Everything reinforces something

Years ago I started using a simple phrase with clients: everything reinforces something.

Every decision we make leaves something behind, and every decision creates a ripple that moves forward. It may reinforce what we believe about ourselves. It may reinforce what we believe we are capable of tolerating. It may reinforce avoidance, honesty, helplessness, courage, secrecy, connection, resilience, or a thousand other things.

But it also changes, even slightly, the conditions under which our next decision will be made.

What are you reinforcing right now

Think about something as simple as looking for help.

Someone is struggling with depression, anxiety, compulsive sexual behavior, relationship problems, or something else that feels overwhelming. They begin researching therapists or treatment programs. It is easy to think of that as nothing more than information gathering.

But something else is happening. Taking that action reinforces that, despite how powerless or hopeless the person may feel, some part of them believes they are still worth the effort. It reinforces that perhaps things can improve. It reinforces that they are capable of taking action.

Now imagine the opposite. The person thinks about asking for help and says: what is the point. They close the browser.

Nothing dramatic has happened. But that decision reinforces something too. Maybe it reinforces helplessness. Maybe it reinforces the belief that change is not possible. Maybe it reinforces the idea that they are not worth the effort.

Neither decision determines what happens next. But neither decision is neutral. Both have moved the trajectory slightly.

We build evidence about ourselves

The way we see ourselves is an accumulation of thoughts, feelings, experiences, and decisions. How I see and feel about myself today influences the decisions I make today. But the decisions I make today also influence how I will see and feel about myself tomorrow.

That creates a feedback loop.

I believe I cannot tolerate something, so I avoid it. Avoiding it means I never discover that perhaps I could have tolerated it. Now I have additional evidence that avoidance was necessary. The next time the situation appears, avoidance makes even more sense.

Eventually I avoided that can become I cannot do that. And eventually I cannot do that can become that is just who I am.

But the same process can work in the other direction.

I believe I cannot tolerate something. I stay with it for two minutes anyway. Nothing miraculous happens. I do not suddenly feel fearless or confident. But I now possess a piece of evidence I did not have before: I tolerated two minutes.

The next decision is no longer being made by exactly the same person who made the first one. It is being made by someone who has already done it once.

Small decisions shift trajectories

This is the part of the idea that I think is easy to miss. Decisions do not simply produce consequences. They create conditions for subsequent decisions.

Imagine someone is asked an uncomfortable question and tells a small lie. The lie works. Conflict is avoided. Shame decreases. Maybe nobody finds out. Something has been reinforced.

But the lie also sends a ripple forward. A second question gets asked. Now that question is not being answered under the same circumstances as the first one. There is already a lie that needs to be maintained. Maybe the person omits something. Later he deletes a message. Then he needs to explain why the message is gone.

Each decision changes the landscape in which the next decision is made.

Eventually we may be looking at an elaborate pattern of deception. But the person probably never made a single decision to create an elaborate pattern of deception. There was not necessarily a morning when he woke up and thought: I am going to become someone who lies to everyone I care about.

There were decisions. One changed the circumstances surrounding the next. The next made another decision slightly easier. And gradually the trajectory shifted. This is the same structure described in the secret sexual basement, approached from the inside rather than from the outside.

We usually notice the destination

This is particularly relevant in compulsive sexual behavior.

By the time someone enters treatment, we are often looking at the destination. An affair. Years of pornography use. Multiple affairs. Secret accounts. Sexual messaging. Hookup apps. An entire hidden sexual life.

And understandably, everyone involved wants to know: how did you get here.

Sometimes there was a dramatic turning point. Often there was not.

There was a first click. A first fantasy that was intentionally prolonged. A first message. A first rationalization. A first boundary that moved slightly. A first deleted conversation. A first secret. A first time something felt wrong and the person decided to continue anyway.

None of those decisions guaranteed the next one. People change course all the time. But each decision altered the conditions surrounding the next decision.

The first secret makes secrecy more familiar. The first rationalization gives us language for the next one. The first moved boundary changes our perception of where the boundary is. The first time we act against our values and successfully compartmentalize it, we have learned that we are capable of compartmentalizing.

Something gets left behind, and something gets sent forward. That is how trajectories develop, and it is why escalation is a clinical feature rather than a character flaw.

Coping works the same way

We begin learning this process long before adulthood. As children, we collect ways of responding to stress, fear, rejection, shame, conflict, loneliness, and uncertainty. Some work better than others.

