Stop Trying to Stop: Why “Stop” Goals Fail (and What Works Instead)

Most people think about change every day.
But few think about it in a cheerful, upbeat way: “Today I’ll anchor a new good habit.”
More often, the thought comes with a quiet hint of regret: “Why did I do that again?”

I reached for sweets instead of something nourishing.
I stayed up too late watching series.
I still haven’t built a consistent exercise routine.
Thirty minutes vanished into social media — almost without noticing.

Often it’s exactly these moments — small slips and “here we go again” situations — that spark the desire to change. A gap opens up between what I meant to do and what I actually did. Between what I value and how I live, day to day.

That gap can feel like many things: irritation, frustration, a sense of failure. Sometimes it even comes with a brief wave of hopelessness: why is this so hard for me? And because the feeling is loud, it fills the room. My thinking narrows to what didn’t work.

That’s why our habit thinking often starts with what we want to stop. Not with “How do I build something good?” but with “How do I get rid of this?” It makes sense: a “bad habit” is visible. It feels like a mistake that should be removed.

But letting go of a bad habit is hard for at least two reasons.

First, we often treat habits as a question of willpower, when they’re mostly autopilot. A habit follows a simple loop: cue, action, reward. When you’re tired, stressed, or in a familiar setting, the brain reaches for the fastest route it knows.

Second, the world around us makes certain routes unusually easy. Many “bad habits” are tied to things our environment keeps within reach: highly tempting food, alcohol, endless scrolling, gaming, porn, impulse buying, procrastination. We live with constant availability, oversized portions, bright screens late into the night — and countless tiny invitations to “just a bit more.”

When the default path is the easy one, it’s easy to blame yourself for taking it. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I be disciplined? But bad habits are rarely pure weakness. They’re often attempts to get something quickly: relief, comfort, stimulation, escape, a break, a sense of control. They’re solutions — sometimes expensive ones — but solutions nonetheless.

This is where a small shift in wording can change the whole game.

Approach vs avoid: same change, different angle

You can usually phrase goals in two ways.

An avoid goal sounds like:
“I’ll stop X.” “I won’t do Y anymore.” “I don’t want Z.”

An approach goal sounds like:
“I’ll do A.” “I’ll build B.” “I’ll choose C.”

Avoid goals describe what you don’t want. They sound clear — but they often leave a vacuum. If you don’t do what you used to do… what happens instead?

What makes it tricky is that the conditions around the habit often stay the same. The cue is still there. The reward you’re chasing is still there. And when the cue and the reward remain, the action slot rarely stays empty. It gets filled — sometimes by the same old route.

Approach goals fill that vacuum with something concrete. They give your brain a simple script for the moment the old habit tries to start. That’s why approach goals tend to work better in real life. They’re not just “more positive” language — they’re easier to execute because they describe behavior.

A useful rule of thumb is this: if your goal is phrased as “I’ll stop X,” translate it into “I’ll do Y.” “I’ll stop evening snacking” becomes: I eat a proper evening meal at 8 pm, then make tea. “I won’t use my phone in bed” becomes: I charge my phone in the kitchen and read for ten minutes. And “I won’t stress at work” becomes more realistic as: I do a three-minute reset before meetings.

The difference matters. Avoid goals tell you what you want to move away from. Approach goals tell you what you’ll do instead. And with habits, the instead is often everything. When the old conditions remain — the same fatigue, the same place, the same time — empty space rarely stays empty. Change becomes easier when you don’t leave a gap, but build a new route there — clear enough and easy enough to repeat.

This is also a kinder way to look at yourself. When you see repeated behavior as a pattern, it stops sounding like identity. It starts sounding like a system you can adjust: what happens right before the action, what you’re trying to get through the action, and what new action could meet the same need at a lower cost.

If you want to make this practical, choose one recurring moment and one new action. Decide it in advance, and make it easy to follow through. You don’t have to solve everything at once. It’s enough if the next moment is built slightly differently than the previous one.

You are not the problem. The pattern is — and patterns can be changed.