There’s a cruel irony in how we spiral downward. In that spiralling tends to beget more spiralling, thanks to momentum. When we most need to move, we want to stay still. When we most need connection, we isolate. When we most need to create, we consume. The very things that would lift us feel impossibly heavy when we’re sinking.
But there’s something I’ve noticed. After a while of not writing, working out, or speaking to someone, I forget what I was afraid of right after doing it again. I had a 2-week break from the gym and started to dread going back—but once I got there, I didn’t want to leave. I sometimes get anxious about what to write each week, but once I start thinking, researching and find what has also been on my mind lately that I want to express, it starts feeling like magic. And I hadn’t done a long bike ride in a few years, worried about pushing further than I was now used to. Then I nearly hit the 5-hour mark yesterday, and despite the suffering, I cannot wait to go again.
One step creates the next. One word leads to another. One breath makes the second easier.
From what I’ve learned about getting stuck and spiralling, put it this way: the way up isn’t mysterious, it’s just counter-intuitive; it’s not that we don’t know what to do, it’s that what we need to do feels wrong in the moment.
For example, you’re sick. And you know exactly what will help—rest, fluids, maybe some medicine. The way up from there isn’t mysterious, but when we’re emotionally or mentally stuck, we somehow expect the solution to be complex or hidden. The truth is, the actions that’ll lift us are usually simple and obvious: move your body, connect with someone, create something, get outside, clean your space. Things that have worked for thousands of years. We’ve experienced these things working well before. So there is no mystery. It’s just doing the obvious good things when they feel impossible to do. Your mind whispers “isolate” when calling that friend is what breaks the spell. It says “scroll your phone” when reading a book would nourish you better.
Isabel Unravelled does a brilliant job of capturing this. In her recent work on upward spirals, she talks about this idea that “to create an upward spiral, you must act in opposition to what your low mood wants you to do”. To swim against the current that’s pulling you down and “re-establish agency, will, and momentum”. It’s lighting a fire when you’re cold. Your body tells you to curl up and conserve its own heat, making yourself smaller. But the aggrandising fact is that what will warm you properly is the opposite: moving, gathering kindling, and striking the match. Because the fire doesn’t care about how you feel; it just needs the right conditions to burn.
Years ago, I believed motivation preceded action. That I needed to feel ready to begin. But momentum is much richer. It builds from movement, however small. One step creates the next. One word leads to another. One breath makes the second easier.
Whenever I’m stuck in that familiar spiral—scrolling over creating, avoiding instead of engaging—I’ve learned to look for what I shall call “minimum viable movement”, it’s the smallest possible steps that’ll move me in the direction I want.
Sometimes it’s just standing up, sometimes it’s putting on the gym shoes. Sometimes it’s opening the document and typing a stupid sentence. The quality matters less than a movement, the same way that having fun at the gym matters more than the quality of your workout, in my view. Spiralling is about direction, not perfection.
Why do we rebel against the right action?
There’s something we don’t like about choosing the harder path when we’re already struggling. It seems incredibly obvious to ask for help or talk to people. Your mind whispers lies: “You’re tired, You deserve rest. This can wait”, when at times, it’s really not the case. When we’re stuck, we often need the opposite. Effort means a gentle friction, and that includes the warm burn of doing something difficult but good.
Isabel also includes a list of “right things”, which are a great prescription: make something you think could be beautiful, walk without your phone, call that friend or read a book (start with one page of a book you like, and trust me, it won’t be all you read).
These aren’t dramatic ideas. Just small acts of defiance against the gravity of your low mood. And if you allow it, it’s a good way to attract good energy back into your life.
We all could learn to breathe better during physical pain or emotional resistance or the discomfort of doing something right. It isn’t a sign we’re doing something wrong; it’s telling us we’re doing something necessary.
Caring has a compound effect
Upward spirals build on themselves, something you always need to remember. One small act of self-care creates space for another. Making your bed leads to cleaning your room. Taking a walk leads to calling a friend or diffusing a heated situation. Reading one page often leads to reading a chapter.
Each small choice leads to the possibility of the next slightly larger one. You don’t have to see the whole staircase—just the step in front of you. When I ride my bike uphill on a long, straight climb, I don’t stare into the horizon with tension. I pace myself to each reference point, which is far more encouraging.
The best thing about understanding this pattern is that it gives you a map for when you’re lost again. You build the agency to say, “What’s the smallest thing I can do right now?” and then do it when you don’t feel like it.
Beginning again
Let’s be honest, some days the spiral wins. Some days, you will stay in bed, scroll, avoid, and give in to the gravity of a low mood. But don’t consider it a failure. To err is human. The spiral will always be there, waiting. But so will your ability to choose differently tomorrow.
Don’t think of agency as never failing. See it as knowing how to climb back up. It’s trusting that the way up exists, even when you can’t see it. It’s about learning that the feeling of being stuck is just that—a feeling, not a permanent state.
Every upward spiral begins with a single choice to move against the current. The current will always be there. But so will you, and so will your capacity to choose again.