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Why Do I Always Think the Worst? Understanding Catastrophising

Why Do I Always Think the Worst? Understanding Catastrophising

The phone rings unexpectedly and your first thought is that something terrible has happened. Your manager asks if they can have a word and, before you’ve even reached the meeting, you’ve mentally lost your job. You notice an unusual physical sensation and ten minutes later you’re imagining the worst possible diagnosis.

Nothing terrible has actually happened yet. But your mind is already there, several chapters ahead, dealing with the disaster.

This is often called catastrophising — a thinking pattern where we predict or focus on a particularly negative outcome and begin responding emotionally as though it is likely, or sometimes inevitable.

When “might” quietly becomes “will”

Catastrophising often starts with something that is genuinely possible. That’s partly why it can be so convincing. Your manager could want to discuss a problem. An unexplained symptom could need medical attention. A person who hasn’t replied to you could be upset.

The difficulty comes when “this might happen” becomes “this probably will happen”, and then very quickly becomes “and I won’t cope when it does.”

Our bodies can join in too. Anxiety can cause very real physical sensations — a racing heart, tension, butterflies, sweating or that horrible feeling in the pit of your stomach. Those sensations can then seem like further evidence that something really is wrong.

Before long, we’re not simply considering a possibility. We’re experiencing the fear of an event that hasn’t actually happened.

Why does the mind do this?

Our brains are rather good at looking for potential threats. Being able to anticipate danger has obvious advantages. The problem is that modern life provides an enormous number of uncertainties for that threat-detection system to work with.

An unanswered email, a change in somebody’s tone, an unexpected bill, a medical appointment or a difficult conversation can all leave gaps in our knowledge. When we’re anxious, stressed or already feeling vulnerable, our minds can fill those gaps with the most threatening explanation available.

Sometimes we also believe that worrying prepares us. If we’ve already imagined every possible disaster, perhaps nothing can catch us off guard.

Unfortunately, repeatedly rehearsing the worst possible outcome doesn’t necessarily make us better prepared. Quite often, it simply means we experience the distress before we even know whether there is anything to be distressed about.

When reassurance only works for a little while

Catastrophising can also lead us to seek reassurance. We ask somebody what they think, search online, reread messages or check something repeatedly until we feel a little calmer.

There is nothing wrong with seeking information or reassurance when we genuinely need it. The difficulty is when reassurance provides relief for only a short time before the doubt returns.

Someone tells us, “I’m sure it’s fine.”

We feel better.

Then the mind says, Yes, but what if they’re wrong?

So we check again.

The reassurance reduces the anxiety temporarily, but it can also make it harder to tolerate uncertainty the next time it appears.

What CBT can help us do

CBT — Cognitive Behavioural Therapy — can be particularly useful for recognising catastrophising because it helps us slow down the jump from an uncertain situation to the worst possible conclusion.

Rather than telling yourself you’re being ridiculous or trying to force yourself to think positively, you can become curious about what your mind is predicting. You might ask yourself: What am I predicting? What evidence do I actually have? Are there other reasonable explanations? If the difficult thing did happen, what could I do?

That final question is important. Catastrophising isn’t only about overestimating how likely something bad is to happen. We can also underestimate our ability to deal with it.

You may have coped with difficult things before. You may have people you could turn to, decisions you could make or support you could access. Remembering that doesn’t guarantee a particular outcome. It simply puts your own ability to respond back into the picture.

This isn’t about pretending everything will be fine

The opposite of catastrophising isn’t telling yourself, Everything will definitely be wonderful.

None of us can promise ourselves that.

Difficult things happen. Relationships end. People become ill. Jobs change. Plans fail. Life occasionally delivers things we would very much rather it didn’t.

A more balanced response might be: “I don’t know exactly what will happen, but I don’t currently have evidence that disaster is inevitable — and if something difficult happens, I can deal with it when it happens.”

That may not sound as comforting as “everything will be fine”, but it has something important going for it: you don’t have to convince yourself of something you cannot know.

How Therapy With Gail can help

If your mind regularly races towards the worst possible outcome, Therapy With Gail can help you understand what is happening rather than simply telling you to stop worrying.

We can explore the situations that trigger these thoughts, what uncertainty feels like for you and whether previous experiences have influenced how you respond when you don’t know what is going to happen. Sometimes catastrophising sits alongside anxiety or overthinking. Sometimes it appears particularly strongly around relationships, work, health, family or periods of change.

My Person-Centred approach means there is room to understand your experience rather than treating you as a collection of unhelpful thoughts that need correcting. Where it is useful, I can also draw on CBT to help you recognise thinking patterns, examine the evidence around your predictions and find more balanced ways of responding.

The aim isn’t to turn you into someone who never worries. Worry is part of being human, particularly when something matters to us.

It’s about helping the possibility of something going wrong remain a possibility, rather than allowing it to become tomorrow’s disaster before tomorrow has even arrived.

So, the next time your mind races ten steps ahead, perhaps ask yourself one question:

Am I responding to what is actually happening, or to what I’m frightened might happen?

Sometimes there really is something that needs dealing with. Sometimes there isn’t.

And if distinguishing between the two has become difficult, Therapy With Gail can help you slow things down, understand the pattern and find a different way of responding to uncertainty.

Therapy With Gail
Counselling that makes room for real life, difficult conversations and the things we don’t always know how to say.

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Hidden Labels: The Silent Burdens We Carry

Hidden Labels: The Silent Burdens We Carry

We all carry labels. Some are given to us officially — parent, partner, colleague, manager, carer, counsellor, student. Others are quieter. They come from things people have said to us, experiences we’ve had and conclusions we’ve gradually reached about ourselves.

I’m the strong one.

I’m difficult.

I’m too sensitive.

I’m the one everybody relies on.

I’m not good enough.

I’m the sensible one.

I’m a failure.

Some labels feel positive and can become important parts of our identity. Others can become surprisingly heavy. The difficult ones are often the labels we no longer even recognise as labels. Somewhere along the way, they have simply become what we believe to be true about ourselves.

Where do our labels come from?

We begin learning about ourselves through relationships. As children, other people’s reactions can help shape our understanding of who we are and what is expected of us. As we move through life, family relationships, friendships, school, work, intimate relationships and difficult experiences can all add something to that picture.

Perhaps you were repeatedly described as shy and gradually became someone who believed they weren’t good with people. Maybe you were praised for being strong, so being vulnerable now feels uncomfortable. Perhaps you struggled with something at school and carried the belief that you weren’t clever into adulthood, despite plenty of evidence that suggests otherwise.

Sometimes labels develop from one experience. A relationship ends and this relationship didn’t work quietly becomes I’m impossible to love. Something goes wrong at work and I made a mistake becomes I’m incompetent. Somebody treats us badly and, rather than questioning their behaviour, we begin wondering what is wrong with us.

A description of something that happened can gradually become a judgement about who we are.

The labels that sound like compliments

Not every difficult label sounds negative.

Being “the strong one” can feel like a compliment. So can being reliable, independent, capable or the person who always sorts everything out. These qualities can genuinely be strengths.

But even positive labels can become restrictive if we start believing we are not allowed to be anything else.

If you’re the strong one, who looks after you when you’re struggling? If you’re the reliable one, what happens when you need to say no? If you’re independent, does asking for help feel like failure? If you’re the person everybody turns to, do you feel able to say, “I haven’t got anything left to give today”?

Sometimes the things we’re most valued for can quietly become the things we feel trapped by.

When other people’s opinions become our inner voice

After hearing something often enough, we can begin saying it to ourselves.

We may no longer need somebody else to tell us that we’re not good enough, too emotional, selfish or difficult because we’ve learnt to do the job perfectly well on our own.

That inner voice can sound remarkably convincing because it sounds like us. But not everything we think about ourselves began with us, and not everything we’ve come to believe about ourselves is necessarily true.

This doesn’t mean blaming parents, partners, teachers, employers or anybody else for every uncomfortable belief we have. People are complicated and relationships are complicated. It simply means becoming curious about where our understanding of ourselves came from.

Sometimes asking “Whose voice does that sound like?” can be an interesting place to start.

Labels can help too

It would be too simplistic to say that labels are always harmful. Sometimes finding a word for an experience can be enormously relieving. It can help us understand ourselves, communicate what we’re experiencing, find appropriate support or discover that other people experience something similar.

The problem isn’t necessarily the label. It’s what happens when the label becomes the entire story.

Human beings are more complicated than a single description. You can experience anxiety without anxiety describing everything about you. You can have made mistakes without being a failure. You can struggle with relationships without being unlovable. You can be strong and still need help.

Two things can be true at once.

What CBT can help us notice

CBT — Cognitive Behavioural Therapy — can help us identify some of the deeply held beliefs we have about ourselves and examine how they influence our thoughts and behaviour.

If somewhere underneath everything sits a belief such as I’m not good enough, everyday experiences can begin being filtered through it. Praise may be dismissed while criticism feels immediately believable. A mistake becomes proof. Success is attributed to luck.

We can begin to ask whether we’re treating a belief as a fact simply because we’ve believed it for a long time. We can look at the evidence we notice, the evidence we dismiss and whether there are other ways of understanding ourselves.

The aim isn’t to replace I’m useless with I’m absolutely brilliant at everything. Most of us wouldn’t believe that either.

It’s about developing a fuller and fairer picture.

