Same Thing or Shame Thing?
Are we actually repeating the same mistake, or are we just adding a fresh layer of shame to an old wound?
It got me thinking...
There’s a moment in therapy when a client tells me something they’ve already told themselves a hundred times. “I did it again.”
They say it like they’ve confessed to a crime. Not forgot to answer a text. Not avoided a difficult conversation. Not ordered takeout three nights in a row while insisting they were “saving money.”
No. They did it again.
And suddenly, we’re no longer talking about the behavior. We’re talking about the verdict.
Which made me wonder: is it the same thing happening again, or is it the shame about it happening again that’s making everything feel worse?
Because those are two very different things.
A client once told me she kept choosing emotionally unavailable people. “I obviously have terrible taste,” she said.
I asked, “Or do you have a familiar pattern?”
She looked at me as if I had just suggested her red flag was actually a family heirloom. The behavior was real. She was repeatedly choosing partners who offered chemistry without consistency. But the shame, the what is wrong with me? Why can’t I learn? was keeping her stuck. Shame made her focus on self-punishment instead of self-understanding. It’s like trying to escape a maze by insulting yourself for being in it.
Another client kept postponing important tasks until the last possible minute. Every week, she promised herself she would become a new woman. A woman who planned ahead. A woman who used calendars. A woman who apparently woke up at 5 a.m. with a color-coded water bottle. But when we looked closer, procrastination wasn’t the whole story. The task triggered fear of failure, so avoidance offered temporary relief. Then the deadline created panic. Then the panic created shame. Then the shame made starting even harder.
That’s the cycle: discomfort, avoidance, relief, consequences, shame, and then more avoidance...
The brain is not necessarily being lazy. It’s trying to regulate an uncomfortable emotion with a short-term solution. Unfortunately, the solution has the long-term planning skills of a raccoon in a glitter store.
This is where self-compassion becomes practical. Not indulgent, not endlessly excusing ourselves, but useful.
Instead of asking, “Why do I keep doing this?” we can ask:
What feeling am I trying not to experience?
What does this behavior give me in the short term?
What does it cost me later?
What would make the next step feel safer or smaller?
That shift matters because shame attacks identity. Compassion investigates behavior.
Shame says, “I’m a mess.” Curiosity says, “Something is happening here.”
And curiosity is far more likely to help you change.
Maybe you keep returning to the same kind of relationship because unpredictability feels more familiar than stability. Maybe you keep overcommitting because disappointing people feels unbearable. Maybe you keep saying “I’m fine” because admitting you need help feels like losing control.
Same thing or shame thing? Maybe it’s both.
Maybe the pattern is repeating, but the shame is turning a pattern into a personality. And perhaps the most therapeutic thing we can do is separate what we did from who we are.
You went back to the person who hurt you. You are not foolish.
You avoided the conversation. You are not incapable of intimacy.
You are a person with a nervous system, a history, coping strategies, and, annoyingly, a capacity to choose differently. Not perfectly. Differently.
Because healing is rarely the dramatic transformation montage we were promised. It’s often noticing the familiar pattern one moment earlier.
Pausing before sending the text. Saying what you actually mean. Making the appointment. Leaving the conversation before you abandon yourself entirely.
Small changes. Deep consequences.
So the next time you hear yourself say, “I can’t believe I did this again,” try adding one more question: “What am I feeling about it?”
Because maybe the behavior needs attention.
But maybe the shame needs a chair, too.
Coco x
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