Breaking Habits Is Like Tearing Off Duct Tape From a Hairy Arm.

It stings. It’s uncomfortable. But sometimes, it’s the only way to stop the bleeding.

Listen—we all fall into patterns, especially the cozy kind that seem like they’ll protect us when the lights go out and the neighbors start looting toilet paper again. We’ve built these castles of canned goods and duct-taped dreams, clutching old-school prepping advice like it’s gospel. And maybe it once worked. Maybe. But the world’s different now. Faster. Meaner. More fragile.

And still… so many folks are just pretending. LARPing the apocalypse like it’s a weekend at Comic-Con. Wearing tactical pants but can’t even boil water without Wi-Fi.

We’ve got to talk about the elephant in the bunker: most “prepping” is outdated, performative, and tragically half-baked. So, when the SHTF—and oh, it will—what’s your actual plan?

Let’s shake up the dust. We’ll call out the broken methods, the mental deadweight, and maybe (just maybe) nudge you toward prepping that actually saves lives—not egos.

1. “When It Hits, I’ll Head for the Hills” – The Woodsman Delusion

Alright. First of all, are you okay? Because this plan? It’s fantasy at best—delusion at worst.

You think you’ll grab your bug-out bag (which, let’s be honest, is probably packed with mismatched gear and expired granola bars), vanish into the trees, and become some mix of Grizzly Adams and a ninja? No. Stop it. That’s how you get eaten by a raccoon—or worse—starvation with a side of hypothermia.

I remember once—true story—I tried to “rough it” for three days in a state forest with nothing but what I thought was a brilliant setup. Firestarter. MREs. A “survival” blanket that turned out to be glorified tinfoil. By night two, I was cold, miserable, slightly hallucinating, and deeply regretting life choices. And that was with cell signal.

Also, fun fact: if SHTF, you won’t be alone in those woods. Every half-baked prepper and panicked suburban dad is gonna have the same idea. Imagine Walmart on Black Friday—but with guns and no toilets.

Try this instead:
Build your base at home. Fortify it. Stock it. Love it. Prepare to stay unless you’re forced to run. But if you do have to bug out? Have a real plan. A known destination. A safe location with supplies. Not some vague idea of “the mountains.”

And please—go camping before the end times. If the last tent you touched was in Boy Scouts… you’re not ready.

2. “I Got 100 Cans of Corn, So I’m Set for a Year” – The Caloric Coma Approach

OK, first off—why corn? Why always corn? Nobody craves corn in a crisis.

Let’s talk hoarding. People stack food like it’s currency, and sure, you need calories. But here’s the problem: a pyramid of canned goods doesn’t make you prepared—it makes you bloated, malnourished, and probably vitamin-deficient. (Enjoy scurvy with your beans, Captain.)

Look, we’re not trying to take away your beloved #10 cans of creamed whatever, but storing only shelf-stable carbs is prepping like it’s 1979. It’s passive. Lazy, even. You need nutrients. You need protein. You need something green, for heaven’s sake.

Also, some of y’all are “storing” food the same way raccoons hoard shiny things—random, disorganized, and half-eaten.

Upgrade the strategy:

• Build a rotating pantry—actually eat what you store, and replenish.
• Learn preservation skills—dehydrating, fermenting, pressure canning.
• Plant something. Even if it’s herbs in a windowsill. Anything.
• Raise rabbits (they breed like… well, rabbits).
• Add vitamins to your preps. Multis. Electrolytes. Collagen powder, maybe. Why not?

Food isn’t just survival—it’s morale. In a collapse, that can of beef stew will taste like Thanksgiving if you’ve done it right. But if you’re choking down rice dust with no salt? Enjoy your existential crisis.

3. “I’ve Got ALL the Gear” – AKA The Tactical Toy Collector Syndrome

Oh man. This one’s a doozy.

You’ve seen them, right? Or are them? Folks who treat prepping like Pokémon—gotta collect ’em all. Tactical watches. Paracord bracelets. Flashlights that double as tasers. Probably even a ghillie suit they’ve never worn outside the house.

And none of it’s ever been used. Or tested. Or even understood.

