A few months ago, I caught myself saying yes to an ask that every part of me wanted to decline. It was a small thing, an extra favor squeezed into an already overflowing week, but I agreed to do it reflexively. Doing so gave me a quick hit of “feel-good”—and maybe helped me avoid a bit of guilt or shame for not showing up too.

Eight years after removing alcohol as my main point of escapism, I still see more subtle “dimmers,” as I now call them, occasionally creep into my life. This one—toxic generosity, or being helpful or generous as an escapist tactic—looks kind, helpful, and virtuous. But it dims me just the same, blurring inner signals and letting me avoid stillness, which often includes discomfort.

That’s the tricky part about dimmers: Once you shed one, another often steps up, dressed more acceptably, ready to take over the job of protecting us from what we don’t want to feel.

What exactly is a dimmer?

A dimmer is anything we use, often unconsciously, to soothe, numb, distract, or help bypass a feeling we’re not ready to experience. Some dimmers are obvious, like alcohol or overeating. Others are polished and socially “approved”: overworking, overgiving, perfectionism, multitasking, doomscrolling, saying yes when we mean no.

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Dimmers aren’t failures. They are strategies. They help us soften difficult times when we think we don’t have better tools. But they also quietly disconnect us from ourselves, our intuition, our needs, and our sense of presence. Over time, they keep us from living in a way that feels fully ours.

Why we use dimmers

Most of us weren’t taught how to sit with discomfort. Instead, we learn how to dodge it from a young age. Tough day at school? Let’s go get an ice cream cone. Disturbed about something that happened with a friend? Let’s go watch a show. Sad about that breakup? How about a drink, dessert, or shopping spree?

When life feels overwhelming, stressful, or emotionally charged, our nervous systems push us toward whatever offers quick relief. Dimmers help us avoid the spike of tough feelings before a cry, the ache of loneliness, the fear of disappointing someone, or the exhaustion of an unsustainable pace. They smooth the edges. They help us postpone tough decisions. We think they buy us time. They offer a predictable, little escape. And so many are so socially sanctioned—even encouraged.

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Understanding this matters, because it replaces self-judgment with curiosity and grace. The question isn’t Why can’t I stop doing this? Instead, it becomes What is this dimmer helping me avoid, and what can I learn from that?

How to spot your dimmers

Recognizing your dimmers is not about shame. It’s about reclaiming choice. Most of shifting away from these habits is noticing them first.

Notice what you reach for when you’re depleted. Phone, wine, inbox, fridge, sugar, the extra project you didn’t need to volunteer for. Your go-to comfort may be a direct guide to your dimmer.

Track micro-escapes. What are the “just five minutes” that turn into 30? These are dimmer zones.

Look at where you disappear from yourself. If you check out or become someone else around certain people or routines, that’s a sign.

Pay attention to the habits you defend most. “Don’t touch this—I need it” is dimmer language. We might notice this come up if someone gets between us and something we feel we need to self-soothe, like a drink, time on social media, or even certain kinds of food (sugar being a common culprit).

Listen to your body. Your body usually whispers before your brain catches up: think tension, shallow breathing, irritation, the urge to bolt.

How to stop your dimmers

Replace numbing with noticing. Before the dimmer kicks in, pause long enough to ask: What’s really happening inside me right now? Naming the feeling reduces its grip.

Add a micro-pause. 10 seconds. One breath. A hand on heart. The pause interrupts the reflex.

Swap in one simple alternative. Instead of scrolling, step outside for five minutes. Instead of a stress drink, drink water or tea and breathe slowly. Instead of a reflexive “Yes,” say, “Let me think about that.”

Practice micro-clarity moments. These are tiny rituals that return us to ourselves, like one full breath or brief walk before responding to a tough email. A 10-minute break before any alcoholic drink. Both feet on the ground for the count of 10 when we feel rushed. These small cues remind our nervous systems that we’re the ones here and driving—not the impulse.

Remove one dimmer for seven days. A favorite. This is not a permanent decision or a long-term commitment. Call it an “experiment” (though my 30 days of being alcohol-free turned into eight-plus years!). Try just a week. Choose one moderate dimmer to cut: using your phone in bed, multitasking during meals, drinking your evening wine, people-pleasing. Notice what returns. It could be energy, intuition, presence—maybe even extra time or money. You might be surprised how quickly agency and clarity feel like superpowers.

After saying yes to something I didn’t want to do (again), I finally paused long enough to feel what I’d been avoiding: my own terrible version of an impostor complex. It wasn’t huge, but it was real—a voice in my head asking, If I am not busy, what am I? I still followed through with the favor, but adjusted it to my terms: doing it at a time when I felt less rushed (and honestly, a bit less imposed upon).

That’s the invitation around exploring our dimmers. They’re not villains. They’re coping strategies we have the capacity to outgrow. The work is noticing when we’re dimming and choosing, gently but honestly, to return to ourselves with curiosity and grace.

Undimming isn’t dramatic. It’s refusing to ghost ourselves. Paying attention, telling the truth (to ourselves and others!), and staying present long enough to feel what’s real. It’s not sexy, but certainly can be life-changing.