Overcoming Worry: Finding Peace in the Present

Understanding the Nature of Worry

We've all done it.

Replayed a conversation or meeting from earlier, wondering if we said too much, not enough, or the wrong thing. Or jumped ten steps ahead into an imaginary future, trying to predict every worst-case scenario that never actually happens.

I once spent an entire day writing an email. It wasn't to the IRS or a dear friend I was checking in on. It was a friendly, professional message to a business acquaintance about a possible collaboration.

And yet, there I was—rewriting, rewording, rereading, spiraling. Did it sound professional enough? Was I coming off too eager? Did my use of "Hi there!" feel weirdly casual?

By the time I hit send (which took hours), I felt completely wrung out. But at the time, what I didn't see was that I wasn’t actually worried about the email. I was worried about the ask. I worried I’d look silly. I worried they’d think, Who is this weirdo trying to collaborate with me?

The tiny surface-level worries—the greeting, the punctuation, the tone—became my brain’s way of avoiding the bigger, scarier thing underneath: the fear of putting myself out there.

That’s how worry works. Worry is a sneaky thief.

It convinces us that if we ruminate and obsess hard enough, we’ll somehow change the past or outsmart the future. But every day we spend stuck back there—or spiraling ahead—is a day we miss entirely. It pulls us out of the only time we have control over, the only time that is truly ours: right now. The sun rose this morning at 6:11 AM EST. The dawn of a NEW day, a day that won't happen again.

Let that sink in. Today is never coming back.

So why do we keep handing it over to our fears, doubts, and mental reruns?

The Nature of Worry

Worry feels productive.

It tricks us into believing we’re doing something useful—preparing, protecting, preventing. But most of the time, worry is just mental noise dressed up as problem-solving.

At its core, worry is a form of time travel. We either project ourselves into an imagined future (usually the worst-case version), or we rewind the past and rewatch it with a magnifying glass.

But here’s the thing: neither of those timelines can be changed from where we are. No matter how many hours we spend analyzing yesterday or forecasting tomorrow, we’re still left with now—a moment we’ve likely missed while our brain was somewhere else.

It’s not that worry makes us bad or broken—it just makes us human. Our brains are wired to look for threats, to scan for what might go wrong. But what starts as a survival instinct can turn into a loop that never lets us rest. And the more we do it, the more automatic it becomes—like worry is just part of being a responsible adult.

The Cost of Worry

Worry feels responsible.

But it’s quietly expensive. It eats up mental bandwidth. It drains emotional energy. It keeps us up at night, rewinding the past or rehearsing future disasters that usually never play out.

And while we’re busy managing all those imaginary outcomes, real life slips by unnoticed.

• We miss the conversation in front of us because we’re replaying one from yesterday.

• We scroll past joy because we’re scanning for danger.

• We say we’re “just being cautious,” but what we really feel is scared and exhausted.

  
  

Worry doesn’t just steal your peace. It steals your presence.

I’ve worked with so many people who feel like they’re constantly “on”—always solving, fixing, preventing. They’re productive, high-capacity, reliable… and secretly burned out. Because under it all is this idea that if I stop worrying, something will fall apart.

But here’s the hard truth: worrying doesn’t actually prevent pain. It just makes you live through it twice… three times… sometimes over and over again.

Reclaiming the Present

When we’re stuck in worry, it’s nearly impossible to focus. Our brains are too busy time traveling—running laps around what could go wrong or what already has. That scattered feeling? It’s not a lack of discipline—it’s your nervous system in overdrive.

So how do we take our attention back?

We start by coming back to now.

Try a few of these simple tools:

• Pause to notice what your body is doing. (Are you clenching your jaw? Holding your breath?)

• Name five things you can see or hear.

• Take one slow, intentional breath and label the moment: “This is now. I am present.”

  
  

And when your brain won’t let go of a specific fear, try this 3-step practice:

A Practice for Working with Worry

1. Face it straight on.

What’s the worst-case scenario? What are the actual facts—not the story, just the reality?

2. Make peace with it.

If that worst thing did happen, how would you handle it? Who or what would help you get through?

3. Improve it.

Now that you’ve accepted the possibility, shift into action. What small thing can you do now to make that outcome less likely—or less painful?

This isn’t about pretending worry doesn’t exist. It’s about moving from fear to clarity and from spiraling to steady ground.

A Gentle Challenge

This week, just notice when your mind starts time traveling. Not with judgment. Just with curiosity. Catch yourself mid-worry and ask: Where am I right now? Am I in this moment—or somewhere else entirely?

When you notice it, bring yourself back:

• One deep breath

• Feet on the floor

• Name something beautiful or true

  
  

Want to go a little deeper? Try this short reflection at the end of your day:

Daily Reflection Prompt:

• Where did my mind spend most of its time today?

• What moments did I notice and enjoy?

• What pulled me away—and what brought me back?

  
  

You don’t need a journal. You can reflect in the shower, while brushing your teeth, or before bed. The goal isn’t to get it right—it’s just to become more aware.

Embracing the Present Moment

Worry likes to pretend it’s helping. But most of the time, it just makes you live a hard moment over and over again—without ever changing the outcome.

You don’t have to live in constant rehearsal mode. You don’t need to keep trading today for a version of tomorrow that might never come. As Dante wrote: “Think that this day will never dawn again.”

Let’s stop handing our one and only life over to fear. Let’s come back to where life is actually happening: here. Now.

And if you’re tired of doing all the emotional heavy lifting on your own—this is exactly the kind of thing I help my clients with. You don’t have to power through. You can pause, process, and still rise stronger.

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