By Manfred Kets de Vries
Mental health is a deeply personal pursuit, and for many of us, it’s something we chase quietly — through apps, conversations, books, routines. We want peace, stability, and connection. But just as there are countless ways to nurture our mental well-being, there are also many quiet, familiar habits that may chip away at it. Not dramatically. Not suddenly. But slowly, subtly — so gradually we often don’t realise what’s happening until we feel stuck, exhausted, or numb.
What makes these habits tricky is that they rarely scream “danger.” Instead, they blend seamlessly into modern life, looking like routine, convenience, or self-care. But over time, they can erode our mental stability, emotional resilience, and even our sense of self.
Let’s begin with one of the most common culprits: our digital lives. We reach for our mobile phones instinctively — to check the news, reply to a message, or scroll through social media for “just a second.” Before we know it, entire hours vanish. What starts as a quick dopamine hit becomes a loop of endless scrolling, a passive journey through other people’s curated lives, global crises, and internet debates we didn’t ask to be part of. These screens start to replace real engagement with the world around us. They numb discomfort and boredom but also steal opportunities for reflection, stillness, or meaningful connection. What’s more, over time, this digital preoccupation becomes more than just a habit — it becomes a way of coping. A tool to fill every quiet moment, to avoid thoughts we don’t want to face. It is a kind of “manic defence.” But what we don’t always see is that while we scroll to feel connected, we often end up feeling more isolated, more anxious, more restless.
And it’s not just our phones. Television and streaming have taken on new roles in our lives. What was once an evening ritual has become a background hum to our days. We binge entire seasons, calling it “relaxation,” but often finish feeling drained rather than restored. When fictional worlds feel more engaging than our own, or when a character’s storyline feels more emotionally satisfying than our relationships, it may be a sign that we’re not just escaping — we’re withdrawing.
There’s also the tone of much of the media we consume. Negative, intense, and emotionally charged content is everywhere — from documentaries about crime to dystopian dramas to anxiety-fueled reality TV. It’s compelling, sure. But consistently exposing ourselves to negativity and fear — especially at the end of a long day — can distort how we see the world. We may become more suspicious, more overwhelmed, more convinced that danger is always just around the corner. Our minds absorb the tone of what we feed them.
All of this leads to a quiet drift away — from the present moment, from our bodies, and from the natural world. We live in hyperconnected digital spaces, yet many of us rarely go outside. Green spaces, fresh air, and sunlight fade into the background as work, entertainment, and social lives revolve around screens. Days pass without stepping outdoors; weeks go by without feeling the sun on our skin. Movement becomes optional. Our environments shrink to a few familiar rooms. And slowly, our bodies respond — not with sudden breakdowns, but with creeping fatigue, restless sleep, mental fog, and a vague malaise that’s hard to name but unmistakable once it takes hold.
We’re told that exercise is a cure-all, a magic bullet for mental and physical health. Regular physical activity improves mood, energy, and reduces risk of disease. But for many people, it feels unreachable. We associate it with high-effort routines or picture-perfect fitness influencers. If we can’t do it “right,” we often don’t do it at all. All too often inertia takes over. We choose the couch, more sweets.
Our minds and moods are deeply connected to how we use our bodies. When we stop moving, we begin to feel stuck — physically, mentally, and emotionally. At the same time, the ways we cope with daily life can disrupt our sleep. Yet quality, consistent rest is essential for memory, emotional balance, and a strong immune system.
Our eating habits are often shaped by the same emotional undercurrents that affect other areas of our wellbeing. While a balanced diet supports brain function and physical vitality, many of us fall into patterns of eating too much or too little, at irregular times, and often without mindfulness. Food becomes a source of comfort, a distraction, or a way to exert control when life feels chaotic. The result is a physical state that reflects our emotional one — drained, disoriented, and weighed down.
In these moments, we may also turn to self-medication — not necessarily through hard substances, but through culturally accepted coping mechanisms. More wine than usual, more shopping under the label of “treating yourself.” And these actions become substitutes for addressing what we’re really feeling. Emotional avoidance can look productive, soothing, even indulgent. But it doesn’t resolve what lies beneath.
Alongside physical habits, our inner dialogue can quietly become one of our biggest sources of distress. One common pattern is overthinking what others think about us. We might replay conversations in our heads, scrutinise our tone of voice, regret something we said, or worry we were misunderstood. Social anxiety doesn’t always look like panic — it often looks like hyper-analysis. Every emoji becomes a message, every silence a sign. We start managing not just our own emotions but imagining and trying to control how others perceive us.
This internal noise can be amplified by a lack of structure — or too much of it. Some people drift through days without clear routines, losing track of time, tasks, or even meals. Others swing to the opposite extreme, over-scheduling every moment in a bid to feel in control. Neither extreme provides real peace. Too little structure can lead to anxiety and indecision; too much can lead to burnout. We need a certain rhythm — not rigidity.
