You Are Never Stuck. That’s a Lie You Tell Yourself.

In her book The Let Them Theory, Mel Robbins makes a striking claim:

“You are never stuck. That’s a lie you tell yourself.”

I’ll be honest — I’ve been meaning to dive into The Let Them Theory for a while. It’s one of those widely popular self-help books that kept popping up on my radar, and I’m so glad I finally picked it up. The idea that feeling stuck is a lie we tell ourselves really resonated with me, especially in my work with clients. It’s a perspective that can shift how we think about our challenges, our choices, and what it means to move forward in life.

At first glance, Robbins' claim might sound harsh — especially if you’re someone who truly feels stuck. You might be thinking, “But I do feel stuck. I don’t see a way forward.” As a psychologist, I want to unpack what this actually means, and why it might be one of the most freeing, compassionate things you could acknowledge.

What Does It Mean That You’re Never Stuck?

When Robbins says “You are never stuck — that’s a lie you tell yourself,” she’s not saying your emotions aren’t real. The heaviness, frustration, fear, and helplessness you might feel in difficult moments are absolutely valid — and I hear them in my therapy office every day.

When clients tell me they feel stuck, I don’t secretly think, “You’re lying to yourself.” In fact, I know how incredibly hard and lonely that place can feel — because I’ve been there, too. I know the ache of believing there’s no good way forward, like every option is overwhelming or impossible.

What this idea points to, though, is that while you may feel stuck, the reality is that there’s usually more choice and agency available than your current story allows you to see. And I don’t view these moments as a flaw or failure — I see them as a signal. A sign that there’s something unspoken, something protective, or something scary hiding underneath.

Why It’s Helpful to Acknowledge This

When we realize that we’re not truly stuck — but that our minds have convinced us we are — it opens the door to something powerful: choice.
It invites us to gently ask:

  • What story am I telling myself about why there’s no way forward?

  • What fear is keeping me here?

  • What would it mean if I admitted that there might actually be options — even if they’re uncomfortable, scary, or difficult?

It’s not about blaming yourself — it’s about getting curious.

And when clients begin to untangle these deeper layers, I often see a shift. Not immediate, fearless action, but a softening. A small crack in the heaviness. That’s where real, meaningful change starts.

What to Know If You’re in This Place — And What to Do Next

If you’re in a season where you feel stuck right now:

  • Know that I deeply feel for you. It’s a terrible, disorienting, exhausting place to be.

  • Know that it doesn’t mean you’re broken, weak, or failing.

  • Know that there’s often more underneath, and it’s okay to go slowly as you start to explore it.

So what can you do when you realize you’re here?

First — name it. Even saying to yourself, “Wow, I feel really stuck right now,” is a meaningful first step. It moves you from being fully consumed by the feeling to becoming an observer of it.

Then, gently ask yourself:

  • What story am I telling myself about why I have no choices?

  • What am I afraid might happen if I made a move, set a boundary, spoke up, or took a risk?

  • Is there a small, manageable step I can take — even if it’s just gathering information, journaling, or talking it out with someone safe?

You don’t have to leap. You don’t have to have it all figured out. Sometimes the next right thing is something tiny:

  • Admitting the truth to yourself.

  • Saying “I’m not ready yet, but I’m starting to see what’s keeping me here.”

  • Asking for help.

  • Letting yourself feel what you’ve been avoiding.

The goal isn’t to force yourself out of the place you’re in immediately — it’s to start creating a little more honesty, a little more awareness, and a little more space. And those small, quiet shifts? They matter. They add up.

Therapy is a safe space for that process. It’s not about pushing you faster than you’re ready — it’s about gently getting curious together, without judgment, and finding those small steps that lead toward clarity, courage, and eventually, movement.

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