Who are you when you don’t have to play your usual role?

Sometimes our labels are closely connected to the roles we have in other people’s lives. We become somebody’s parent, partner, carer, employee or problem-solver and can spend years concentrating on what those roles require from us.

Life changes can make this particularly noticeable. Children grow up. Relationships change or end. Careers change. Caring responsibilities alter. Retirement arrives. Someone we love dies. Suddenly, a role that occupied a huge part of our identity changes and we’re left wondering, Who am I now?

That question can feel frightening, but it can also open up possibilities.

Perhaps the answer isn’t about discovering one new label. Perhaps it’s about giving yourself permission to be more than one thing.

How Therapy With Gail can help

At Therapy With Gail, you don’t have to arrive knowing exactly who you are or why you feel the way you do. Therapy can give you space to explore the messages you’ve received about yourself, the roles you’ve taken on and the beliefs that may have followed you for years.

My Person-Centred approach means I’m interested in understanding you, rather than fitting you neatly into another box. We can explore what matters to you, what you’ve experienced and which parts of the story you’ve been carrying because they genuinely belong to you — and which parts perhaps deserve another look.

Where useful, I can also draw on CBT to explore repeated thoughts and beliefs and the ways they may influence how you see yourself, your relationships and the choices you make.

You won’t be asked to throw away every label or reinvent yourself overnight. Some parts of your identity may be enormously important to you. Others may have protected you, helped you survive difficult periods or given you a sense of belonging.

But you are allowed to question the ones that have become too heavy.

You are allowed to be capable and tired. Independent and in need of support. Confident in one part of your life and uncertain in another. Strong and vulnerable. A work in progress and still completely worthy of taking up space.

If you’ve spent a long time living according to who you think you’re supposed to be, Therapy With Gail can help you make some room to explore who you actually are.

And perhaps the most useful label isn’t a label at all.

Perhaps you’re simply a person — complicated, changing, imperfect and still becoming.

Therapy With Gail
Counselling that makes room for real life, difficult conversations and the things we don’t always know how to say.

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Always On: When Technology Starts Feeding Our Anxiety

Always On: When Technology Starts Feeding Our Anxiety

Technology has made life easier in ways that would have seemed extraordinary not very long ago. We can speak to someone on the other side of the world, work from almost anywhere, find information in seconds and carry our diaries, photographs, banking, entertainment and social lives around in our pockets.

The trouble is, we carry everything else around in there too.

Work emails arrive while we’re watching television. News follows us to bed. Messages tell us when they’ve been read. Social media gives us an almost endless supply of other people’s lives to compare with our own, and a quiet five minutes can disappear because we’ve automatically reached for our phone without even noticing.

Technology itself isn’t the enemy. But being constantly connected can sometimes leave very little space for us to switch off.

When being available becomes the expectation

There was a time when leaving work generally meant becoming much harder to contact. If somebody telephoned the house and you weren’t there, they tried again later. If a letter arrived, nobody expected an answer within six minutes.

Now, somebody can contact us almost anywhere and at almost any time. That doesn’t necessarily mean they expect an immediate response, but our minds can behave as though they do.

A message arrives and we think, I’d better answer that. An email appears and suddenly we’re thinking about tomorrow’s work. We notice somebody has read our message but hasn’t replied and begin wondering why. Even when the phone isn’t making a sound, part of our attention can remain alert for the next notification.

For people who already experience anxiety or tend to overthink, that constant stream of information can provide plenty of new material for the mind to work with.

The problem with unanswered messages

Digital communication is incredibly useful, but it removes many of the clues we normally use to understand each other. We can’t always hear tone of voice, see facial expressions or know what somebody is doing when they receive our message.

That leaves gaps, and anxious minds can be extremely creative when filling them.

They’ve read it. Why haven’t they replied?

Was my message too much?

They normally use an emoji. Why didn’t they this time?

Perhaps they’re annoyed. Or perhaps they’re driving, working, making dinner, tired, distracted, dealing with something completely unrelated to us or simply don’t feel like replying yet.

The difficult bit is that we don’t know.

As I discussed in the blog about overthinking, uncertainty can be uncomfortable. Technology can give us just enough information to start wondering without giving us enough information to actually know.

Comparing our real lives with everybody else’s edited version

Social media brings another challenge. We know logically that people tend to share selected moments of their lives, but emotionally it can still be difficult not to compare.

Someone else’s career seems to be progressing faster. Their relationship looks happier. Their children appear to be thriving. They’re travelling, exercising, renovating the kitchen and apparently making homemade bread before we’ve managed to find a matching pair of socks.

What we don’t see are all the ordinary, difficult and messy moments happening outside the photograph.

Comparison isn’t automatically harmful. Sometimes seeing what other people are doing can inspire us, connect us or introduce us to something new. The problem comes when repeatedly looking at carefully selected pieces of other people’s lives leaves us feeling that our own life somehow isn’t enough.

Then there is the news

Having access to news from around the world can help us understand what’s happening beyond our own lives. But there is a difference between being informed and being continually immersed in distressing information.

When something frightening or uncertain is happening, it can be tempting to keep checking for updates. We tell ourselves that one more search might make us feel more prepared or reassured. Sometimes it does. Quite often, ten minutes later, we’re checking again.

If you’ve ever found yourself scrolling through increasingly alarming stories late at night while simultaneously knowing that doing so isn’t helping, you’re certainly not unusual.

We don’t have to ignore what’s happening in the world. But we are allowed to decide how much access it has to us.

What CBT can help us notice

CBT — Cognitive Behavioural Therapy — can help us look at the relationship between technology, our thoughts and what we do next. Perhaps a message isn’t answered and the automatic thought is I’ve upset them. Anxiety rises, so we check the phone repeatedly or send another message looking for reassurance.

That behaviour may briefly reduce the anxiety, but it can also teach us that checking is what makes uncertainty bearable. Before long, checking itself becomes part of the cycle.

Rather than simply telling ourselves to stop, it can be useful to notice the pattern. What happened? What did I immediately think? How did that make me feel? What did I then do? Did that action help for more than a few minutes?

Sometimes understanding the cycle gives us somewhere practical to begin changing it.

Creating some breathing space

Managing our relationship with technology doesn’t necessarily require deleting every social media account, buying an old-fashioned telephone and disappearing into the countryside.

Small boundaries can make a difference. That might mean turning off notifications that aren’t genuinely useful, deciding that work emails can wait until work, leaving the phone somewhere else for part of the evening or noticing when you’re repeatedly checking for information that isn’t actually helping you.

It can also mean becoming curious about what happens when you reach for your phone. Are you bored? Lonely? Worried? Looking for reassurance? Avoiding something uncomfortable? Or are you simply checking because checking has become automatic?

There isn’t a correct amount of technology that everybody should use. The more useful question is whether the way you are using it is helping or hindering you.

How Therapy With Gail can help

If your mind rarely seems to switch off, Therapy With Gail can help you explore what is happening underneath the constant checking, worrying or need to stay connected. The aim isn’t for me to confiscate your phone or tell you how many minutes of social media you’re allowed each day. Therapy is about understanding what the behaviour means for you.

We might explore anxiety, overthinking, reassurance seeking, boundaries around work, comparison with others or the feeling that you always need to be available. We can also look at what happens when you try to disconnect and discover that your mind simply carries on scrolling without the screen.

My approach is Person-Centred, so we begin with your experience rather than assuming technology is the problem. Where useful, I can also draw on CBT to help identify the thoughts, feelings and behaviours that may be maintaining anxiety and find practical ways of responding differently.

Technology is part of modern life and it can be enormously valuable. The aim isn’t necessarily to use less of it. It’s to reach a point where you are choosing when to connect rather than feeling as though you can never disconnect.

And perhaps, occasionally, to remember that a message left unanswered for twenty minutes is just a message left unanswered for twenty minutes. The rest of the story may be something our mind has written while we’ve been waiting.

Therapy With Gail
Counselling that makes room for real life, difficult conversations and the things we don’t always know how to say.

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Why Do I Keep Saying Sorry When I Haven’t Done Anything Wrong?

“Sorry.”

It slips out almost automatically. Someone bumps into you and you apologise. You ask a perfectly reasonable question and start with “Sorry to bother you.” You disagree with somebody and somehow find yourself apologising for having a different opinion. You might even apologise for being upset when somebody else has hurt you.

Of course, saying sorry is important. Being able to recognise when we’ve hurt somebody, take responsibility and make amends is part of healthy relationships. But there is a difference between apologising because we’ve done something wrong and apologising simply for taking up space.

If “sorry” has become one of the most frequently used words in your vocabulary, it might be worth wondering what is sitting underneath it.

When apologising becomes automatic

For some people, apologising becomes almost a reflex. There isn’t necessarily a conscious thought of I’ve done something wrong. The word appears before we’ve even considered whether an apology is actually needed.

Sometimes this develops because we’ve learnt that keeping other people happy keeps relationships safe. If conflict has previously felt frightening, unpredictable or exhausting, smoothing things over quickly can become a very effective way of avoiding it. Saying sorry can reduce tension, reassure another person or bring an uncomfortable conversation to an end.

That strategy may have made complete sense at another point in your life. The difficulty comes when it follows you everywhere, including into relationships and situations where you no longer need it.

Are you apologising or asking for reassurance?

Sometimes an apology isn’t really an apology at all. It can be a question disguised as one.

