Why Understanding Is Sometimes Not Enough

People often come to therapy puzzled by their own reactions.

They say things like:

“I know where this comes from.”

“I understand why I feel this way.”

“I’ve talked about it for years.”

And yet, when the moment arrives, their body reacts as if none of that understanding is available.

They snap.

They shut down.

They panic.

They feel suddenly small, furious, ashamed, or overwhelmed.

Afterwards, they often turn on themselves.

“I should know better.”

“Why am I still like this?”

“What’s wrong with me?”

Nothing about this feels logical to them.

Understanding and change are not the same thing

Insight matters. Being able to make sense of what happened, name it, and place it in context can feel relieving. For many people, therapy quite rightly begins there.

But some reactions do not live at the level of explanation.

People do not learn them through words or ideas. They learn them through experience.

When a response forms in moments of fear, helplessness, humiliation, or loss, it settles somewhere else. People feel it first in the body — in a tightening chest, a racing heart, a collapse of thought — before the mind has a chance to weigh in.

That is why someone can say, quite truthfully, “I know this isn’t about now,” while their body reacts as if it is.

The reaction does not happen because the person lacks insight. It happens because the part of them that learned this response has not changed.

You do not need a “big trauma” for this to happen

Many people assume reactions like these must come from something extreme.

They say:

“But nothing terrible happened.”

“I wasn’t abused.”

“I didn’t go through anything like that.”

They compare themselves to others and decide their experience does not count.

That comparison is misleading.

Emotional responses can take shape through experiences that never looked dramatic but felt overwhelming at the time. Repeated moments of not being heard, being dismissed, feeling blamed, feeling powerless, or staying quiet to keep the peace can all leave their mark.

At the time, these reactions made sense.

They helped the person cope.

They served a purpose.

The problem is not that the reaction exists.

The problem is that it never had a chance to update.

“That pushes my buttons”

People often describe these moments by saying something has “pushed their buttons.”

It is a useful phrase.

The reaction feels automatic. Fast. Unwanted. Once it starts, it is hard to interrupt. The body responds before the mind can catch up.

These reactions are not signs of weakness or immaturity. They are signs of learning. The person did exactly what they needed to do at the time that learning occurred.

What has changed is the context.

Why the reactions feel so specific

People often notice how precise these reactions are.

It is not everything.

It is that look. That tone. That phrase. That situation.

A partner raises their voice. A colleague dismisses an idea. A family member uses a familiar phrase.

Suddenly, the reaction appears.

Emotional memory works through association, not logic. The present moment does not need to be dangerous for the body to respond as if it is. Something in the situation echoes an earlier experience, and the old response activates.

That is why these reactions feel so confusing. They belong partly to now, and partly to then.

Why control and avoidance rarely solve the problem

When reactions feel uncontrollable, people often try to manage them.

They stay quiet.

They smooth things over.

They keep busy.

They tell themselves to calm down or think differently.

They rehearse strategies.

In the short term, this can reduce distress. It can feel protective.

Over time, though, it comes at a cost.

Avoidance keeps the reaction intact by never giving it a chance to change. Overcontrol increases internal tension, making the reaction more likely to break through.

People end up feeling as though they are constantly managing themselves. Life narrows. Relationships become careful. Spontaneity disappears.

What is lost is not strength or intelligence, but choice.

What changes when reactions really shift

When emotional reactions do change, the shift is often quiet.

People do not feel euphoric. They do not become a different person.

Instead, they notice things like:

“It just didn’t happen.”

“I realised afterwards that I stayed calm.”

“I didn’t have to work so hard to hold myself together.”

The trigger still exists. The memory still exists. But the body no longer responds in the same way.

This kind of change does not come from more explanation. It comes from experiences that allow emotional learning to reorganise.

When the emotional charge linked to an earlier experience changes, the reaction no longer needs to fire.

People often describe this as feeling more like themselves again. Not improved. Just less braced.

A different way of thinking about change

For some people, the question eventually shifts.

Instead of asking, “Why am I like this?” they begin to ask, “What did I learn, and what would allow that learning to change?”

Work at this level is usually careful and contained. It is not about reliving the past or being overwhelmed by it. In fact, when it is done well, it is often surprisingly undramatic.

What matters is not forcing anything, but allowing the body to register something new while the reaction is present.

When that happens, effort drops away.

If this resonates

If you recognise yourself here, it does not mean you are broken, resistant, or failing at therapy.

It may mean you are trying to change something that understanding alone cannot reach.

Reactions learned through experience usually need to be met through experience. Not forcefully. Not dramatically. But with attention to what is happening now, rather than what should be happening.

When that occurs, change often follows without effort.

Not because you tried harder —but because the part of you that learned the reaction no longer needs it.

This is the kind of work I do in my practice.