In vulnerable moments, we may find ourselves drawn to people who reflect our deepest fears. Sometimes, without realising it, we seek out toxic relationships — those that reinforce our doubts, feed our cynicism, or confirm a belief that life is mostly disappointing. These individuals may not be openly harmful, but their presence fuels the part of us that feels hopeless or small, making it harder to imagine growth or change. As inherently social beings, we need meaningful connection — but we don’t always make the effort to seek out supportive family, friends, or community. Gradually, this lack of positive connection can lead to loneliness, which often gives rise to emotional and psychological distress.
Over time, we may forget what joy looks like in our own hands. We forget to create small moments of happiness — the song we love, the walk for no reason, the tiny celebration after finishing something that was quite difficult. And these moments is what life is made of. Mental health isn’t just about avoiding harm; it’s about remembering to add delight, laughter, and lightness to our days. These things don’t just “happen” — they require intentional effort, especially when we’re struggling.
At the root of many of these patterns is a quiet, persistent feeling that we don’t own our own lives — that we don’t control our life choices. We seem to have a lack of control over our own decisions. We follow paths laid out by others — parents, schools, specific cultural patterns, or a version of ourselves from five years ago. We check boxes. We meet expectations. But we often forget to ask what we actually want. Life can look “fine” on the outside but feel hollow inside when our choices aren’t aligned with our values or needs.
In the process, creativity gets pushed aside. The part of us that wants to paint, write, sing, build, or explore becomes buried under perfectionism or fear of judgment. We are reluctant to learn new things. We stop expressing ourselves, not because we don’t care, but because it feels safer not to try. But creativity isn’t about being brilliant — it’s about being present. Avoiding it is like closing a window on your own voice.
The pressure to perform often seeps into our relationships. We prioritise being likeable over being authentic, saying yes when we want to say no, and downplaying our needs to avoid conflict. Even when those around us seem content, we can feel disconnected from ourselves — stuck, unfulfilled, and unseen. We forget that open, honest expression is what truly builds trust and empathy. The approval of others can be a powerful drug, but it rarely fills the emptiness that comes from not being true to who we are.
We often remain in jobs, relationships, and routines that no longer serve us — not out of comfort, but out of fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of change. Fear of admitting that we’re not okay. But staying too long becomes its own form of suffering. It may not be loud or dramatic, but it slowly wears us down. We overlook a simple truth: social belonging is essential to a fulfilling life. Feeling connected to a group or community isn’t just comforting — it significantly enhances our sense of meaning and satisfaction.
And through it all, we avoid facing the big things — the conversation we’ve been dreading, the health concern we keep brushing off. Also, we fail to see how financial strain can ripple through every aspect of our wellbeing. Instead, we channel our energy into anything but the problem — cleaning, organising, overworking, numbing. It’s not laziness or weakness; it’s again a kind of “manic” defence, a way to stay busy enough to avoid the discomfort. Beneath it all, we lose our sense of direction and purpose — both vital to our psychological wellbeing. And the longer we delay, the heavier it all becomes.
So what can you do?
If you recognise these behaviour patterns in yourself, it doesn’t mean you’re broken. It doesn’t mean you’ve failed. It just means you’re human. You are trying to do your best in a world that doesn’t always support your well-being. But the truth is that these habits aren’t isolated. They intertwine, forming a quiet web of behaviours that may affect you negatively. What makes it harder is that, on some level, you often know you’re doing it. You joke about it, bond over it, laugh with a wince as you recognise yourself in articles like this. That uncomfortable self-awareness? It’s not a flaw. It’s a starting point.
Because these habits, while powerful, aren’t permanent. They don’t define who you are — but left unchecked, they do shape how you live. They become the quiet architects of stress, disconnection, and dissatisfaction. But just as they were built over time, they can also be unbuilt.
Change doesn’t require a dramatic overhaul. It begins with something smaller: noticing. Acknowledging what’s happening. Seeing the patterns for what they are. Naturally, that kind of honesty takes courage — and it’s the first crack in the wall. From that place of self-awareness, something shifts. A little space opens up. And in that space, something new can begin.
Oddly enough, humour can be part of the healing. If you can see the absurdity of your own spiral — even just a little — you’ve already taken a step back from it. You’re not fully inside it anymore. And that perspective? It matters. It means you’re already in motion.
And from here, change can happen — not all at once, and not perfectly, but piece by piece. Maybe today, you eat something nourishing. Maybe tomorrow, you step outside just to feel the air. Maybe you write something you’ll never share. Maybe you listen to a song that reminds you of who you were before the fog settled in. This is how this downward spiral can slow down — not with big declarations, but with quiet choices made in your own favour. Choices that say, I want more than survival. I want to feel alive again.
Because mental health isn’t a destination — it’s a journey. One that begins again, and again, every day. Some days it will feel awkward. Some days it will feel pointless. But slowly, those choices add up. And with time, the habits that once held you down can start to loosen their grip. Awareness opens the door. Self-kindness helps you walk through it. And little by little, you can begin to build a life that feels more like your own.