Sorry, I’m probably being annoying.

Underneath that might be: Am I annoying you?

Sorry, I’ve probably made a mess of this.

Perhaps what you’re really asking is: Do you still think I’m capable?

Sorry for going on about this.

Maybe what you need to know is: Is it okay for me to talk about something that’s important to me?

There’s nothing shameful about wanting reassurance. We all need it sometimes. But recognising what we’re actually asking for can help us understand why apologising has become so automatic.

When being liked becomes more important than being heard

There can also be a connection between over-apologising and difficulty expressing our own needs. If you’re very aware of how other people might react, you may find yourself adjusting what you say before you’ve even said it.

You might agree when you don’t really agree, say yes when you want to say no, avoid raising something that has upset you or spend so much time making your words acceptable to everybody else that your own point gets lost somewhere along the way.

This doesn’t necessarily mean you’re lacking confidence. Plenty of capable, confident people struggle with this. You may be excellent at advocating for somebody else and still find it remarkably difficult to say, “Actually, this isn’t okay for me.”

What happens when conflict feels dangerous?

Conflict doesn’t have to involve shouting or aggression to feel uncomfortable. For some people, even knowing that somebody is disappointed, annoyed or unhappy with them can create a strong urge to put things right immediately.

That can lead to apologising before we’ve had time to consider what actually happened. We may take responsibility for the whole disagreement simply because being responsible feels easier than sitting with uncertainty or another person’s displeasure.

But disagreement isn’t automatically wrongdoing. Somebody being unhappy with a decision you’ve made doesn’t necessarily mean you’ve made the wrong decision. Another person having a need doesn’t automatically mean you have to meet it.

Healthy relationships need room for two people to experience things differently.

What CBT can help us notice

CBT — Cognitive Behavioural Therapy — can be useful in identifying the thoughts that appear immediately before an unnecessary apology. Perhaps it’s They’re going to think I’m difficult, I’ve upset them, They won’t like me anymore or I’ve made things awkward.

Once we notice the thought, we can become curious about it. What evidence do I have that I’ve actually done something wrong? Am I responsible for this person’s feelings, or am I simply uncomfortable that they’re unhappy? If somebody I cared about were in exactly this situation, would I think they owed an apology?

The aim isn’t to stop saying sorry. A genuine apology can be incredibly powerful. It’s about making sure our apologies belong to us rather than automatically accepting responsibility for things that don’t.

Trying something different

One small experiment is simply to notice every time you say sorry for a few days. Don’t try to stop yourself and don’t criticise yourself for doing it. Just notice.

Then ask: What am I apologising for?

You might discover that some apologies are completely appropriate. Others may be habits. Some might be attempts to avoid conflict, and a few may be ways of asking for reassurance without directly asking for what you need.

You can also experiment with changing the language. Instead of “Sorry I’m late replying,” perhaps “Thank you for waiting.” Instead of “Sorry, can I ask something?” simply ask the question. Instead of “Sorry for getting upset,” perhaps try, “This has affected me more than I expected.”

These aren’t magic phrases and they won’t suit every situation. The important part is beginning to notice that you have choices.

How Therapy With Gail can help

At Therapy With Gail, we can explore where these patterns came from and, more importantly, whether they’re still helping you now. Therapy isn’t about teaching you to become confrontational or encouraging you to stop caring about other people’s feelings. Caring about others is a strength. The difficulty comes when their comfort consistently matters more than your own needs, feelings or boundaries.

My Person-Centred approach gives you space to understand your experiences without being judged or told who you ought to be. Where helpful, we can also use CBT to recognise automatic thoughts and repeated patterns, particularly around guilt, anxiety, reassurance and fear of other people’s reactions.

My experience of working with conflict also means I don’t see disagreement as something that automatically needs to be avoided. Sometimes learning to tolerate a little discomfort, say what you actually mean and allow another person to have their own reaction can be an important part of developing healthier relationships.

You don’t have to become somebody who never says sorry. The world probably doesn’t need fewer genuine apologies.

But perhaps you can begin saving them for the occasions when you’ve actually got something to apologise for.

And if you recognise yourself in this and would like to understand why putting yourself first — or sometimes simply putting yourself equal — feels so difficult, Therapy With Gail can help you explore that with curiosity rather than criticism.

Therapy With Gail
Counselling that makes room for real life, difficult conversations and the things we don’t always know how to say.

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When Overthinking Starts Rewriting the Story

Have you ever walked away from a conversation feeling perfectly fine, only to replay it later and decide that actually, it was a complete disaster? Perhaps somebody didn’t reply quite as warmly as usual, there was a pause that suddenly feels significant, or you remember something you said three hours ago and think, Why on earth did I say that? Before long, your mind has taken a fairly ordinary interaction, pulled it apart, examined every word and facial expression and produced an entirely new version of events. Welcome to overthinking.

When thinking becomes overthinking

Thinking things through can be useful. It helps us solve problems, understand experiences and make decisions. Overthinking is different. Instead of moving us towards an answer, our thoughts start going around in circles. Did I say the wrong thing? Why did they respond like that? Perhaps they’re annoyed with me. I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. What if I’ve made everything worse?

The difficulty is that the longer we think about something, the more convincing our interpretation can become. Eventually, we can stop asking “What actually happened?” and start responding to the story our mind has created about what happened.

Our memories aren’t recordings

We sometimes imagine memory works a little like CCTV — that somewhere in our brain is an accurate recording of events that we can simply replay. It doesn’t quite work like that. Memory is reconstructive. When we remember something, our brain rebuilds the experience using pieces of information, previous experiences, emotions and what we currently understand about the situation.

That means the way we remember an event can sometimes be influenced by how we’re feeling now. If you’re already worried that somebody is upset with you, you may remember their expression as more negative. If you’re feeling rejected, an unanswered message may suddenly seem like evidence that somebody doesn’t care. If a relationship has become difficult, previous conversations can begin to look different when viewed through what you know today.

That doesn’t mean you’re inventing memories or deliberately changing what happened. It means memory and interpretation are more complicated than simply pressing replay.

When feelings start becoming evidence

One of the traps of overthinking is that feelings can begin to feel like proof. I feel embarrassed, therefore I must have embarrassed myself. I feel guilty, therefore I must have done something wrong. I feel rejected, therefore they must be rejecting me.

But feelings and facts aren’t always the same thing. Your feelings are real and deserve attention. They tell us something important about how an experience has affected you, but they don’t necessarily tell us exactly what another person thought, intended or meant. That distinction can be surprisingly powerful.

What CBT can bring to overthinking

CBT — Cognitive Behavioural Therapy — looks at the relationship between our thoughts, feelings and behaviour. One useful part of CBT is learning to slow down automatic thoughts and examine them rather than immediately accepting them as facts.

You might ask yourself what you actually know, what you are assuming, whether there is another reasonable explanation and what you would say to somebody you cared about if they were thinking the same thing. This isn’t about replacing every uncomfortable thought with a cheerful one. Sometimes something genuinely did go badly and sometimes somebody really is unhappy with us. The aim isn’t to convince ourselves that everything is wonderful. It’s to look at the situation as fairly as we can rather than allowing anxiety to fill every gap with the worst possible explanation.

Overthinking can affect what happens next

Overthinking doesn’t always stay inside our heads. If you become convinced somebody is annoyed with you, you might withdraw. You might repeatedly ask whether everything is okay, apologise when you haven’t actually done anything wrong, or become defensive because you’re expecting criticism that hasn’t actually happened.

The other person then responds to that behaviour, and suddenly a problem that originally existed mainly in our thoughts can begin affecting the relationship itself. Understanding that pattern isn’t about blaming yourself. It’s about recognising where you might have some choice over what happens next.

How Therapy With Gail can help

At Therapy With Gail, we can explore what sits underneath your overthinking rather than simply telling you to “stop worrying”, because if stopping were that easy, you probably would have done it already. We might look at situations that repeatedly trigger the overthinking, the assumptions you make about yourself or other people, previous experiences that may influence how you interpret situations now, and what happens when uncertainty feels difficult to tolerate.

My approach combines a Person-Centred foundation with CBT where it is useful. That means there is space to understand why something matters to you, not simply challenge every thought you have. We can also use practical CBT techniques to separate what you know from what you fear, recognise repeated thinking patterns and develop different ways of responding when your mind starts running several miles ahead of the available evidence.

Importantly, therapy isn’t about me telling you what the “correct” version of events is. It’s about helping you become more able to trust yourself while remaining open to the possibility that your first interpretation isn’t the only one.

Something to try when your mind starts rewriting the story

When you notice yourself replaying an interaction, try separating what happened from what your mind has added to it. Ask yourself: What actually happened? What have I interpreted? What don’t I know yet? For the first question, stick to what somebody watching the situation could actually have seen or heard. Then notice the meaning you’ve added and, finally, identify the things you simply cannot know.

That last part can be difficult because sometimes the most accurate answer really is I don’t know. Although uncertainty can feel uncomfortable, “I don’t know” can sometimes be much kinder to ourselves than automatically filling the gap with the worst possible explanation.

If overthinking is taking up too much space in your life, affecting your relationships or making you continually question yourself, Therapy With Gail can help you understand the pattern and find a different way of responding to it. You don’t have to think your way out of overthinking on your own.

Therapy With Gail
Counselling that makes room for real life, difficult conversations and the things we don’t always know how to say.

