change.

Imagine two people who want to stop drinking:

• Person A feels pressured by their family to stop drinking because it’s becoming a problem. Their family has pointed out the effects it is having on their health, relationships, and their goals. They know they should stop, but deep down, they don’t fully believe they need to.

• Person B has reached a personal breaking point. They’ve internally realized drinking is negatively impacting their relationships, their health, and their goals, and they personally want to stop, regardless of what anyone else thinks.

Person A may make an effort to change, but because their motivation is external, the change is fragile. The moment the external pressure disappears or stops feeling immediate, their old habits resurface. Person B, on the other hand, has a strong internal motivation—their desire to change comes from within, and that makes it much more sustainable.

This is why people often struggle when they attempt to change out of obligation rather than personal conviction. If the change isn’t deeply connected to something that truly matters to us, we won’t have the fuel to sustain it.

Understanding Why We’re Resisting Change

Dr. Ellenhorn writes that a crucial step in making real, lasting change is "recognizing that our resistance isn’t random". There is always a reason we struggle to change. Instead of shaming ourselves for it, we need to be curious about it. Of course, you know this goes along nicely with the basic concepts of IFS.

Ask yourself:

• What is this resistance trying to protect me from?

• What am I afraid will happen if I change?

• Do I actually want this change, or do I just think I should want it?

Resistance to change is often a form of self-protection. If we’re hesitant to change, it’s likely because on some level, we associate the change with risk, discomfort, or even loss. Understanding these hidden fears allows us to work with them rather than against them.

For example, someone who struggles to set boundaries in their relationships might intellectually know they should be more assertive. But deep down, their resistance could be tied to a fear of rejection or abandonment. If they don’t address that underlying fear, no amount of external pressure will make the change stick. This is why understanding why we’re resisting change is often more important than the change itself.

Connecting Change to Something Personally Meaningful

Once we understand what’s holding us back, the next step is to reframe the change in a way that personally resonates with us. This means shifting away from external expectations and connecting the change to something deeply important in our own lives.

Ask yourself:

• What does this change actually mean to me?

• How will my life be different if I make this change?

• What would it feel like to experience success in this area?

Let’s say you’ve been struggling to exercise regularly. If your motivation is purely external—society’s expectation to be fit, pressure from friends, guilt about your body—your commitment will likely be inconsistent. But if you find a personal reason that deeply matters to you—wanting to have more energy to play with your kids, wanting to feel strong and capable, wanting to prove to yourself that you can follow through—then the change becomes more meaningful and sustainable.

The key is to make the change about you and your values, not what others expect of you.

Allowing Ourselves to Struggle Without Shame

The final, and perhaps most important, piece of this is allowing ourselves to struggle.

We tend to believe that if change is hard, we must be doing it wrong. That if we experience setbacks, it means we’re failing. But real, lasting change is messy. It’s non-linear. It involves progress, setbacks, frustration, and doubt.

Shaming ourselves for struggling only makes us more likely to give up.

Instead of seeing setbacks as evidence that we aren’t capable, we need to see them as part of the process. This means:

• Accepting that change will feel uncomfortable at times. Growth is uncomfortable. Learning a new way of being is uncomfortable. That discomfort doesn’t mean we’re failing—it means we’re growing.

• Recognizing that resistance is natural. Our brains and bodies don’t like change. We are wired to resist uncertainty. When we recognize that resistance is part of the process—not a sign to quit—we can work with it instead of against it.

• Refusing to let shame take over when we hit obstacles. Shame tells us that if we can’t do something perfectly, we shouldn’t do it at all. But real change is full of imperfection. Instead of letting shame tell us to give up, we can remind ourselves that struggling means we are showing up for the work of change.

If we want to change, we have to be willing to be bad at it for a little while. We have to let ourselves struggle, adjust, and keep going—without using that struggle as proof that we’re not capable of change.

Final Question: What Is Your Resistance Protecting You From?

Next time you feel stuck, don’t just ask, Why can’t I change? Instead, ask: What is my resistance protecting me from?

Because resistance isn’t just an obstacle—it’s information. It tells us what we’re afraid of, what feels unsafe, and what we believe about ourselves.

We often think of resistance as a flaw, as if struggling to change means we lack discipline, motivation, or strength. But what if resistance isn’t proof of failure? What if it’s a signal? A psychological defense mechanism built to shield us from discomfort, uncertainty, and risk?

Maybe your resistance is protecting you from failure—because trying and falling short feels worse than never trying at all. Maybe it’s protecting you from rejection—because change might shift your relationships, and that feels unpredictable. Maybe it’s protecting you from grief—because moving forward means letting go of a past version of yourself, and that’s painful.

If we stop treating resistance as the enemy and start listening to what it’s trying to tell us, we can stop feeling like we’re fighting against ourselves.

Because change isn’t about forcing ourselves to be different.

It’s about understanding what’s holding us back—so we can finally move forward in a way that feels intentional, compassionate, and sustainable.

And when we approach change from that place, we realize something powerful: We were never incapable of change.

We just needed to feel safe enough to take the first step.