New Year, Same Patterns? Here’s Why That’s OK
As January resolutions kick in, therapist Kati Morton explains why control, people-pleasing, and perfectionism are survival strategies—and how to finally loosen their grip.
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Now that we’re in early January, a lot of us are thinking about what we want to change this year. But here’s the thing: we often focus on adding new habits when the real question might be why do we keep repeating the old ones? Why do we fall back into behaviors like people-pleasing or perfectionism even when we know better? Licensed therapist Kati Morton tackles this question in the new book Why Do I Keep Doing This?, revealing how our ingrained patterns are really survival strategies that we can eventually outgrow.
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1. Control is a survival strategy.
We often think of control as a personality trait or state of being. We say things like, “I’m just a control freak,” or “Don’t worry, I’ve got everything under control.” But control isn’t a state of being; it’s how we learned to survive. It’s the way our nervous system tries to protect us when life feels unpredictable.
As children, many of us learned that being good, quiet, or perfect helped us stay safe or loved. Those patterns became invisible armor. So as adults, we micromanage, overthink, or self-criticize—not because we enjoy it, but because deep down, it still feels like the way to stay safe.
For me, when things at home felt out of my control, I would focus on what I could control: my grades, how clean my room was, how well I performed. That false sense of control helped me self-soothe when everything else felt uncertain.
Understanding this changes everything. Instead of shaming ourselves for needing control, we can get curious: What is this control trying to protect me from? What feels unpredictable in my life right now? That curiosity opens the door to deeper understanding. We can’t change what we don’t first understand.
When we stop fighting our patterns and start understanding them, we realize nothing is wrong with us. We’re just trying to stay connected and safe. Control was never the problem—it was our body’s best attempt at protection.
2. People-pleasing isn’t about being nice.
People-pleasing often gets labeled as kindness—something we wear as a badge of honor. But it’s really fear in disguise: fear of rejection, abandonment, or conflict. Many of us learned early on that meeting everyone else’s needs was the safest way to belong.
I used to think being a people-pleaser made me a good person—that putting others first was selfless and admirable. But during one therapy session, my therapist told me something that completely stopped me in my tracks. She said, “People-pleasing is actually a form of manipulation.” I was shocked. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized she was right. I wasn’t trying to make others happy because I cared so deeply about how they felt. I was doing it because I couldn’t tolerate any discomfort. Pleasing them was how I managed my own anxiety.
People-pleasing doesn’t bring us closer to others; it disconnects us from ourselves. When we spend all our energy anticipating what others want, we lose touch with what we want. Over time, that can lead to resentment, exhaustion, and even depression, because we’re living a life that looks good to others but doesn’t feel true to us.
The first step toward change isn’t suddenly saying “no” to everything. It’s to pause before saying “yes.” Ask yourself: Am I doing this out of genuine care and desire, or out of fear? That small question helps separate your worth from your usefulness.
Healthy relationships don’t require you to disappear to stay loved. Honoring your own needs isn’t selfish—it’s how you build real connection.
3. Perfectionism is a moving target.
Perfectionism often feels like the motivating factor that keeps us striving. But beneath it is a deep sense of not enough. We chase flawless performance because we believe that if we can finally “get it right,” we’ll earn the attention or approval we’ve been craving.
The problem is that perfection is a moving target. Each achievement gives a brief hit of relief before the next “should” appears. That’s because perfectionism isn’t about success—it’s about safety. No mistakes mean no criticism. Doing everything right prevents rejection.
For me, perfectionism started early. My dad worked away from home for long stretches of time and I remember believing that if I just did everything perfectly—if I was first chair in band or made the varsity team—he’d want to come home more often. I thought my achievements could somehow earn his presence. It took me a long time to realize that his work schedule had nothing to do with how well I was doing, and that my worth wasn’t something I had to prove.
The antidote to perfectionism isn’t lowering your standards, but rather shifting your focus from performance to connection. Instead of asking, “Was it perfect?”, ask, “Did I feel connected?”
Growth doesn’t come from flawless execution; it comes from the willingness to show up, try, fail, and learn. When we allow ourselves to be human, we stop hustling to earn our worth and start realizing that we’ve always been enough.
This week, Book of the Day is brought to you by The Nature of Nurture: Rethinking Why and How Childhood Adversity Shapes Development by Jay Belsky—a radical evolutionary perspective on how childhood experiences shape later life. Pick up your copy today.
4. Suppression isn’t strength.
Many of us (myself included) grew up believing that staying calm, composed, and “fine” was the mature thing to do. But emotional suppression isn’t strength—it’s self-abandonment.
When we push feelings down, they don’t disappear; they just get buried in our bodies, showing up later as anxiety, irritability, or burnout. Emotions aren’t bad things. They’re signals that tell us when something matters, hurts, or needs attention.
At times when I’ve been holding everything together for too long—pushing through stress, ignoring frustration, pretending I’m fine—it always finds a way out. Usually, it’s when I’m watching TV and a commercial about an aging dog comes on, and suddenly I’m sobbing on the couch. It’s not really about the commercial, of course; it’s all the unspoken, unfelt emotions finally asking to be felt. Learning to feel doesn’t mean losing control. It means expanding your capacity to stay with discomfort without letting it consume you. That’s real resilience. A simple practice is to name what you feel out loud: “I feel sad,” “I feel angry,” “I feel scared.” Naming emotions helps regulate the nervous system and makes them feel less overwhelming. Over time, this builds a sense of internal trust: I can handle my feelings instead of running from them. True strength isn’t about being unshakeable. It’s about being able to bend without breaking.
5. Healing is about letting go, not losing control.
Letting go is hard because it can feel like free-falling. For people (like myself) who’ve relied on control to survive, loosening that grip can feel unsafe, even when it’s what we need to grow. For a long time, I thought letting go meant not caring, that if I wasn’t worrying or trying to manage everything, it meant I was being irresponsible or indifferent. But I eventually realized that letting go isn’t about giving up; it’s about redefining what safety looks like. It’s about trusting that I can care deeply without trying to control every outcome. That shift from control to trust has been one of the most freeing lessons of my life. Letting go isn’t about chaos or indifference. It’s about trust—trusting that you can handle life as it unfolds, without needing to manage every detail. It’s about moving from hypervigilance to faith. I see this so often, both in my patients and in myself. There’s control that keeps us grounded, like setting boundaries or creating structure. And then there’s control that keeps us stuck and stops us from reaching out, trying new things, or letting people in. Healing means noticing when control is helping you feel safe… and when it’s keeping you from living your life. When we let go of the illusion of control, we make space for authenticity. The goal isn’t to stop caring or planning; it’s to stop living out of fear. Because real freedom isn’t about having control over everything—it’s about no longer needing to.