We all have them—those little routines or habits that we turn to when life feels overwhelming. For me, it’s my black Amazon notebook and a red ballpoint pen.
It sits on my desk, light in weight but heavy with words. The pages curve from wear as it’s been tossed in every bag I own, as it’s turned into being a passenger with the rest of my things. Writing has always been my sanctuary, where my thoughts can find clarity.
I picked up this habit when I was a little girl, an anxious ten-year-old who couldn’t tell the McDonalds worker what she wanted to eat on her own, never raised a hand in class, and preferred to occupy the corner of a room during social gatherings. Instead, I would write. Words on paper became my voice when speaking felt impossible.
Over the years, writing paved the way for me to process emotions. It became my emotional crutch.
According to Google, an emotional crutch is “a coping mechanism that can cause people to ignore reality and prevent them from thinking logically.” These can be objects, activities, or even relationships people rely on too much. Society often labels them as weaknesses, and for years, I believed that too. I felt ashamed of needing something to rely on. Something that gave me a comfort pillow during the tough times.
As the years passed, I realized they’re instruments of resilience.
On July 23, 2019, my mother called early that morning. My father had been in a near-fatal motorcycle accident on his way to work. Instantly, everything in my world shattered. A cold numbness washed over my body, and I found myself sinking into the floor I was standing on. She told me another driver had failed to stop at an intersection while my father was crossing through, causing a head-on collision. The universe suddenly felt cruel.
For two months, I sat beside my father’s hospital bed while he recovered. Many emotions appeared at the thought of losing a loved one, especially a parent. It consumed me most days and that’s when I turned to my familiar comforts—writing, working, shopping, and hanging out with friends.
During those days, I couldn’t fully grasp that my emotional crutches were a form of survival. The distraction gave me stability during an unpredictable time. Thinking back, I notice now how it gave me the space to process my emotions at my own pace.
It wasn’t until I started therapy in my twenties that I began to untangle the emotions that tied those habits together.
At first, it felt strange and uncomfortable to voice my thoughts outside my notebook. To sit in front of a stranger and express emotions I kept bottled up for years. It seemed impossible for me. Yet, it brought me a sense of relief that no routine or distraction ever had.
Therapy became my new crutch—one of release and reflection. It allowed me to dive deep into my past when that careless driver struck my father and find strength in resilience.
I learned that it is acceptable to lean on therapy and hobbies. When we rely on things too much, there’s a problem. These things can remove us from reality to a point where we don’t even need to address our stress anymore. That’s when it becomes unhealthy.
Well, these things may not be harmful on their own. They can become problematic when used exclusively and excessively. For example, alcohol, drugs, nicotine, television, video games, internet shopping, junk food, and the list goes on. It’s important to label which ones are supportive, and which ones are damaging.
So, I invite you to look at your emotional crutches and notice this: they’re part of your journey. Use them to heal, to flourish, and as a reminder that strength looks different for everybody, and that’s okay.