Maybe I hide. Maybe I become funny. Maybe I become angry. Maybe I become extraordinarily compliant. Maybe I learn not to need anything. Maybe I discover that being useful makes people like me. Maybe I learn to disappear into fantasy.

Whatever works gets used again. And those responses affect the people around us. Their responses then affect the way we see ourselves. Over time, something that began as a way of handling a particular situation can start to feel like an inherent characteristic: this is who I am.

Sometimes it is. But sometimes it is simply what we have practiced most. Where those patterns formed is the ground attachment work covers.

The two extra minutes

Years ago, when I ran an outpatient program for children and adolescents, I saw this play out regularly with anxiety.

Sometimes a young person would begin feeling anxious and quickly identify the experience as a panic attack. Parents, therapists, and the client may have used that language repeatedly, so heightened anxiety itself had begun to mean: I am having a panic attack, I need immediate intervention. Sometimes they would ask for medication.

I did not want to communicate that medication was not available or that they should not ask for help. So I would calmly tell them we could get it. But I would ask them to give me five minutes first. Then we would go get it together.

Something important could happen during those five minutes. The client experienced himself tolerating something he believed he could not tolerate. The next time, I might ask for two more minutes.

I was not trying to convince the client that anxiety was not real. I was helping create an experience that provided new information: maybe I can tolerate more than I thought I could.

And now the next episode of anxiety begins from a slightly different place. The anxiety may be exactly as uncomfortable. But the client has evidence. I did this before. That is the ripple moving forward.

Recovery works the same way

This is one of the reasons recovery is rarely built through a handful of dramatic moments. It is usually built through decisions that do not look particularly impressive.

Tell the truth this time. Make the call. Do not delete the message. Ask for help before the crisis. Stay in the conversation. Allow someone to be disappointed in you without immediately trying to change how they feel. Experience an urge without obeying it. Admit you do not know. Say the thing you are ashamed to say.

None of those decisions transforms a person. But each one leaves something behind.

Tell an uncomfortable truth and you have experienced yourself telling an uncomfortable truth. Stay present during conflict and you have experienced yourself surviving conflict. Ask for help and you have experienced yourself allowing another person to see you struggling. Tolerate an urge and you have experienced an urge ending without having to satisfy it.

And each decision sends something forward. Tomorrow's decision will be made by someone who made today's decision.

Therapists are part of the reinforcement

This principle matters for therapists too. Our interventions reinforce things.

A client becomes uncomfortable and we immediately reassure him. What gets reinforced? A client does not know what to do and we tell him. What gets reinforced? A client describes a conflict and we immediately agree with his interpretation. What gets reinforced? A client says he cannot tolerate something and we remove the discomfort for him. What gets reinforced?

There is not a universally correct answer to those questions. Sometimes reassurance is exactly what someone needs. Sometimes people need direction. Sometimes intervention is necessary. The point is not that therapists should become withholding or manufacture discomfort. The point is that our response becomes part of what happens next.

If I continually demonstrate to a client that I believe he cannot tolerate discomfort, eventually he may believe me. If instead I can remain calm while he struggles, help when help is actually needed, and allow him opportunities to experience his own capacity, something different may be reinforced.

Not my therapist thinks I can handle this. But I have handled this before. That is much more powerful.

Pay attention to direction

We spend a lot of time trying to make the right decision. Sometimes that is necessary. But I think there is another useful question: what direction does this decision move me.

Not will this destroy my life. Not will this completely change me. Simply: if I repeat this decision, where does it point.

Because trajectories rarely announce themselves. They are built quietly. A decision reinforces something. That reinforcement influences the next decision. The next decision changes the circumstances surrounding the one after it. We gather evidence about who we are and what we are capable of.

And eventually we arrive somewhere. Sometimes we look around and wonder how we got so far from where we intended to be. Other times we look around and realize we have become capable of something that once seemed impossible.

Usually neither happened all at once.

Every decision leaves something behind. Every decision sends a ripple forward. And sometimes the smallest decisions are the ones that begin to change the direction we are traveling.

Everything reinforces something.

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If the pattern described here is familiar, what the eight-week program involves sets out what treatment actually looks like. If you are a clinician weighing a referral, the professionals hub covers thresholds and coordination.

If you are in immediate danger or thinking about harming yourself, call or text 988 — the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline, available 24 hours a day — or call 911.