Some people I know are highly-advanced worst case scenario thinkers. These are the folks you can count on to imagine the most horrific possible outcome to any situation or decision. Sometimes I feel like the most careless person in the world next to my one-step-ahead-of-disaster friends.
At stressful times, though, I relate well to their impulses. If I get anxious enough, I indulge in my own doom spiral. Psychologists call it catastrophizing: “people jump to the worst possible conclusion, usually with very limited information or objective reason to despair.”
Catastrophizing is like regular worrying, on steroids. As with worrying, it’s a way we trick ourselves into thinking that we’re preparing for these worst case scenarios, or that if we imagine the worst outcome we can control it and avoid it. When catastrophizing is persistent and pervades many areas of life (relationships, work, money, health), it can lead to high levels of anxiety, reduced confidence, aversion to risk taking, and prolonged pain. Catastrophizing can also be triggered by things that are external to us, like the state of this f-ed up world:
Maybe it’s geopolitical events that concern you. You spend hours, every night, ruminating on the threat of nuclear war, the emergence of another deadly virus or the likelihood of an economic recession. The devastation it could cause for you and your loved ones keeps playing out in your mind’s eye.
Many people are aware that the doom spiral is irrational and even fantastical, but this doesn’t mean it’s easy to snap out of it. After all, if all it took to stop worrying was hearing “don’t worry, be happy” those of us who’ve heard that song approximately seven hundred thousand times since the 80s would have been cured long ago.
The foundation for my own occasional descent into a disaster spiral is to find myself in a stressful context: as I write this, I’m in the midst of my big move, dealing with banks and lawyers and bears, oh my. Ok, not actual bears, but to the body under stress, it feels like bears. Being on the edge of fight or flight invites in my own worst case scenario thoughts.
With the ground laid, my mind happily takes whatever momentary concern is at hand and runs with it, straight to hell. Asked to provide insurance papers? What if I have the wrong insurance? My house is going to burn down and I’ll be ruined! Find out something is going to cost more than you planned (when does it NOT?)? What if I don’t have enough money, we’re going to be broke and have nothing and it’s all my fault.
By the time you read this post in mid-May, I should have stepped off this express escalator to my worst fears. My rational brain won’t be in constant battle with the feral part of me that’s ready to flee into the woods to avoid some semblance of adulting and the stress it brings with. Until current me joins up with future me, however, I want strategies to hit the emergency stop button on this cursed escalator.
Experts recommend techniques like grounding and mindfulness, reframing, focusing on what you can control, and challenging the negative thoughts with direct questions (e.g., is there any evidence this will happen?). In the midst of my own catastrophizing moment (not an era, not yet), I decided to externalize my doom spiral, aka, write down the fears that were swirling around inside my increasingly tight chest.
My list, appropriately titled “Fears,” had a few things on it that are specific to the particular stress of moving (“We can’t afford our house and we’ll just have to sell it”), but the deeper I dug, the more they boiled down to some pretty general fears: “I took too big a risk; I’ll lose everything; I’ll be ashamed and humiliated.”
Writing them down made me feel a little better, if only because it felt like doing something with these thoughts rather than just marinating (drowning) in them. After a while, I went back to the list and wrote some responses to the fears: People do this every day and it’s fine. We have resources to draw on. Even if we did have to sell the house we’d be good; heck we’d probably make money.
Did this cure me? Not exactly. But it felt like a resource outside of my racing mind that I could look at, and that was somewhat calming. I also tried to remember the saying, If it’s hysterical, it’s historical. In other words, if I’m having an outsized reaction to something, chances are it’s dredging up a memory of a similar situation in the past that was at least scarring, if not downright traumatic.
Years ago, I had not one but two experiences of home closings that weren’t just flirting with disaster, they were going to second base with it and contemplating going all the way. So when a simple request for a document sets my heart pounding, I have to remember that my body is reacting to what happened all those years ago. It helps that I find the phrase if it’s hysterical, it’s historical kind of funny, and then I can also laugh a little at myself.
In all seriousness, catastrophizing sucks, even when it’s brought on by a temporary stress. Being constantly bombarded by worst possible outcomes, internalizing those outcomes (I’m a failure, I’m not loved), and potentially experiencing worsening overall anxiety, pain, and mental health is a hard way to live. Maybe it’s useful to hear that not everyone thinks this way, at least not all the time. There are things to try on your own and things therapy can help with, too. Predicting the imminent fiery end of every job, friendship, romance, airplane flight, etc. is no more rational (and no more necessary!) than predicting the end of the world. You don’t need to be the Doomsday conspiracy theorist of your own life.
What I’m reading: The very first book in Iris Johansen’s long-running Eve Duncan crime series: The Face of Deception.
What I’m watching: The new season of We’re Here on Max, with literally 4 of my all-time favourite Drag Race queens: Latrice Royale, Sasha Velour, Priyanka (yay Canada), and Jaida Essence Hall (look over there!)