In my last post, I wrote about how difficult it can be to stay present when the world itself feels uncertain. There is a lot to worry about right now. And for some of us, the nervous system seems particularly good at finding those things.

You might recognize this feeling.

You wake up and reach for your phone before you’re completely awake. You notice a strange sensation in your body and immediately wonder what it means. Someone you love doesn’t text back when you expect them to. Your boss schedules a meeting without telling you what it’s about. You hear about layoffs at another company and start wondering whether yours will be next.

Nothing has necessarily happened.

But your body has already gotten the message that something might.

For people who are highly sensitive, anxious, or who have experienced trauma, significant loss, or instability, this kind of scanning can become so familiar that we don’t even realize we’re doing it. We’re simply paying attention.

Except sometimes we’re paying attention to everything.

Why We Look for What Might Go Wrong

Our nervous systems are designed to protect us. And one of the ways they do that is by using what has happened before to anticipate what might happen next.

If you’ve experienced something painful or frightening that you didn’t see coming, it makes sense that some part of you might decide: I don’t want to be surprised like that again.

So you become watchful.

You notice changes in people’s moods. You think through possible outcomes. You replay conversations. You research. You plan. You check.

Sometimes this is helpful. Being perceptive and prepared are not bad qualities.

But there is a difference between noticing and monitoring.

Monitoring asks us to remain on duty. It tells us that if we pay close enough attention, perhaps we can prevent the next painful thing from happening—or at least make sure it doesn’t catch us by surprise.

The problem is that life doesn’t offer us that guarantee.

And so the scanning never really gets to end.

Ask Yourself: Is Something Wrong Right Now, or Am I Afraid Something Might Go Wrong?

This is one of the simplest questions we can ask ourselves, and also one of the hardest.

Is something wrong right now?

Not: Could something happen?

Not: What if this feeling means something?

Not: What if the economy gets worse?

Not: What if this person leaves?

But: In this moment, is there something I need to respond to?

Sometimes the answer will be yes.

But often we discover that our nervous system is asking us to respond to a future that hasn’t happened yet.

That doesn’t mean the fear is silly or irrational. It means our body may be trying to protect us from uncertainty by turning uncertainty into an emergency.

Recognizing that difference can create just a little bit of space.

Give Your Body Evidence of the Present

When we’re overwhelmed, we often try to think our way out of it.

We tell ourselves to calm down. We remind ourselves that we’re probably overreacting. We make lists of reasons why everything is likely to be okay.

Sometimes that helps.

But sometimes our bodies need something more concrete.

Look around the room you’re in.

Feel the chair supporting you.

Notice your feet against the floor.

Take your dog outside and pay attention to what the air feels like. Put on music you love. Take a shower. Cook something. Step outside. Call someone whose voice makes your body soften a little.

These things aren’t magical techniques for making anxiety disappear.

They’re ways of giving your nervous system information about where you actually are right now.

You are here.

And right now, perhaps, you are safe enough to stop scanning for a moment.

Make Your World Smaller Sometimes

We have access to an extraordinary amount of information. Most of it is information our nervous systems can do absolutely nothing about.

We can know about a tragedy thousands of miles away while standing in line for coffee. We can read about layoffs while sitting at dinner with someone we love. We can encounter frightening predictions about the future before we’ve even gotten out of bed.

Being informed and caring about the world are important.

But we aren’t required to emotionally process the entire world every day.

Sometimes caring for ourselves means making our world intentionally smaller.

For the next hour, perhaps your world is the meal you’re making.

Or the person you’re talking to.

Or the walk you’re taking.

Or the work in front of you.

Or the show you’re watching.

The rest of the world still exists. You aren’t denying it by allowing your attention to rest somewhere else.

Let Something Good Be Good

This one can be surprisingly difficult.

When you’ve experienced loss or trauma, good moments can sometimes come with an asterisk.

You are having a wonderful day—and suddenly think about how it will end.

You love someone deeply—and remember that someday you could lose them.

Something is going well—and part of you starts waiting for the other shoe to drop.

We sometimes believe, without consciously realizing it, that anticipating pain will make future pain hurt less.

But worrying about losing something doesn’t protect us from losing it.

It only asks us to experience some of the loss before it has happened.

When something is good, see if you can let it be good.

Not forever.

Not as proof that nothing bad will ever happen.

Just now.

You Don’t Have to Earn Rest by Solving the Future

There will always be something we don’t know.

We won’t know exactly what will happen with our jobs, our relationships, our health, our families, or the world around us.

For a nervous system that craves certainty, this can feel intolerable.

But perhaps the goal isn’t certainty.

Perhaps the goal is developing a greater capacity to say: I don’t know what happens next, and I am here now.

That isn’t giving up.

It isn’t becoming naive or uninformed.

It is recognizing that vigilance and safety aren’t the same thing.

Therapy can help us begin to understand the ways we’ve learned to protect ourselves—and to notice when those protections are still serving us and when they’re keeping us from fully inhabiting our lives.

We don’t have to get rid of the part of us that watches the horizon.

Maybe we can simply help it understand that it doesn’t have to be on duty all the time.

There will be moments when we need it.

And there will also be moments when we can put our phones down, unclench our shoulders, look around at the life that’s actually happening, and let ourselves be there for it.