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“I’m Fine.” When Coping Isn’t the Same as Being Okay

“How are you?”

“I’m fine.”

It must be one of the most commonly used conversations we have. Sometimes we genuinely are fine. Other times, “I’m fine” really means I’m managing, I’m getting through the day, and I really don’t know where to begin explaining everything else.

And there can be quite a difference between coping and actually being okay.

When coping becomes normal

Most of us develop ways of getting through difficult periods. We go to work, look after other people, answer messages, make dinner, pay the bills and generally keep life moving.

From the outside, everything can look perfectly normal.

You may even tell yourself that because you are still functioning, there can’t really be anything wrong.

But human beings can be remarkably good at functioning while struggling.

You might notice that you’re more irritable than usual, constantly tired, withdrawing from people, worrying about things that wouldn’t normally bother you or finding that your mind simply won’t switch off.

Sometimes there isn’t even one obvious problem.

It can be lots of smaller things that have accumulated over time — work, relationships, family responsibilities, grief, financial pressures, health worries, caring for others, difficult experiences or simply years of putting yourself somewhere near the bottom of the list.

Eventually, “I’m coping” can become a way of life.

Why do we say we’re fine?

There are lots of reasons.

Perhaps you don’t want to burden anyone. Maybe other people rely on you and you’re used to being the capable one. Perhaps you’ve learnt that showing emotion feels uncomfortable or unsafe.

You might compare yourself with other people and think:

Other people have it worse.

I should be able to deal with this.

There’s nothing actually wrong with my life.

Or perhaps you simply don’t know what you’re feeling yet.

None of that means you’re being dishonest when you say you’re fine. Sometimes “fine” is simply the best description available when we haven’t had the opportunity to stop and work out what is actually happening underneath it.

When your mind starts filling in the gaps

When we’re stressed, anxious or emotionally exhausted, our thinking can change too.

We may start replaying conversations, questioning decisions or assuming we know what somebody else was thinking.

A short message becomes They’re annoyed with me.

A difficult meeting becomes I’ve completely messed that up.

Someone being quiet becomes I’ve done something wrong.

These thoughts can feel incredibly convincing.

CBT — Cognitive Behavioural Therapy — can help us notice these patterns and explore whether our thoughts are facts, assumptions or interpretations. That doesn’t mean forcing ourselves to “think positively”. It means becoming curious about whether there might be another way of understanding what happened.

Sometimes even asking “What evidence do I actually have for that?” can create a little breathing room.

You don’t have to reach breaking point

There is a strange idea that therapy is something we should only consider when everything has fallen apart.

It isn’t.

You don’t need a diagnosis. You don’t need to be in crisis. You don’t even need to know exactly what you want to talk about.

Sometimes people come to therapy because they simply know that something doesn’t feel right anymore.

That is enough.

How Therapy With Gail can help

At Therapy With Gail, you don’t have to arrive with a perfectly organised explanation of what’s happening.

We can start with where you are.

Perhaps you’re overwhelmed. Perhaps you’re anxious, exhausted, grieving, struggling with work or relationships, dealing with conflict or a major change in your life. Or perhaps, on paper, everything looks absolutely fine — but you don’t feel fine.

My approach is warm, down-to-earth and collaborative. My foundation is Person-Centred counselling, which means you remain at the centre of the work rather than being told what you should think or feel. Where it is helpful, I can also draw on CBT to explore patterns of thoughts, feelings and behaviours that may be keeping you stuck.

Sometimes therapy is about making changes.

Sometimes it is about understanding yourself differently.

And sometimes it is simply having somewhere you don’t have to look after everybody else for fifty minutes.

You don’t have to wait until “I’m fine” becomes “I can’t cope anymore”.

If something is telling you that you would like things to feel different, Therapy With Gail can help you begin figuring out what different might look like.

A small thought to take away

The next time somebody asks how you are and you automatically answer “fine”, you might quietly ask yourself a slightly different question:

If I didn’t need to reassure anybody else today, how would I honestly say I’m doing?

You don’t have to do anything with the answer.

Just notice it.

Sometimes that’s where the conversation with ourselves begins.

Therapy With Gail
Counselling that makes room for real life, difficult conversations and the things we don’t always know how to say.

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Why Do We Keep Having the Same Argument?

You know the argument. In fact, you know it so well you could probably play both parts.

It might begin with washing up, money, lateness, somebody being on their phone, who does more around the house, how often you see family, the tone of a text message or something apparently insignificant that happened three days ago. Within ten minutes, however, nobody is really talking about the washing up anymore. Somehow you have travelled through six previous disagreements, somebody has said, “You always do this,” the other person has replied, “That’s not what happened,” and an incident from 2019 has made an unexpected but apparently essential return to proceedings.

Eventually the argument ends. Perhaps somebody apologises. Perhaps one of you leaves the room. Perhaps you both become exhausted and agree to stop talking about it.

Until next time.

Repeated arguments can be incredibly frustrating because they often leave people wondering why they can’t resolve something that, from the outside, might look quite simple. But when the same conflict keeps returning, it may be worth considering whether the thing you are arguing about is actually the whole thing you are arguing for.

Sometimes the subject of the argument isn’t really the issue

Imagine one person says:

“You never put your phone down when I’m talking to you.”

The obvious subject is the phone.

But underneath that might be:

I don’t feel important to you.

The other person hears criticism and replies:

“That’s ridiculous. I’m hardly ever on my phone.”

Underneath their response might be:

Nothing I do ever seems good enough for you.

Now one person is trying to say, I want to feel that I matter, while the other is defending themselves against, You are a bad partner.

Neither may actually have said those things.

This is one reason conflict can escalate so quickly. We don’t only respond to the words somebody uses; we respond to what we believe those words mean.

In conflict work, it can be useful to distinguish between a person’s position and their underlying interests or needs. A position is what somebody says they want: Put your phone away. The underlying concern might be connection, attention, respect or reassurance.

When both people remain stuck defending their positions, the conversation can become a competition. Once we understand what actually matters underneath them, there is often much more room to move.

This is something we can explore through conflict coaching at Therapy With Gail. Before trying yet again to have the same conversation differently, we can slow it down and look at what you are really trying to communicate, what tends to happen when you try, what you hear in the other person’s response and what you actually need them to understand.

Sometimes changing the conversation begins with understanding the argument underneath the argument.

When we feel attacked, listening becomes harder

There is another difficulty. Once a conversation starts to feel threatening, humiliating or critical, we can become more focused on protecting ourselves than understanding the other person.

That doesn’t necessarily mean anybody is deliberately refusing to listen.

Defensiveness is often exactly what it sounds like: defending ourselves.

If somebody says, “You don’t care about me,” your immediate reaction might be to produce evidence that you do. You remember everything you’ve done for them, every compromise you’ve made and every occasion when you have been there.

Meanwhile, they may experience your defence as further evidence that you aren’t listening.

So they explain more forcefully.

You feel more accused.

You defend yourself more strongly.

They feel even less heard.

And off you go again.

There is a particularly painful irony in some conflicts: both people can be trying desperately to be understood while behaving in ways that make understanding each other increasingly difficult.

Counselling can help us notice what happens inside us during these moments. Perhaps criticism quickly becomes shame. Perhaps disagreement feels like rejection. Perhaps anger arrives before hurt gets anywhere near the surface. Perhaps you learned a long time ago that conflict was dangerous, or perhaps your family argued loudly and moved on five minutes later while your partner grew up in a home where raised voices meant something was seriously wrong.

Neither way of responding automatically makes somebody right or wrong. It means two people can bring very different experiences of conflict into the same room.

At Therapy With Gail, we can explore those patterns without deciding that one person is “the difficult one”. Understanding your own responses can give you more choice about what you do when the familiar argument begins again.

“You always…” and “You never…”

Repeated conflict also has a habit of collecting evidence.

Once we begin believing something about another person — they don’t listen, they don’t care, they are selfish, they always criticise me — we can become particularly alert to the moments that fit that understanding.

Psychology calls this confirmation bias, the very human tendency to notice and give weight to information that supports what we already believe. That doesn’t mean the problem isn’t real. If somebody repeatedly behaves in a particular way, noticing a pattern can be important.

But it can become difficult when every new disagreement is immediately recruited as evidence for the entire history of the relationship.

“You forgot to call me” becomes “You never think about me.”

“You interrupted me” becomes “You never listen.”

“You didn’t do the washing up” somehow becomes a character assessment.

Words such as always and never are attractive during arguments because they express the size of what we are feeling, but they also tend to invite the other person to prove us wrong. Instead of discussing the hurt, the conversation becomes an investigation into whether there was an occasion last February when they did, in fact, empty the dishwasher.

Technically they may win the argument.

Emotionally, nobody has moved an inch.

Do you want to be right, or do you want to be heard?

This doesn’t mean facts don’t matter. They absolutely do, particularly where there are serious disagreements about behaviour, responsibility or what has happened.

But there are moments when proving our version of events can become more important than communicating why the situation mattered to us.

You can win every factual point and still leave the conversation feeling completely unheard.

Sometimes it can help to ask yourself before a difficult conversation: What do I actually want to be different when this conversation is finished?

Do you want an apology?

A change in behaviour?

Acknowledgement?

A boundary respected?

To understand the other person’s perspective?

To make a decision?

