What do you worry about? Understanding catastrophising

My husband sometimes travels abroad for work, and I worry that one day he won’t come home. OK, I’ve said it!

There is something quite unsettling about saying this out loud. I have this strange sense that I might be tempting fate. If I think about it too much, am I somehow manifesting something awful? I’m frightened of thinking about what might happen and yet unable to stop myself at the same time.

And my mind doesn’t stop at him dying. It races ahead. How would I find out? Who would phone me? What if I couldn’t get hold of him and I just knew something was wrong? How would they get his body home? Would I need to go there myself? How would I even get a death certificate? Would it need to be apostilled? Would I need a body for a funeral?

And then, because apparently imagining my husband dying isn’t quite enough for my brain, I start worrying about money. Could I afford the mortgage on my own? Do I know enough about passwords and finances? Would I have to sell the house?

I can go from my husband being away on a business trip to being widowed, financially insecure and selling my home pretty quickly. Of course, my husband could be run over by a bus crossing the road at home, but I don’t spend my days worrying about that. There is something about him travelling that makes me more aware of all the things that could go wrong. Maybe it is the distance, the uncertainty, or simply knowing that I can’t control what happens.

Reading this back, something strikes me. Almost everything I worry about is practical. Death certificates, passwords, mortgages, funerals. I don’t immediately think about how I would feel if my husband died. I think about what I would have to do. Perhaps there is something safer about that. They are all practical things I can potentially deal with. What I can’t deal with in advance is what it would feel like to lose him.

I’m a counsellor, and I know what catastrophising is. However, knowing what it is doesn’t necessarily stop me from doing it. I get on with my life. I work, walk the dog, talk to the kids, make dinner, see friends and probably seem perfectly fine. If you asked me how things were, I would say, “Good, thanks.” And all is good. That’s the weird thing. Life can be good, and I can still be frightened. The worry isn’t there all the time. It comes and goes, sometimes disappearing completely until something reminds me that he is away. Then, quick as a flash, my mind starts running through it all again.

When does worry become catastrophising?

So, how do you know when ordinary worry has tipped into catastrophising? For me, it is often when my mind stops dealing with what is actually happening and starts racing ahead to what might happen. One thought leads to another and, before I know it, I have created an entire future based on something that hasn’t happened.

When I work with clients who find themselves doing something similar, I’m not necessarily trying to persuade them that the thing they fear will never happen. Sometimes there is a genuine possibility that it might. Instead, it can be helpful to notice where your mind has gone and bring yourself back to what you actually know right now: what has happened, rather than what might happen. Stick with the facts.

It can also help to ask yourself whether there is something practical you need to do. If there is, do it. If there isn’t, running through the same scary scenario repeatedly probably isn’t going to make you any more prepared. If worry is taking up more and more of your day, affecting your sleep or stopping you from doing things you would normally do, it might be worth talking to someone about it.

Accepting what we can’t control

I wonder if the answer isn’t talking myself out of the fear. I wonder if it is about accepting that I am frightened. I don’t particularly like those feelings, but I don’t have to make them go away either.

There is something about recognising what I can and can’t control. I can understand our finances and make sure I have the passwords I might need. Those are things I can do. What I can’t do is guarantee that my husband will be safe. No amount of worrying, planning or running through every possible scenario in my head can give me that certainty. That feels like the hardest part. Accepting that there are things in my life I simply cannot control.

I can be frightened about what might happen and still enjoy what is happening. I can worry about losing someone I love and still get on with an ordinary day. Both things can be true.

I don’t think we talk about this version of ourselves. The one underneath “I’m fine”. The thoughts that seem too morbid, ridiculous, embarrassing or frightening to say out loud. The thoughts we quickly push away because surely everyone else is getting on with life better than we are. 

But are they? Maybe we all have a list somewhere in our heads of the things we are frightened might happen. Yours will probably look completely different to mine. It’s not a competition about whose concerns are the most real or valid. We worry about what we worry about. I’ve now told you what worries me. I wonder what worries you?

If worry or worst-case thinking is becoming difficult to manage, talking to a counsellor may help you explore what’s behind it and find ways to cope.