Here’s a conversation I have in therapy all the time:
“Did the coping skill help?”
“No.”
“Okay. What happened?”
“Well, I was still anxious.”
Ah. There it is.
Somewhere along the way, many of us learned that we can tell whether a coping skill “worked” by asking one question: Do I feel better now?
If the answer is no? Skill = failure.
Deep breathing didn’t make the anxiety disappear? Useless.
Went for a walk and you’re still sad? Clearly walking is a scam.
Used your grounding skills and you’re still angry? Therapy has failed you.
Except…
What if feeling better isn’t always the goal? What if sometimes the goal is coping better?
Because those are not necessarily the same thing.
Of Course You Want to Feel Better
Let’s establish this first.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with wanting relief.
If you’re anxious, you probably want to feel less anxious.
If you’re grieving, you probably want the pain to ease.
If you’re overwhelmed, you probably want your brain to stop behaving like 37 browser tabs are open and one of them is playing music but you can’t figure out which one.
Understandable.
The problem isn’t wanting to feel better.
The problem is when we decide: “If I don’t feel better, whatever I’m doing isn’t working.”
That can create a really frustrating relationship with coping skills. Because coping skills are not emotional anesthesia.
Sometimes they help reduce the intensity of an emotion.
Sometimes they don’t.
Sometimes their job is something entirely different.
Feeling Better vs. Coping Better
Here’s the distinction.
Feeling better is about the emotional state itself changing.
Maybe your anxiety goes from an 8 to a 4.
Maybe your anger decreases.
Maybe you stop crying.
Maybe your body relaxes.
Maybe your sadness becomes less intense.
Great.
We like that.
Coping better is about how you respond to the emotional state.
Maybe your anxiety stays at an 8…
but you go to work anyway.
Maybe you’re still angry…
but you don’t send the text you’re going to regret tomorrow.
Maybe you’re still devastated…
but you eat something, take a shower, and call someone instead of completely isolating.
Maybe you’re still uncertain…
but you don’t spend three hours Googling.
Maybe you’re still ashamed…
but you don’t punish yourself.
Maybe you’re still overwhelmed…
but you break the problem into one manageable next step.
The emotion didn’t necessarily change.
Your relationship with it did.
And that counts.
A lot.
Sometimes “It Didn’t Work” Actually Means “I Still Had Feelings”
Imagine you’re extremely anxious before an appointment.
You use a grounding skill.
Before the skill: Anxiety = 8/10.
After the skill: Anxiety = 8/10.
So you think: “That didn’t work.”
But let’s look at what else happened. You noticed your anxiety. You stayed present. You didn’t cancel the appointment. You didn’t ask three people whether they thought everything would be okay. You didn’t spend the next hour searching the internet for certainty. You went to the appointment.
That is coping.
You did not successfully remove anxiety from your nervous system. Congratulations on continuing to be a human being. But you changed what happened next. And that matters.
Distress Tolerance Is Literally About This
There’s a concept in psychology called distress tolerance.
At its simplest, distress tolerance refers to our ability to experience negative or uncomfortable emotional states without needing to immediately escape them.
Research has found that lower distress tolerance is associated with greater use of strategies such as avoidance, emotional suppression, and rumination (Jeffries et al., 2016).
Other research has similarly found that difficulty tolerating distress is associated with greater avoidance, even when accounting for people’s access to other emotion-regulation strategies.
So when we practice coping, sometimes we’re not practicing: “How do I make this emotion disappear?”
We’re practicing: “What can I do while this emotion is here?”
That’s a completely different skill.
The “Make It Stop” Trap
When emotional relief becomes our only definition of successful coping, something interesting can happen.
We become very focused on controlling our internal experience.
I can’t feel anxious.
I need this thought to stop.
I have to calm down.
I shouldn’t be this upset.
I need to stop thinking about this.
And then we start organizing our behavior around avoiding uncomfortable internal experiences.
Psychologists often refer to this as experiential avoidance—efforts to avoid, suppress, escape, or control unwanted thoughts, emotions, memories, or physical sensations.
Here’s the annoying part: Avoidance can work really well. In the short term.