Or simply for somebody to understand how something affected you?

Through conflict coaching at Therapy With Gail, we can work on that before the conversation happens. Not by scripting every sentence until you sound like you’ve swallowed a communication manual, but by helping you become clearer about what matters, what you want to say and how you might stay connected to that when the conversation becomes uncomfortable.

Because if your real goal is to feel heard, spending forty minutes proving that the other person used the word “definitely” rather than “probably” may not get you there.

Taking space can help — but silence can also hurt

Sometimes the healthiest thing you can do during an escalating argument is stop.

When emotions are running high and neither person is listening particularly well, continuing the conversation can simply create more things that later need repairing. Taking some space can allow both people to settle and return to the issue more thoughtfully.

But there is a difference between taking space and using silence to punish somebody.

“I need half an hour because I’m getting too angry to talk properly. I will come back and we’ll continue this,” gives the other person information and reassurance that the conversation hasn’t simply disappeared.

Walking away for two days, refusing to respond and leaving the other person unsure whether or when communication will resume can feel very different.

Context matters, of course. Nobody is required to remain in a conversation that feels unsafe, abusive or overwhelming, and sometimes much longer distance is necessary.

But within ordinary relationship conflict, a pause tends to work better when it is a pause with a return, rather than an unexplained disappearance.

That distinction can be explored in counselling or conflict coaching too. Some people need time to think before they can speak clearly; others experience distance during conflict as deeply unsettling. Neither need is automatically unreasonable. The work is often in finding a way of accommodating both without either person having to abandon themselves.

Sometimes the relationship needs a different conversation

There are also times when two people genuinely cannot find their way out of the pattern alone.

Perhaps every attempt to discuss the problem turns into the same argument. Perhaps both of you arrive already defensive because you know exactly how the conversation usually ends. Perhaps trust has been damaged, communication has deteriorated or there are years of unresolved issues sitting behind something apparently small.

That doesn’t automatically mean the relationship is beyond repair.

Sometimes it means the way you are trying to repair it isn’t working.

Where both people are willing to participate, mediation through Therapy With Gail can offer a different kind of conversation. My role as mediator isn’t to decide who is right, tell either person what they should do or force a compromise somewhere in the middle. It is to create a structured space where each person can explain their perspective, hear what matters to the other and explore whether there is a workable way forward.

Agreement is not always possible, and mediation cannot guarantee reconciliation.

But understanding is different from agreement.

You can understand why somebody experienced something differently without deciding that their interpretation is correct. You can acknowledge someone’s feelings without surrendering your own. You can disagree without automatically treating disagreement as rejection.

Sometimes repairing a relationship begins there.

What if you changed the question?

The next time you recognise the beginning of a familiar argument, you might try becoming curious before trying to solve it.

Instead of:

How do I make them understand that I’m right?

perhaps:

What am I actually trying to get them to understand?

Instead of:

Why do they always do this?

perhaps:

What happens between us when this subject comes up?

And instead of:

How do we stop arguing?

perhaps:

What are we repeatedly trying to say to each other that neither of us is managing to hear?

You don’t need to become perfectly calm, endlessly reasonable or capable of producing textbook communication every time somebody annoys you. Relationships involve real people, and real people occasionally get defensive, misunderstand each other, say things badly and have conversations they would quite like to rewind.

The important part isn’t never getting conflict wrong.

It is whether there is enough curiosity, safety and willingness to understand what happens next.

At Therapy With Gail, that might mean individual counselling to understand why particular conflicts affect you so strongly, conflict coaching to prepare for a conversation you need to have, or mediation when two people need help having that conversation together.

The aim isn’t to remove disagreement from your relationships.

It is to help you have more choice about what happens when disagreement arrives.

If you stopped arguing about the subject for a moment, what do you think each of you is actually trying to be heard about?

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The Conversation You Keep Having Long After It Ended

The conversation finished hours ago. Perhaps even days ago. The other person has probably made a cup of tea, watched television, gone to bed and got on with their life, while somewhere inside your head the conversation has been given a second season, an extended director’s cut and several alternative endings.

Why did they say it like that?

I should have said this.

They definitely meant that.

Actually, the more I think about it, the worse it sounds.

Most of us replay conversations sometimes, particularly when something mattered to us, left us confused or hurt, or when we are worried about how we came across. Reflection can be useful. It helps us make sense of experiences, learn from them and decide whether something needs addressing.

But reflection and rumination are not quite the same thing.

Rumination is the repetitive thinking we can get caught in when our minds keep circling around an event without really reaching anywhere new. It can feel productive because we are doing an enormous amount of thinking, but thinking harder is not always the same as understanding better. Sometimes we are simply walking around the same mental roundabout and wondering why the scenery looks familiar.

This is something we can explore together at Therapy With Gail. Rather than simply telling yourself to “stop overthinking” — advice which is approximately as useful as telling yourself not to think about a pink elephant — counselling can help us become curious about why a particular conversation has become so difficult to put down. What are you trying to understand? What are you afraid it meant? What answer are you hoping to find by going through it one more time?

Because sometimes the conversation we are repeatedly having in our head isn’t entirely about the conversation.

Memory isn’t a recording

This becomes particularly interesting when we start thinking about memory.

We often imagine memory as though our brain recorded an event and stored the footage somewhere, ready for us to retrieve later. Human memory does not work quite like that. Remembering is a reconstructive process. We retain information about what happened and, when we remember it, our brain reconstructs the experience from stored information.

That does not mean our memories are automatically wrong, unreliable or invented, and it certainly doesn’t mean anxiety makes memories false. It means remembering is an active psychological process rather than simply pressing play on a perfect recording.

Our current emotions, expectations and beliefs can also influence what catches our attention and how we interpret ambiguous information. If you are already worried that somebody is annoyed with you, for example, a short reply may feel loaded with meaning. If you believe you embarrassed yourself, you may repeatedly return to the moments that seem to support that belief while paying much less attention to everything suggesting the conversation was actually fairly ordinary.

At Therapy With Gail, we can slow that process down without starting from the assumption that your interpretation is wrong. That matters to me. Therapy shouldn’t become somebody sitting opposite you explaining why you have misunderstood your own life. Instead, we can look together at what actually happened, what you remember, what you felt, what you believe it meant and what else might reasonably be possible.

Sometimes your interpretation will make perfect sense.

Sometimes another possibility begins to emerge.

And sometimes the most truthful answer is simply, “I don’t know what they meant.”

Learning to tolerate that answer can be surprisingly powerful.

What happened — and what did it mean?

CBT offers a useful way of understanding part of this process. An event happens, but our emotional response is influenced not only by the event itself but also by the meaning we give it.

Two people can hear exactly the same sentence and understand it quite differently because they bring different histories, expectations, fears, relationships and needs into the room.

Imagine someone says:

“You were quiet tonight.”

That is the information you actually have.

Perhaps they were concerned about you. Perhaps they enjoyed talking to you and noticed you weren’t yourself. Perhaps they wondered whether you were tired. Perhaps they were irritated. Perhaps it was simply an observation.

But if you are already feeling insecure, your mind may quietly add:

They thought I was boring.

A few hours later, after repeatedly replaying the evening, that interpretation can begin to feel increasingly convincing.

The important thing isn’t to tell yourself that you’re being ridiculous. You’re not. Your mind is trying to make sense of something uncertain, and human beings are very good at filling in gaps.

But a possibility isn’t automatically a fact.

That distinction is something I often find particularly useful in counselling because it gives us somewhere to work without invalidating what you feel. At Therapy With Gail, we can explore the difference between what happened, what you felt and what you concluded it meant, while also looking at why that particular interpretation carried so much weight.

Perhaps it touched an old fear of rejection. Perhaps being misunderstood matters enormously to you. Perhaps something similar genuinely has happened before. Perhaps there is already tension in this relationship. Or perhaps you were simply tired, vulnerable and having one of those days when a full stop at the end of a text message somehow looks aggressive.

Context matters.

Our present can colour the way we look at the past

There is another part of overthinking that deserves careful attention because it can easily be oversimplified.

The way we feel now can influence the way we think about what happened then.

Our current beliefs, emotions, expectations, wants and needs can affect which details come most readily to mind and how we interpret them. That doesn’t mean we manufacture a completely different history whenever our mood changes. It means that memory and interpretation happen from the standpoint of the person we are today.

You may recognise this after a relationship changes. When things are going well, you might remember a difficult conversation as an unfortunate misunderstanding. After trust has been damaged, the same conversation may suddenly seem much more significant.

Neither reaction automatically tells us the definitive truth about what happened.

Perhaps new information genuinely changes how an old event should be understood. Sometimes looking back with greater experience allows us to recognise something important that we didn’t recognise at the time.

But sometimes our current hurt, fear, hope or need for an explanation can also influence the story we build around the memory.

The aim isn’t to distrust ourselves. It is to become curious.

This is one of the things counselling at Therapy With Gail can offer: somewhere to explore a situation without requiring an immediate verdict. We don’t have to decide in the first five minutes that you were right, wrong, overreacting, underreacting or “just overthinking”.

We can sit with the complexity for a while.

Conflict makes this even more complicated

Conflict rarely involves two completely neutral observers calmly exchanging objective information. We arrive with our own needs, experiences, expectations, frustrations and sometimes a mental folder containing every irritating thing the other person has done since approximately 2007.

