Why acceptance can be so important

Here's the uncomfortable truth that most of us learn the hard way: struggling with thoughts and feelings makes them worse.

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I know you've probably been told to "just relax" or "stop thinking about it," and those suggestions are useless. This is different.

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When you try to suppress an intrusive thought, it comes back stronger. When you fight anxiety, it intensifies. When you avoid grief, it lingers. When you deny your vulnerability, you become more fragile.

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This isn't a moral failing or a weakness on your part. It's how the human mind works. The more you tell yourself "I shouldn't feel this way" or "I need to stop thinking this," the more your brain treats it as important, urgent, something that needs your attention.

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Think of it like quicksand. When you're sinking, you have two instinctive responses: thrash about trying to fight your way out, or give up and let yourself sink. Both feel natural. Both make things worse.

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Acceptance is the third option. It's stopping the struggle. It's lying back, distributing your weight, and floating rather than sinking. It doesn't feel natural. It goes against every instinct you have.

But it's what actually works.

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The problem with the excessive control agenda

Most of us have spent years trying to control our internal experience through distraction, avoidance, reassurance-seeking, or rituals.

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In OCD, this shows up as compulsions and mental rituals. In anxiety, as avoidance and safety behaviours. In grief, as denial or staying busy. In depression, as withdrawal.

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These strategies work temporarily. The problem is they keep you stuck. They reinforce the idea that the thought or feeling is dangerous, that you can't handle it.

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A life spent ignoring, suppressing, or controlling is the problem.

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What acceptance looks like in practice

Acceptance isn't a single skill. It's an ongoing process, a way of relating to your experience that you practice over time. It looks different for different people and in different contexts.

Some examples:

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In OCD: Noticing the intrusive thought, acknowledging it's there, and choosing not to engage with it, neutralise it, or perform a compulsion around it. Accepting that the thought exists without accepting it as true or important. Living your life with the thought present rather than waiting for it to leave.

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In anxiety: Feeling the physical sensations of anxiety, the racing heart or tight chest, and choosing not to avoid the situation, leave the room, or do something to calm yourself down. Accepting that anxiety is uncomfortable without treating it as dangerous.

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In grief: Allowing yourself to feel the sadness, the absence, the unfairness of loss, without trying to "move on," distract yourself, or suppress it. Accepting that this person is gone, even when that reality feels impossible to bear.

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In shame: Acknowledging that you feel ashamed, that you carry beliefs about being unworthy or unacceptable, without needing to hide those feelings, prove them wrong, or avoid situations that might trigger them.

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In everyday vulnerability: Letting yourself need something from someone, admitting you don't know, showing that you're struggling, even when every instinct says "I'm fine."

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These are just examples. Acceptance is personal and context-dependent.

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How to practice acceptance

Acceptance develops through practice, not understanding. And I need to be honest with you: these practices are simple to describe and incredibly hard to do, especially at first. That's normal. Be patient with yourself.

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Here are some starting points:

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Notice without engaging. When a difficult thought or feeling shows up, try naming it: "There's anxiety," "There's the unworthiness thought." Don't analyse it, argue with it, or try to fix it. Just notice it's there. This sounds easier than it is. Your mind will want to engage. That's okay. Keep practicing.

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Make physical space. Put your hand on your chest or stomach where you feel the emotion. Breathe into it. Imagine making room for it rather than bracing against it. Some days this will feel impossible. Do it anyway, even badly.

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Label what you're feeling. "I'm feeling anxious," "I'm feeling ashamed," "I'm noticing the intrusive thought." Labelling creates a small gap between you and the experience. Sometimes that gap is all you need.

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Drop the rope. Imagine you're in a tug-of-war with your anxiety or intrusive thoughts. Acceptance is dropping the rope. You're not winning or losing. You're just stopping the fight. This will feel like giving up. It's not. It's refusing to play the game anymore.

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Bring it with you. Rather than waiting for the feeling to pass before you act, take it with you. Go to the event with the anxiety. Write the email with the self-doubt. Have the conversation with the fear of vulnerability. This is terrifying. Do it in small steps if you need to.

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Work with support. Therapy, particularly ACT or other acceptance-based approaches, gives you space to practice this with guidance. Conversations with trusted people about your emotions and vulnerabilities help. Self-compassion practices help. De-shaming work helps. You don't have to do this alone, and frankly, you probably shouldn't try to.

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The key is changing what you do with difficult feelings, not changing the feelings themselves. Some days you'll manage it. Other days you won't. Both are part of the process.

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My own experience

I became someone who was highly scared of appearing vulnerable. I believed, deeply, that others wouldn't accept this, that I was being pathetic. My learned behaviours were to say "I'm fine," to be perfectionistic, to be hyper-competitive. Anything to avoid showing weakness.

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Those strategies worked in some ways. They kept me functional. But they also kept me disconnected, from myself and from other people.

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Learning to be more accepting has been a lifelong pursuit. On some level, part of me will always believe that being vulnerable equals being pathetic, that I am worthless. I haven't fixed that. I've learned how to accept that those beliefs are there, and to commit to living differently anyway. Some days I manage it. Other days I don't.

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But the alternative, staying in that pattern of denial and control, was making me smaller. Acceptance, even when it's uncomfortable, has made my life bigger.

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Why acceptance often feels impossible

Let me be direct about why this is so hard.

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In OCD, acceptance means sitting with "I might be a bad person" or "something terrible might happen" without doing anything to prove otherwise. Your entire system is screaming at you that this is dangerous.

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In anxiety, it means facing situations that every part of you is telling you to avoid.

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In grief, it means acknowledging a reality you desperately don't want to be true.

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Of course it feels impossible. That's not a sign you're doing it wrong. That's a sign you're doing something genuinely difficult, something that goes against years of learned survival strategies.

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If acceptance felt easy, you'd have done it already.

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The conscious changing of what we do

Acceptance isn't about changing how you feel. It's about changing what you do with how you feel.

Instead of suppressing, you notice.

Instead of avoiding, you stay present.
Instead of fighting, you make room.
Instead of trying to fix it, you let it be there while you do what matters.

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It's not easy, especially when life has hardwired less helpful coping mechanisms. But it's possible. And it's essential.

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The paradox

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Here's what often happens when you stop fighting your thoughts and feelings: they lose some of their power. Not always. Not immediately. Not completely. But gradually.

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Acceptance doesn't make difficult experiences disappear. But it changes your relationship with them. You can feel anxious and still go to the party. You can have the intrusive thought and still cook dinner. You can carry grief and still laugh.

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That's psychological flexibility. That's what acceptance makes possible.

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And honestly? Some days you'll get there. Other days you'll be back in the struggle, fighting with yourself, feeling like you've learned nothing. That's part of it too. Acceptance isn't a destination you reach and stay at. It's something you practice, imperfectly, for as long as you need to.

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Be kind to yourself in the process.