Canceling something because you’re anxious? Immediate relief.
Getting reassurance? Immediate relief.
Avoiding the conversation? Relief.
Distracting yourself every single time sadness appears? Relief.
Compulsively checking something because uncertainty is unbearable? Relief.
And your brain goes: Oh, excellent. We have solved anxiety. Let’s definitely do that again.
Except you haven’t necessarily solved the underlying problem.
You’ve learned: When this feeling shows up, I need to get away from it.
A large systematic review and meta-analysis involving more than 135,000 participants found that experiential avoidance was moderately to strongly associated with symptoms across anxiety, depression, OCD-related disorders, and PTSD (Akbari et al., 2022).
That doesn’t mean avoidance is always bad.
Sometimes distraction is exactly what you need.
Sometimes leaving a situation is appropriate.
Sometimes you need a break.
The question is whether avoiding discomfort is one tool you can choose or whether avoiding discomfort has started choosing your life for you.
Coping Better Might Actually Feel Worse at First
This is one of the least marketable parts of therapy.
Sometimes healthier coping feels worse initially. I know. Great news.
Imagine someone with social anxiety usually avoids parties.
Avoiding the party makes them feel better.
Going to the party makes them feel worse.
At least temporarily.
So if our only measurement is: “Which choice decreased anxiety?” The obvious winner is avoidance.
But if this person wants friendships, connection, community, and the ability to participate socially, we need another measurement.
Maybe instead of: Did this make me feel better? We ask: Did this help me live better?
That’s closer to the idea of psychological flexibility: being able to respond to thoughts and feelings in ways that fit the situation and what matters to us rather than rigidly organizing our behavior around getting rid of discomfort.
Sometimes coping better means choosing something meaningful while anxiety comes along for the ride.
Anxiety is apparently invited.
Nobody asked it.
But here we are.
Let’s Look at Some Examples
Anxiety
Feeling better: “My anxiety went from an 8 to a 3.”
Wonderful.
Coping better: “My anxiety stayed at an 8, but I stopped Googling symptoms and went to bed.”
Also wonderful.
Anger
Feeling better: “I calmed down.”
Great.
Coping better: “I was still furious, so I waited until tomorrow to respond.”
That skill may have just saved you six follow-up text messages and an apology.
Excellent work.
Sadness
Feeling better: “I don’t feel as sad anymore.”
Great.
Coping better:“I still feel incredibly sad, but I stopped isolating and let my friend come over.”
That matters.
Shame
Feeling better: “I don’t feel embarrassed anymore.”
Great.
Coping better: “I still feel embarrassed, but I didn’t spend the rest of the night replaying the conversation and listing every reason I’m socially incompetent.”
That counts.
Uncertainty
Feeling better:“I finally know what’s going to happen.”
Lovely when available.
Coping better:“I still don’t know what’s going to happen, and I decided I’m not going to spend the entire evening trying to figure it out.”
Sometimes that’s the work.
Coping Skills Have Different Jobs
Another problem is that we call approximately 4,000 different things “coping skills” as though they’re interchangeable. They’re not. Different strategies have different purposes.
Sometimes you need to solve a problem.
Sometimes you need to regulate an emotion.
Sometimes you need to tolerate an emotion.
Sometimes you need to accept reality.
Sometimes you need to challenge a thought.
Sometimes you need to stop challenging the thought because you’ve been arguing with your brain for two hours.
Sometimes you need distraction.
Sometimes you need connection.
Sometimes you need to approach the thing you’ve been avoiding.
Sometimes you genuinely need to leave the situation.
Research on coping and emotion regulation increasingly emphasizes this kind of flexibility. There isn’t one strategy that is universally “healthy” in every context. Coping effectiveness depends partly on the person, the situation, and what the strategy is accomplishing.
So instead of asking: “What’s the best coping skill?”
A more useful question might be: “What am I trying to accomplish right now?”
Try Asking a Different Question
After you use a coping skill, instead of immediately asking: “Do I feel better?” try asking:“What did this help me do?”
Maybe:
- Did it keep me from making the situation worse?
- Did it help me tolerate the next ten minutes?