If somebody has disappointed you repeatedly, their latest behaviour will understandably be interpreted within that history. If you desperately want a relationship repaired, you may interpret something differently from how you would if you had already decided it was over.

This is one reason two people can emerge from the same argument with genuinely different recollections of what happened. Neither person necessarily has to be lying.

This is also where my conflict and mediation work can sit naturally alongside counselling. Sometimes the issue isn’t only what you are thinking internally; there is an actual conversation that needs to happen.

Through conflict coaching at Therapy With Gail, we can look at what you want from that conversation before you have it. What actually needs saying? What assumptions are you making? What might the other person be experiencing? What happens to you when you feel defensive or unheard? And how can you communicate what matters without turning the conversation into another round of the same argument?

Where conflict involves two people who both want to work towards something different, mediation can provide a structured space for both perspectives to be heard. Mediation isn’t about me deciding who is right. It is about helping people understand what has happened, what matters to each of them and whether there is a workable way forward.

Sometimes understanding ourselves is enough.

Sometimes we need to talk to the other person.

And sometimes we need some help having that conversation differently.

A simple way to interrupt the replay

If you notice yourself repeatedly returning to a conversation, try separating what happened from what you think it meant.

“They didn’t reply to my message” is an observation.

“They don’t care about me” is an interpretation.

“My manager said they wanted to speak to me tomorrow” is an observation.

“I’m in trouble” is a prediction.

“My partner went quiet during the argument” is an observation.

“They were deliberately punishing me” is an interpretation of their intention.

Any of those interpretations could turn out to be correct.

The point isn’t to immediately replace them with something positive. CBT isn’t about pretending everything is lovely when it clearly isn’t. It is about becoming aware of the relationship between situations, thoughts, emotions and behaviour, and creating enough space to consider whether there are other possibilities.

You could ask yourself:

What do I actually know?

What am I assuming?

Is there another reasonable explanation?

Is thinking about this giving me anything new?

Is there something I actually need to do — perhaps ask, clarify, speak up or set a boundary?

And perhaps the most useful one:

Am I trying to understand this, or am I trying to achieve certainty that isn’t available?

If you can answer those questions yourself, wonderful. Therapy isn’t about creating dependence on a therapist for every difficult thought or conversation.

But if you keep finding yourself trapped in the same loops, or you know intellectually that you’re overthinking but can’t seem to stop doing it, that’s exactly the sort of thing we can explore together at Therapy With Gail.

Not because there is something wrong with you.

Because sometimes it is much easier to see a loop when you are no longer standing inside it.

You don’t have to solve every conversation in your head

Perhaps the goal isn’t to stop thinking about difficult conversations altogether. Some conversations deserve reflection. Some need revisiting. Some require an apology, a boundary, another conversation or a decision.

But not every unanswered question can be solved by thinking about it for another three hours.

Sometimes another person is the only one who can tell you what they meant.

Sometimes even they won’t be entirely sure.

And sometimes we have to learn that uncertainty is uncomfortable without treating that discomfort as evidence that something terrible must have happened.

At Therapy With Gail, whether we’re working through counselling, CBT approaches or conflict coaching, the aim isn’t for me to give you the “correct” version of your own experience. It is to help you slow things down enough to hear yourself more clearly, understand what is happening underneath the overthinking and decide what, if anything, you want to do next.

Because your thoughts matter.

Your feelings matter.

Your interpretation matters.

But they don’t always have to become the final verdict.

When you replay the conversation that is bothering you, which parts do you know actually happened — and which parts are the meaning you have given them since?

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When Your Strengths Start Working Against You

Being strong is usually spoken about as though it can only ever be a good thing. We admire the person who copes, gets on with things, sorts problems out, keeps everyone else going and somehow still remembers that the cat needs feeding. If you have spent much of your life being that person, strength may not simply be something you have; it may have become part of how you understand who you are.

And there is nothing wrong with that. Independence, resilience, determination, loyalty, competence and being able to function when life gets difficult are genuine strengths. Therapy does not require us to take perfectly useful parts of ourselves, give them a psychological label and decide they are secretly a problem. Sometimes a strength really is just a strength.

But even our best qualities can become uncomfortable when we lose the freedom to use them differently.

There is quite a difference between “I can cope with this” and “I have to cope with this.” One describes an ability. The other can begin to feel like a rule.

That distinction matters because many of the rules we live by were never consciously chosen. They develop through experience, relationships, family expectations, work, culture and the ways we learned to get through difficult periods. In person-centred therapy, we sometimes talk about conditions of worth: the messages we absorb about what we need to be like in order to feel acceptable, valued or safe. They do not have to arrive as somebody explicitly saying, “You are only worthwhile when you are useful.” They can be much quieter than that.

Perhaps being sensible got praised. Perhaps vulnerability was uncomfortable in your family. Perhaps practical problems took priority over feelings because there simply wasn’t room for both. Perhaps your job taught you to remain calm while everyone else was falling apart. Perhaps people repeatedly discovered that you were reliable and, quite understandably, started relying on you.

Eventually, being capable can stop feeling like something you do and start feeling like something you are required to be.

That can show itself in surprisingly ordinary ways. You may happily spend three hours helping somebody else with their problem and then feel uncomfortable asking them for twenty minutes of their time. You might recognise exhaustion in everybody around you while negotiating enthusiastically with your own as though it has submitted an unreasonable expense claim. You may be excellent in a crisis but strangely uncomfortable when somebody asks, “But how are you?”

There is another interesting part of this. When a particular way of coping has worked for years, changing it can initially feel wrong even when nothing bad is happening.

If you are accustomed to taking responsibility, allowing somebody else to take over can feel irresponsible. If you usually solve problems, sitting with uncertainty can feel passive. If you are normally the helper, receiving care can feel exposing. If you pride yourself on independence, needing somebody can feel much bigger than simply needing somebody.

That does not automatically mean there is some hidden trauma underneath it, and it certainly doesn’t mean independence is unhealthy. It means human beings learn patterns, and familiar patterns can feel safer simply because they are familiar.

CBT describes something related through the idea of core beliefs and rules for living. We can develop assumptions such as I should manage on my own, I mustn’t let people down, if I don’t sort it out, nobody will, or other people’s needs come first. These beliefs can influence what we notice, how we interpret situations and what we do next. They may even have been enormously useful at one point in our lives.

The useful question is not, “Where did I go wrong?”

It is, “Does this still work for me?”

That is where therapy can become particularly interesting, because the aim isn’t necessarily to make somebody less strong, less independent or less capable. Quite the opposite. It can provide somewhere to look at the difference between a quality you choose and a role you feel unable to put down.

You might begin noticing the moments when I can quietly turns into I must. You might experiment with accepting a small amount of help without immediately finding some way to repay it. You might notice what happens inside when somebody else is disappointed with you, or when you leave something unfinished, or when you say, “Actually, I can’t do that today.”

Not to force yourself to change, but to become curious about the reaction.

Because genuine resilience is not endlessly carrying more.

Sometimes resilience is recognising that you have reached capacity. Sometimes independence includes choosing interdependence — allowing other people to matter and occasionally allowing yourself to matter to them. Sometimes courage looks remarkably like admitting, “I don’t know what to do with this.”

And perhaps strength isn’t measured by how rarely you need anybody at all.

Perhaps the problem was never that you became too strong. Perhaps, somewhere along the way, strength became a job you forgot you were allowed to clock off from.

If being the strong one were no longer something you had to prove, what might you give yourself permission to do differently?

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The Empty Nest: When Their New Beginning Feels Like a Loss Too

You walk past their bedroom and automatically glance in. The bed is made—or perhaps, knowing them, it isn’t. There are still things in the wardrobe, something they’ve forgotten on the floor and probably a collection of chargers that apparently belong to absolutely nobody. But they’re not there.

Maybe you’ve just dropped them at university and managed to hold it together until you got back into the car. Perhaps they’ve moved into their first flat and you’ve spent the weekend carrying boxes, assembling furniture and trying very hard not to mention that you think the sofa would look better against the other wall. Maybe they’ve moved much further away, started travelling or built a completely different life, or perhaps they left months ago and you thought you’d be used to it by now. Then something small catches you. You cook too much dinner, hear the front door and for a split second expect it to be them, see something funny and instinctively turn to tell them, or wake up one Saturday morning and realise nobody needs a lift, nobody is asking what’s for dinner and nobody has left six glasses in a bedroom.

The strange thing is that you wanted this for them. You wanted them to grow up, become independent, find their own people, make their own decisions and build a life that doesn’t depend upon you for every part of it. You spent years preparing them to leave, but nobody tells you quite how it feels when they actually do.

Perhaps that’s why the words “empty nest” don’t always seem big enough for what can happen next, because this isn’t only about missing your child. Sometimes it’s about missing the life you had when they were still at home and, perhaps unexpectedly, missing the person you were within that life.

“But this is what’s supposed to happen”

Yes, it is, and that doesn’t mean you have to like every part of it. One of the difficulties with this particular transition is that it is usually connected with something positive. Your child may be going to university, moving into their own home, starting a career, travelling, getting married or simply becoming increasingly independent, and you may be enormously proud of them. So when sadness arrives alongside that pride, it can feel confusing, and sometimes we start correcting ourselves before we’ve even allowed ourselves to feel it: I should be happy for them.

