Train-Wreck Way of Thinking
I am here, this morning, in all my brokenness. I made a mistake yesterday. In the past, that would have sent me down a rabbit hole of catastrophizing. I imagine the worst, then worse, and worse yet until, in a demented version of the impact of butterfly wings, the world is hardly left standing because of my mistake. That didn’t happen yesterday. It may happen next time. But until it does, I will credit contemplation for putting the brakes on this train-wreck way of thinking.
Do any of y’all do this? Where the world is a thin crust of calm threatening to crumble into chaos at any moment? When it does, it will be all my fault. I’m no psychologist, but they say it’s the result of childhood trauma—isn’t everything? I experience it as believing others are waiting to jump on me. Their judgments will collapse my world. Cruelly, the catastrophyzing tends to occur when something good hovers on the horizon. Basically, the old “the blade of grass that stands tall will be mowed down.” I don’t have the energy to birddog where that came from.
Out in the yard, a yellow butterfly flits on the canna, enjoying the blowsy red blossoms. Soon, the plant I chose for its cloud-like fall color will be in full pink eruption. Don’t ask me its name. In the meantime, the ground cover roses are enjoying a second blooming, so grateful for the milder heat.
I say contemplation saved me because that sounds so wise. But, also—it’s always both/and, right?—I will die. Before that, I will be dying, and all these mistakes I worry about will not matter one whit. That gives me courage. I can’t control the opinions of others, their reactions. Not even when they are justified. I can only shrug and say, I made a mistake, so kill me. Ha, ha—life has that covered.
I should be out riding my bike. But I’m choosing to share my mental state with y’all. One reason: it helped to learn my hatred of eating noises had a name—misophonia. It’s real. Other people have it too. Same way with catastrophizing. I am not the only one with a train-wreck way of thinking.
A plant has insinuated itself into the stem of the ground cover roses. It’s not a rose but wants you to think it is. I snip. A raindrop hits me like a warm tear. The clouds will go away. Or spin, and a hurricane will come. If it does, the snapdragons I planted will welcome the water. The orange hibiscus blossom here yesterday is gone. Not from disease or picking. That is its life span, one day. As, in the grand scheme of things, is ours.
anxiety thinking, catastrophyzing, the answer to catastrophyzing thinking, what is catastrophyzing
Jean
Thanks Ellen for sharing the scenarios I hide.
Ellen Morris Prewitt
You’re welcome. It’s hard to share, yet I’ve read where the first best thing you can do is to get the fear out of your head. To share with someone close to you what you are worrying about. I have found that, if I can do that, it almost dies of its own weight–the structure of the fear collapses. The hard part is that, before it collapses, for me, it momentarily makes the fear real. We are all in this together. ❤️
Emma
Good Morning Ellen: Being a high empath, this makes me sad to read. I can relate all too well. Life goes on, in one way or another, for all of us. In spite of our errors, our successes, our words spoken or not. And we ruminate on all of it over and over. Peace to you my friend.
Ellen Morris Prewitt
Thank you, Emma, for your support and empathy and blessing. Your comment helps me see life as so many strands, none of which snap at the same time.
Joanne Corey
Sending love. Thanks for sharing, Ellen. As you know you are not alone in any of this. I’m reminded of Richard Rohr wirint about all the little deaths we experience and how the contmplative way helps us rise from them. What a blessing that you are able to experience this sense in this instance. There will be more mistakes and “little deaths” to come but also more opportunities to rise. Wishing you peace!
Ellen Morris Prewitt
Thank you, Joanne. I had not heard of Rohr’s characterization of it as “little deaths,” but it makes so much sense. And to think of it as opportunities to rise is brilliant. ❤️
Marie A Bailey
Oh, I’m so sorry I missed this post! I hear you, sister! I tend to have a train-wreck way of thinking as well. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by mistakes I made decades ago, not even recent ones. I psychologically flog myself for the meanness I displayed to others. I am a hypocrite, I say, guilty of having done things that I condemn in others. Sigh. Then I remind myself that I’ve spent these decades trying to be a better person. Like Democracy, we—our moral character—is a work in progress. We err, we learn. If we can’t make it up to the person we hurt, we try to avoid hurting others. Maybe this isn’t the kind of train-wreck thinking you mean, but it is what haunts me most. And, yes, I grew up being led to feel that, if things went wrong in the world, it was somehow my fault. That is also taking me a lifetime to live down. But as you note, such things are not likely to be trouble me on my deathbed so why should they now. 💙
Ellen Morris Prewitt
I do include “mistakes in my past” in my train-wreck thinking. Past incidents can rise up like creatures from the swamp, and time melts. So long ago hardly matters. I like the grace you give to say our moral characters are works in progress; we are trying to be better people. I’m gonna say we’re getting there. 🙂