- Did it help me stay present?
- Did it help me choose instead of react?
- Did it help me resist an urge?
- Did it help me continue something that matters to me?
- Did it help me care for myself while I was hurting?
- Did it help me respond in a way I’ll feel okay about tomorrow?
Those are measures of coping too.
Sometimes Success Looks Pretty Boring
We tend to imagine successful coping as this beautiful transformation.
You’re panicking.
You breathe deeply.
Suddenly you’re calm.
The sun comes out.
Birds start singing.
Your nervous system has been healed.
In reality, successful coping often looks like:
“I cried and then ate dinner.”
“I was anxious and went anyway.”
“I wanted reassurance and didn’t ask for it.”
“I was angry and waited.”
“I felt overwhelmed and did one thing.”
“I had the thought and didn’t engage with it.”
“I felt terrible and went to bed instead of trying to solve my entire life at 1:00 a.m.”
Not particularly cinematic.
Still progress.
You Are Allowed to Use Things That Help You Feel Better
I also don’t want us swinging so far in the opposite direction that we decide relief is suspicious.
Please do things that feel good.
Take the bath.
Watch the show.
Call your friend.
Go outside.
Use the heating pad.
Listen to music.
Take a nap.
Distract yourself sometimes.
Laugh.
Eat something you enjoy.
We aren’t trying to create an Olympic-level ability to tolerate misery.
Feeling better is good.
The distinction is simply this: Feeling better is one possible outcome of coping. It is not the only evidence that coping occurred.
Sometimes the emotion changes.
Sometimes your behavior changes.
Sometimes your perspective changes.
Sometimes nothing changes except that you got through the moment without abandoning yourself.
That matters too.
So…Did the Coping Skill Work?
The next time you try a coping strategy and think: “Well, that didn’t work. I still feel bad.”
Pause.
Maybe ask:
- Did I expect this skill to eliminate the emotion?
- What was the skill actually supposed to help me do?
- Did I respond differently than I normally would have?
- Did I avoid making the situation harder?
- Did I move toward something that matters to me?
- Did I tolerate something I usually try to escape?
Because progress isn’t always: “This doesn’t bother me anymore.”
Sometimes progress is: “This still bothers me, and I know what to do when it does.”
Sometimes it’s:
“I’m still anxious, but I’m going.”
“I’m still sad, but I’m taking care of myself.”
“I’m still angry, but I’m choosing how I respond.”
“I’m still uncertain, and I’m not going to spend tonight trying to become certain.”
That’s the difference between feeling better and coping better.
Of course, I hope you feel better too. I’m a therapist, not a monster.
But until the feeling changes, we can work on making sure it doesn’t get to make every decision.
And sometimes?
That’s what “the coping skill worked” actually looks like.
References
Akbari, M., Seydavi, M., Hosseini, Z. S., Krafft, J., & Levin, M. E. (2022). Experiential avoidance in depression, anxiety, obsessive-compulsive related, and posttraumatic stress disorders: A comprehensive systematic review and meta-analysis. Journal of Contextual Behavioral Science, 24, 65–78. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jcbs.2022.03.007
Jeffries, E. R., McLeish, A. C., Kraemer, K. M., Avallone, K. M., & Fleming, J. B. (2016). The role of distress tolerance in the use of specific emotion regulation strategies. Behavior Modification, 40(3), 439–451. https://doi.org/10.1177/0145445515619596
Karekla, M., & Panayiotou, G. (2011). Coping and experiential avoidance: Unique or overlapping constructs? Journal of Behavior Therapy and Experimental Psychiatry, 42(2), 163–170. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jbtep.2010.10.002
Naragon-Gainey, K., McMahon, T. P., & Chacko, T. P. (2017). The structure of common emotion regulation strategies: A meta-analytic examination. Psychological Bulletin, 143(4), 384–427. https://doi.org/10.1037/bul0000093
Wang, M., Saudino, K. J., & Bell, M. A. (2024). Coping and emotion regulation: A conceptual and measurement scoping review. Frontiers in Psychology, 15, 1394539. https://doi.org/10.3389/fpsyg.2024.1394539
Leave a comment