I once saw a guy show off a $600 bushcraft knife. I asked him how often he used it. He said, “Never. It’s for the apocalypse.” I said, “So… when the world ends, that’s when you’ll start learning to use it?”

He didn’t laugh.

Gear is great—but it’s not the goal. A chainsaw doesn’t make you a lumberjack. A compass doesn’t make you Magellan. And a trauma kit doesn’t do squat if you can’t handle blood.

What actually matters?

• Skills. Go take a class. First aid. Hunting. Land navigation.
• Drills. Run a mock blackout. Turn off the breakers for a weekend.
• Stress-testing. Ever tried cooking without power? Bathing without a tap? No? Then you’re just collecting toys.

Use the gear. Break it. Replace it. Learn it like muscle memory.

Also—consider this: if you had to evacuate on foot… would you really carry that 80-pound backpack of gizmos? Yeah. Didn’t think so.

4. “The Government Will Step In… Eventually” – The Dangerous Daydream

Whew. You really wanna talk about faith? Let’s talk about believing the system will save you.

I mean—bless your heart—but FEMA’s not coming. Or if they are, it’s with clipboards, cold soup, and instructions to “stay calm.”

We saw what happened during Katrina. Puerto Rico. Even Ohio’s train derailment. Systems break. Politicians posture. Bureaucracy crawls. Meanwhile, your street’s underwater and the neighbors are fighting over batteries.

Depending on disaster response is not a plan. It’s a prayer. And prayers don’t purify water.

Want to do better?

• Act like you’re on your own. Because you will be.
• Build a layered system of redundancy: water, power, shelter, heat, comms.
• Store paper maps. Create rally points. Prep for grid-down scenarios like it’s not sci-fi.
• Teach your kids what to do if you’re separated. Make it a game. Scavenger hunt style. It sticks better.

Trust in yourself. Trust in your tribe. Institutions are slow-moving glaciers. You’ve got to be the wildfire.

5. “I Work Alone” – The Lone Wolf Fantasy That’s Mostly Tragic

This one hits different.

It’s not just a prepper problem—it’s a human pride thing. We think going solo is strength. That depending on others is weakness. And sure, if Hollywood taught us anything, it’s that the brooding loner with the mysterious past always makes it to the credits.

Real life? Not so much.

I tried it once. Decided I’d do a solo weekend bug-out test. No help. No backup. By Day 2, I’d sliced my hand open on a can lid, ran out of clean water, and hadn’t slept more than two hours. Every sound in the woods was either a coyote or a branch waiting to kill me.

People need people. Especially when SHTF.

So what’s better than rugged individualism?

• Build a small group. Four to six people. Diverse skills. Tight bonds.
• Trust carefully—but trust someone.
• Form mutual aid circles. Trade skills and resources now, not later.
• Prep with neighbors quietly. You’d be shocked what the retired mechanic down the street knows.

Lone wolves? They’re dramatic. But packs survive.

The Big, Sloppy, Unfiltered Truth: You’re Not Ready. Not Yet. But You Can Be.

Here’s the uncomfortable thing nobody wants to say out loud:

Most people prepping are sleepwalking through it. They’re cosplaying. They buy the cool gadgets. Stock the wrong food. Assume they’ll become a survivalist by default when the lights flicker.

But the grid doesn’t care about your gear. Collapse won’t pause for your training montage. And the next crisis won’t come with a soundtrack or a second chance.

So—what are you actually gonna do when the trucks stop running? When the ATMs blink out? When your neighbor starts pounding on your door with fear in his eyes and nothing in his fridge?

If your answer is “I don’t know,” then dammit, start knowing. Today. Not tomorrow. Not next payday.

Final Push: Get Uncomfortable. Get Real. Get Ready.

Forget prepping like it’s a Pinterest board.

Start training like you expect the worst—but plan to outlast it. Challenge yourself. Break your routines. Make mistakes now, when there’s still time to fix them.

Because someday? There won’t be time. No warnings. Just silence—and then the noise.

Break free from the fantasy.

Prep like your kids depend on it.
Because they do.