You probably are happy for them, but you can be happy for them and sad for you at exactly the same time. Those feelings don’t cancel one another out. Counselling sometimes talks about ambivalence, which simply means experiencing apparently contradictory feelings together. We can love and feel frustrated, want change and fear it, celebrate something and grieve what it means. Human emotions rarely organise themselves into neat either/or categories, however convenient that would be.

There is a loss here, even though nobody has been lost

We usually associate grief with death, but grief can accompany any meaningful loss or change. When a child leaves home, you may not only miss the person; you may miss all the ordinary things that surrounded them. The sound of the front door, their friends appearing in the kitchen, somebody asking what’s for dinner, the conversations that happened accidentally rather than through a planned phone call, or simply knowing they were somewhere in the house. Even the things that used to drive you slightly mad can become strangely precious once they’re gone. You may even find yourself missing the opportunity to shout, “Can somebody please bring the glasses downstairs?” Life has a sense of humour like that.

The relationship hasn’t ended, but something has ended. A particular version of family life has changed, and change often asks us to let go of one version of life before we have any idea what the next one is supposed to look like. There may be grief in that without anything having gone wrong.

Grief also doesn’t move neatly in one direction. You might feel absolutely fine for several days and then be caught by a photograph, a favourite meal, a message or an unexpectedly quiet Sunday afternoon. That doesn’t mean you’re going backwards. It may simply mean that something mattered, and you’re still adjusting to its new shape.

Who am I when they don’t need me in the same way?

This can be the deeper part of the empty nest that doesn’t always get talked about. Being a parent isn’t simply a collection of jobs; over many years it can become woven into our identity, which in counselling we might call part of our self-concept—the picture we carry of who we are. For years, perhaps decades, part of your day has been organised around somebody else’s needs. School runs became lifts to friends, which became late-night collections, appointments, washing, meals, worries, celebrations, arguments, advice and that endless background awareness that somewhere in the world is a person you are responsible for.

Then that responsibility begins to change. They may still need you, of course, but differently and sometimes considerably less. That’s exactly what we have been raising them towards, but knowing that intellectually doesn’t necessarily make the emotional adjustment straightforward. There can be a quiet question underneath it all: If I’m not needed in the same way anymore, who am I now?

I don’t think that’s selfish or overdramatic. It’s an identity transition, a period when an important role in our life changes and we have to discover how that role fits alongside the person we are becoming next. You haven’t stopped being a parent, but the day-to-day expression of being one may have changed enormously.

For some people that question may be particularly powerful because parenting has occupied such a large part of adult life. Careers may have been shaped around children, relationships changed, opportunities postponed and routines built around school terms, mealtimes and family needs. When some of those demands disappear, it can leave more than an empty bedroom. It can leave space around your own identity that you haven’t had to think about for years.

That space doesn’t necessarily need to be filled immediately. Perhaps first it can simply be noticed.

Learning to parent an adult

There can also be a strange adjustment in learning how to parent an adult. When they were small, protecting them often meant making decisions for them, whereas as they become adults, loving them increasingly means allowing them to make decisions we might not make ourselves. That can be uncomfortable, particularly when you can see the potential mistake coming from approximately three counties away and every parental instinct is telling you to prevent it.

Person-centred counselling places enormous value on autonomy, which simply means respecting another person’s right to make their own choices and find their own way. That doesn’t mean we stop caring, worrying or offering support; it means the relationship gradually moves from I am responsible for you towards I am alongside you. Sometimes supporting an adult child means giving advice when it is wanted and occasionally biting our tongue when it isn’t. That transition can take practice on both sides.

It can also be difficult when their choices take them physically further away than we expected. A different town, another part of the country or even another country can change spontaneous contact into something that needs planning. Technology makes staying connected much easier, but a video call isn’t quite the same as somebody wandering into the kitchen. We can be delighted that their world is expanding and still wish parts of that world were geographically closer.

Perhaps this is part of the growth for them too. They get to discover who they are when we aren’t immediately there to remind, organise, solve or rescue. They will make choices, some of which we might not understand, and probably make mistakes, just as we did. They begin creating relationships, routines, values and perhaps eventually a family life of their own. Watching that independence emerge can be one of the great rewards of parenting, and it can also hurt. Both can be true.

Sometimes the quiet makes other things louder

When children leave home, they take more than noise with them; they take routine. For years there has always been something that needed doing next, and suddenly there may be spaces where those demands used to be. That space can be lovely, but it can also be unsettling. Sometimes feelings we haven’t had much time to notice become easier to hear, and questions can emerge about work, relationships, ageing, friendships or what we actually want from the next part of our own lives.

If you’ve spent years focused on raising children, you may realise that you haven’t asked yourself what you want for quite a long time. That doesn’t mean you’ve lost yourself. Perhaps you simply haven’t needed to meet this particular version of yourself before.

There can also be changes within a relationship. For years, conversations with a partner may have revolved around children, school, money, lifts, homework, problems, appointments and who’s picking whom up from where. Suddenly there are two of you sitting at the dinner table, and you may have to meet one another again as people rather than primarily as parents. For some couples that feels exciting, while for others it exposes distance that busyness had made easier not to notice. For many it will probably be a mixture of both.

If you’re parenting alone, the change may feel different again. There may not be another person sitting across the table who understands why the house suddenly feels so strange. The shift from being constantly needed to having large amounts of time can be unexpectedly emotional, particularly if parenting has occupied a significant part of your adult life.

None of these reactions tells us whether we have handled the transition well or badly. They’re simply different human responses to a substantial change.

And what if you’re enjoying it?

Then enjoy it. You are not required to wander sadly around an empty bedroom clutching a childhood photograph in order to prove that you love your children. You may discover that you quite like the peace, that there is less washing, fewer lifts and an astonishing reduction in the number of glasses appearing in bedrooms. You might enjoy having more time, travelling, seeing friends, reconnecting with a partner, meeting somebody new, starting something you’ve wanted to do for years or simply discovering that the remote control remains exactly where you left it.

Relief and sadness can coexist. You can miss them terribly in the morning and be rather enjoying the peace by lunchtime, and neither feeling invalidates the other. There is no correct emotional response to an empty nest, and perhaps allowing ourselves the whole range of feelings is kinder than deciding which ones we’re supposed to have.

When everybody’s life has to find a new shape

Perhaps one of the biggest things about children leaving home is that nobody simply carries on with exactly the same life in a different house. Their life is changing, but yours is being renegotiated and reorganised too. The rhythms that have shaped family life for years begin to move: when you see one another, how you communicate, who makes decisions, how celebrations work, where everybody spends Christmas, what support looks like and even what the word “home” means can all gradually change.

There can be loss in that because something genuinely has ended. You may be grieving the child who used to need you in a particular way, the family life you knew, the routines that gave your days structure and perhaps a version of yourself that belonged to that time. Acknowledging that loss doesn’t mean wishing your child hadn’t grown up. We can grieve what has finished while being enormously proud of what has begun.

But this transition isn’t only about loss. There is growth happening on both sides. Your child is learning who they are when you aren’t immediately there to solve, remind, rescue or reassure them. They get to make choices, get some of them wrong, discover what matters to them and build a life that increasingly belongs to them. Watching that can be wonderful, terrifying and occasionally require an impressive amount of tongue-biting.

And you are growing too. That part sometimes gets forgotten.

Perhaps for years the question has been, What do they need from me? Now another question gets a little more room: What do I want for myself? Not instead of being their parent and not because that part of your life has become less important, but because your identity was always bigger than one role, even if that role occupied an enormous amount of space.

There may be parts of yourself you want to rediscover and completely new parts you haven’t met yet. Relationships may change, friendships may have more room, ambitions that were put aside might return, or perhaps you simply begin experiencing something you haven’t had much of for years: time that belongs primarily to you.

You don’t have to turn that time into an achievement either. Growth doesn’t necessarily mean launching a business, climbing a mountain or becoming the sort of person who suddenly takes up wild-water swimming. Sometimes growth is quieter. It might mean learning to enjoy your own company, becoming comfortable making decisions around what you want, allowing new people into your life, travelling, studying, resting or discovering that you are interested in something simply because you are interested in it.

The family hasn’t stopped. It is reorganising itself around adults whose lives are becoming more separate while hopefully remaining connected. There may be some awkwardness while everybody works out the new rules, and those rules may keep changing as partners, careers, distance and perhaps eventually grandchildren enter the picture.

Maybe that is a more helpful way of thinking about the empty nest. It isn’t simply a space somebody has left behind. It is a family growing into a different shape—and that includes you.

If you’d like to explore it for yourself

You don’t have to immediately “fill the gap”. Sometimes there is pressure to reinvent ourselves the moment children leave home, as though an empty diary is an emergency requiring immediate treatment. It isn’t. There can be value in allowing ourselves some time to notice what has actually changed before deciding what we are going to do about it.

You might start by naming what you actually miss. Rather than simply saying, “I miss them,” become curious about what that means for you. Is it their company, being needed, the routine, physical closeness, the noise, family life as it was, spontaneous conversations, or perhaps the version of yourself that existed during that period? Knowing what we are grieving doesn’t necessarily remove the sadness, but it can make the feeling less confusing.

You might also notice the difference between connection and checking. When we miss somebody, reaching for the phone can become automatic. Before sending the third message asking whether they have eaten, you could gently wonder whether you are seeking connection with them or reassurance for yourself. Neither need is shameful and sometimes it will be both; recognising what we are looking for simply gives us a little more choice about what we do next.

