This is a response for my “Ask Anna” series to a question I received:
“I constantly feel anxious that my partner is upset with me. If they are quiet, or if they don’t respond to a text immediately, I assume I did something wrong. I spiral into panic. How do I stop inventing problems that aren’t there?”
I was swimming off the coast of Fanari Beach in Greece, far from the shore.
It was supposed to be a peaceful vacation moment with my husband, Jerome. But we had entered the water with very different expectations. He wanted to swim in silence. I wanted to process a complicated issue we were facing.
When I tried to talk, he got annoyed. When he got annoyed, I got defensive. We snapped at each other.
Then, he swam away.
I looked down to adjust my goggles. When I looked up again, the water was empty.
I scanned the horizon. Nothing. Just blue waves and silence.
My brain didn’t offer the logical explanation, which was that he is a strong swimmer who needed space. Instead, my brain instantly drafted a tragedy.
He had a heart attack. He drowned. I am alone in the ocean. I will have to go back to the beach and tell our children their father is gone. It is my fault because I stressed him out.
The panic was physical. My chest constricted. I couldn’t breathe. I started swimming frantically toward the shore, rehearsing the emergency call in my head.
Then I saw him.
He was swimming calmly toward me from a different direction. He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t even in danger. He was just swimming.
The relief washed over me, followed immediately by anger. I was furious at him for scaring me, and furious at myself for the terror I had just manufactured.
That moment reminded me vividly and loudly that my mind is a storytelling machine. And when it lacks information, it rarely writes a romance. It writes a horror story.
In my work, I see this dynamic destroy connection more often than actual conflict does. We are constantly filling in the blanks of other people’s behavior.
Your boss doesn’t reply to an email? She hates my work.
Your partner sighs while doing dishes? He thinks I’m lazy.
A friend cancels dinner? They don’t want to see me anymore.
We react to the story we invented, not to the reality of the situation. And because we react defensively, we often create the very conflict we were afraid of.
If I had screamed at Jerome when he resurfaced, accusing him of being reckless, we would have had a huge fight. But the fight would have been based on my hallucination, not his actions.
I have learned to use a specific practice when I feel that familiar tightening in my stomach. I call it “Fact vs. Story.”
It requires three steps.
1. Notice the Physical Signal
Your body always knows before your mind does. For me, it is a tightness in my throat and a heat in my face. When I feel that, I know I am no longer responding to reality. I am responding to a fear.
2. Separate the Data from the Interpretation
I force myself to name the raw data.
Fact: Jerome is not in my line of sight.
Story: Jerome has drowned because of our argument.
Fact: My partner hasn’t texted back in three hours.
Story: They are angry and rethinking the relationship.
When you write it down or say it out loud, the gap between the two usually becomes obvious.
3. