“What purpose has this symptom been serving?”
If you had asked me eleven years ago what I did for a living, I probably would have answered something like this:
“I help people stop smoking.”
Or…
“I help people overcome anxiety.”
Or…
“I help people lose weight.”
Those answers weren’t wrong.
They just weren’t complete.
Over the years, people have come into my office carrying every imaginable struggle.
Smoking.
Panic attacks.
Fear of flying.
Grief.
Pornography.
Anger.
Chronic pain.
Church hurt.
Weight loss.
Insomnia.
Fear of driving.
Marriage problems.
Public speaking.
Trauma.
Even performance anxiety before surgery or athletic competition.
At first glance, they looked like completely different problems requiring completely different solutions.
I thought smoking was about nicotine.
Anxiety was about fear.
Grief was about loss.
Weight was about food.
Pornography was about sex.
Anger was about temper.
But after hundreds of conversations, something began bothering me.
The symptoms were different.
The people were different.
The stories… were strangely familiar.
I kept hearing the same sentences dressed in different clothes.
“If I say no, they’ll stop loving me.”
“I’m responsible for everyone else’s happiness.”
“I have to keep everybody together.”
“I’m not enough.”
“If I slow down, everything will fall apart.”
“I have to earn my place.”
The symptoms changed.
The stories rarely did.
The Client Who Changed My Thinking
Several months ago, a woman came to see me because she wanted to stop smoking.
She was sixty-five years old.
She had smoked for more than forty years.
Nearly two packs every day.
She had tried patches.
Gum.
Medication.
Cold turkey.
Even hypnosis.
Nothing seemed to last.
Actually, that’s not quite true.
She had quit once.
For two years.
Then her husband left after nearly four decades of marriage.
Within weeks she was smoking again.
Most smoking cessation programs would have started by talking about nicotine.
I didn’t.
Instead, I found myself asking a question I hadn’t planned to ask.
“What purpose has smoking been serving?”
She looked at me like I had lost my mind.
“I’m addicted,” she said.
“I know,” I replied.
“But what has smoking been doing for you?”
There was a long silence.
Then she shrugged.
“I don’t know.”
That answer became the beginning of everything.
We Spend Too Much Time Fighting the Symptom
When most people want to change, they declare war on the behavior.
“I’m quitting.”
“I’m done.”
“I’m never doing this again.”
Sometimes that works.
Often it doesn’t.
Not because people are weak.
Because they’re trying to remove something without understanding why it showed up in the first place.
Imagine your check engine light comes on.
You could put a piece of black electrical tape over the light.
Problem solved.
Except it isn’t.
The light wasn’t the problem.
It was trying to tell you something.
Our emotions and behaviors often work the same way.
The symptom is not always the enemy.
Sometimes it’s the messenger.
The Cigarette Was Doing More Than Delivering Nicotine
Over the next few weeks that client began paying attention instead of judging herself.
She noticed she almost always smoked with coffee.
Or after a difficult phone call.
Or when she was sitting in a quiet house.
Or when she felt lonely.
Or when she didn’t know what to do next.
One day she said something I’ll never forget.
“I thought I was bored.”
Then she stopped.
“No…”
“This isn’t boredom.”
“This is loneliness.”
Another week later she smiled and said,
“I think cigarettes have been doing about ten different jobs.”
She was right.
They gave her a routine.
A reason to step outside.
Something to hold.
A distraction from painful thoughts.
A reward.
A familiar friend after her life had been turned upside down.
Were cigarettes a healthy solution?
No.
Were they trying to solve a real problem?
Absolutely.
That realization changed both of us.
Different Symptoms. Similar Purposes.
Once I started asking that same question with every client, patterns began appearing everywhere.
The man struggling with pornography wasn’t simply looking for sex.
Often he was looking for escape.
Or comfort.
Or acceptance.
Or relief from shame.
The woman crippled by anxiety wasn’t trying to ruin her own life.
Her mind was desperately trying to protect her from getting hurt again.
The man who couldn’t stop working seventy hours a week wasn’t addicted to productivity.
He was terrified of feeling insignificant.
The mother who couldn’t say no wasn’t simply “too nice.”
She believed love had to be earned through sacrifice.
The teenager who spent eight hours a day gaming wasn’t lazy.
He had discovered that virtual worlds felt safer than real relationships.
Different behaviors.
Similar questions.
What purpose has this been serving?
The Stories We Never Knew We Believed
As I listened more carefully, I realized behaviors don’t appear out of nowhere.
They grow out of stories.
Not the stories we tell other people.
The stories we quietly tell ourselves.
Stories like…
“I’m only valuable when people need me.”
“If I disappoint someone, they’ll leave.”
“I have to stay busy to matter.”
“I’m responsible for fixing everyone.”
“If I stop grieving, I’ll stop loving.”
“If someone rejected me, there must be something wrong with me.”
Most people never consciously choose those beliefs.
Life hands them those stories one painful experience at a time.
A difficult childhood.
A critical parent.
A painful divorce.
A manipulative church.
A traumatic event.
A betrayal.
Eventually the story becomes invisible because we’ve repeated it so many times.
We stop saying,
“I believe I’m not enough.”
We simply live as though it’s true.
Why Willpower Usually Isn’t Enough
This is one reason so many people become discouraged.
They work incredibly hard.
They use enormous amounts of willpower.
But they’re trying to change behavior while leaving the story untouched.
Imagine trying to cut down the branches of a tree while watering the roots every day.
You’ll stay busy.
But the tree keeps growing.
The story is the root.
The behavior is often the branch.
If we never examine the story, the symptom frequently finds another way to express itself.
Someone quits smoking…
…and starts overeating.
Someone stops drinking…
…but becomes consumed with work.
Someone finally leaves an abusive relationship…
…only to enter another one just like it.
The symptom changed.
The story didn’t.
A Better Question
People sometimes ask me what technique I use.
Hypnosis?
Counseling?
Cognitive therapy?
Storytelling?
The honest answer is…
Yes.
All of them.
And none of them.
Those are tools.
The real work begins with a better question.
Not…
“How do we get rid of this?”
But…
“What has this been trying to accomplish?”
That question changes the entire conversation.
Because once we understand the purpose, we can begin finding healthier ways to meet the same need.
The goal isn’t simply removing the symptom.
The goal is replacing the strategy.
What If You Asked Yourself?
What if anxiety has been trying to protect you?
What if anger has been trying to convince you that you’re not powerless?
What if people-pleasing has been trying to keep you connected?
What if overworking has been trying to earn your worth?
What if overeating has been trying to comfort a lonely heart?
What if procrastination has been protecting you from failure?
Again, understanding isn’t the same as excusing.
But understanding creates compassion.
And compassion creates curiosity.
Curiosity almost always opens doors that shame keeps locked.
The Question I’d Like You to Ask
This week, I don’t want you to promise you’ll never repeat the behavior.
I don’t want you to make another dramatic declaration.
Instead, the next time you notice yourself reaching for whatever has become your “cigarette,” pause.
Take one slow breath.
Then ask one question.
“What purpose is this serving right now?”
Don’t judge the answer.
Don’t argue with it.
Just listen.
You might discover you don’t need distraction.
You need rest.
You don’t need another drink.
You need connection.
You don’t need another hour scrolling your phone.
You need hope.
You don’t need another argument.
You need to feel heard.
Those discoveries won’t solve everything overnight.
But they will point you in the right direction.
The Question That Changed Me
Looking back, I don’t think the biggest change in my practice was learning another technique.
It was learning to pay attention.
My clients taught me something I couldn’t find in a textbook.
People are rarely defined by their symptoms.
They’re often trying to solve legitimate human needs with strategies that no longer serve them.
That’s why I no longer begin with, “How do we stop this?”
I begin with,
“What purpose has this been serving?”
Because hidden inside that question is something I’ve come to believe with all my heart.
People make a lot more sense than they first appear.
Sometimes they don’t need someone to shame them into changing.
Sometimes they simply need someone willing to sit quietly long enough to understand the story they’ve been living.
And once that story begins to change…
Everything else finally has room to change with it.