And perhaps become curious about the space rather than rushing to fill it. Instead of asking, What am I going to do with myself now?, you might ask, What would I like more of in this part of my life? The answer could be friendship, travel, learning, work, creativity, rest, relationships, volunteering, adventure, absolutely nothing for a while or something you haven’t discovered yet. You don’t need a five-year plan, and this certainly isn’t about replacing your child with hobbies. It is about allowing your own life to become larger in a different direction.

Perhaps the nest isn’t actually empty

I’ve never been completely convinced by the phrase “empty nest”. The house may have fewer people in it, but everything that happened there hasn’t disappeared, and neither has your relationship with your child. It is changing.

You raised somebody sufficiently well for them to begin building a life beyond you, and there is something rather beautiful about that even when it hurts. Perhaps part of this transition is discovering that allowing our children to move forward doesn’t require us to remain exactly where they left us.

Therapy can provide somewhere to talk about the sadness without somebody immediately reminding you how lucky you are, and somewhere to explore the future without implying that you should be “over it” by now. We can make room for pride, grief, relief, loneliness, excitement, uncertainty and whatever else happens to be there, without deciding in advance what you ought to be feeling.

Because this isn’t simply the end of a stage in their life; it is a transition in yours too. The relationship continues, but its shape changes, and perhaps gradually there is room to discover a version of you who is still their parent, still loves them just as fiercely, but is also beginning to wonder what else might belong in this next part of life.

Now that their life is becoming more their own, what might you want the next part of yours to become?

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Navigating the Digital Storm: Understanding the Impact of Technology on Anxiety

anxiety and technology

In today’s fast-paced world, technology has become an integral part of our daily lives. From smartphones to social media platforms, we are constantly connected, inundated with information, and bombarded by notifications. While technology has undoubtedly revolutionized the way we communicate, work, and access information, its omnipresence also comes with a price – heightened levels of anxiety and stress.

Brene Brown, a renowned researcher on vulnerability and shame, and John Delony, a mental health expert, join forces to shed light on the profound impact of technology on our mental well-being. In this therapeutic exploration, we delve into the intricate web of technology, social media, and constant connectivity, uncovering how they contribute to the rising tide of anxiety in our society.

The Digital Deluge: Understanding the Overload

Technology has opened up endless possibilities for connection and productivity, but it has also unleashed a tidal wave of digital overload. With smartphones always within arm’s reach and notifications incessantly vying for our attention, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed and mentally exhausted. The relentless barrage of emails, messages, and social media updates can leave us feeling perpetually on edge, unable to find respite in an increasingly noisy world.

Brene Brown reminds us that vulnerability lies at the heart of our human experience. When we’re constantly plugged into the digital realm, we lose touch with our vulnerability, numbing ourselves to discomfort and seeking refuge in the distraction of screens. This avoidance only exacerbates our anxiety, as we become disconnected from our true selves and the present moment.

The Comparison Trap: Navigating the Perils of Social Media

Social media platforms offer a window into the lives of others, but they also foster a culture of comparison and perfectionism. John Delony emphasizes that our incessant scrolling feeds into a relentless cycle of comparison, where we measure our worth against curated highlight reels and filtered snapshots of others’ lives. This constant comparison erodes our self-esteem and fuels feelings of inadequacy, contributing to anxiety and depression.

Moreover, the anonymity of the online world can embolden individuals to engage in cyberbullying and harassment, further exacerbating our anxiety and sense of insecurity. Brene Brown underscores the importance of cultivating empathy and compassion in our digital interactions, fostering online communities built on kindness and understanding rather than judgment and cruelty.

Finding Balance: Cultivating Healthy Relationships with Technology

While the pervasiveness of technology may seem daunting, there are steps we can take to reclaim control over our digital lives and foster healthier relationships with technology. John Delony encourages us to set boundaries around our technology use, carving out designated times for unplugging and engaging in activities that nourish our minds and souls. Whether it’s spending time in nature, practicing mindfulness, or connecting face-to-face with loved ones, prioritizing moments of offline connection can help us find balance in an increasingly digital world.

Brene Brown reminds us of the power of vulnerability in cultivating authentic connections both online and offline. By embracing our imperfections and sharing our struggles with trusted friends and family, we can break free from the facade of perfection perpetuated by social media and forge deeper, more meaningful relationships built on honesty and empathy.

In conclusion, while technology undoubtedly offers countless benefits, it also poses significant challenges to our mental well-being. By recognizing the impact of technology on anxiety and adopting strategies for fostering healthier relationships with technology, we can navigate the digital storm with resilience and grace, reclaiming control over our lives and prioritizing our mental health in an increasingly interconnected world.

Read more about the types of anxiety and our useful guide on our anxiety page

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Hidden Labels: The Silent Burdens We Carry

Hi, I’m Gail. As a therapist, I’ve had the amazing opportunity to unravel the impact of labels—both the obvious ones and the sneaky hidden ones. I want to explore the importance of labels, their not-so-great effects, the secret labels that quietly shape our lives, and three powerful ways to overcome them and find healing.

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The Importance of Labels:

Labels, are those handy little tags we use to describe and categorize our wonderfully complex selves. They help us find our place in the world and connect with others. Whether it’s our job title, cultural background, or even our unique personality traits, labels provide a sense of identity and belonging. They act as signposts, guiding us on the road to self-understanding and helping us relate to the diverse tapestry of humanity.

Detrimental Effects of Labels:

Now, the flip side of labels. While they can be super helpful, they can also become a bit of a mixed bag. When we take these labels to heart, they start shaping how we see ourselves. Negative labels—whether thrown at us by society or self-imposed—can chip away at our self-esteem, causing self-doubt and, in some cases, leading to depression. It’s important to remember that labels are just tiny boxes that can’t fully capture our true, magnificent selves. They can restrict our growth and limit our potential.

The Unseen Labels:

The sneaky ones, the ones that nobody talks about openly are the labels that exist within individuals, quietly influencing their experiences and interactions. They come from personal struggles, traumas, or unique circumstances that we keep under wraps.

The Survivor:

  • Behind those smiles we see are stories of incredible resilience. I remember a client of mine, Sarah, who carried the hidden label of strength. She had overcome a turbulent past, battling abuse and adversity. Sarah’s hidden label sometimes made her question her worth, but underneath it all, her strength shone through, inspiring those around her.

The Imposter:

  • Ever met someone who feels like they’re just faking it? I sure have! Tom, a brilliant artist I once worked with, carried the hidden label of being an imposter. Despite his undeniable talent and success, he couldn’t shake the fear of being exposed as a fraud. Helping Tom recognize his achievements and embrace his unique artistic voice was a crucial step in shedding that hidden label.

The Caregiver:

  • In the shadows, we find the unsung heroes known as caregivers. I remember Maria, a devoted caregiver for her elderly mother. Her hidden label was one of immense responsibility. She often put her own needs on hold, neglecting her own well-being. It was crucial for Maria to realize that taking care of herself was not a selfish act but a necessary one to sustain her ability to care for her loved ones.

The Stigmatized:

  • Sadly, our society tends to stick invisible labels on individuals struggling with mental health issues, addiction, or those living unconventional lifestyles. I recall a client named Jason who carried the hidden label of stigma due to his battles with depression. He feared being judged and misunderstood, often hiding his struggles from those around him. Assuring Jason that seeking help was a sign of strength, we worked towards breaking the chains of that hidden label together.

The Path to Healing: Overcoming Hidden Labels

Now that we understand the impact of hidden labels, let’s explore three powerful ways to overcome them and find healing:

Self-Reflection and Awareness:

  • The first step toward overcoming hidden labels is to develop self-reflection and awareness. Take a moment to examine the labels you carry within yourself. Ask yourself: Are these labels helping or hindering my growth? Are they based on truth or perception? By becoming aware of the hidden labels you carry, you can start challenging their validity and reclaim your true identity.

Embrace Self-Compassion and Authenticity:

  • Practice self-compassion and embrace your authentic self. Recognize that hidden labels do not define you. Remind yourself that you are multifaceted and constantly evolving. Embracing your true self, flaws and all, allows you to let go of the need for external validation and frees you from the shackles of hidden labels. Be kind to yourself, celebrate your strengths, and honor your journey.

Seek Support and Connection:

  • Overcoming hidden labels is not a journey you have to navigate alone. Seek support from trusted friends, family members, or professionals who can provide guidance and understanding. Join support groups or communities where you can connect with others who have experienced similar hidden labels. Sharing your story and hearing others’ experiences can offer validation, support, and a sense of belonging.

Conclusion:

As we wrap up our exploration of hidden labels, let us remember that we are so much more than the labels we carry. While labels can be helpful in navigating the world, they can also limit our potential and hinder our well-being when we let them define us. By cultivating self-reflection, embracing authenticity, and seeking support, we can break free from the chains of hidden labels and embrace our true selves. It’s time to rise above the silent burdens we carry and embark on a journey of self-acceptance and growth.

Remember, you have the power to transcend the labels that society imposes upon you and the hidden labels that weigh you down. Embrace your uniqueness, celebrate your strengths, and be kind to yourself as you navigate the path to healing. You are not defined by any label. You are a beautiful, ever-evolving being deserving of love, acceptance, and joy.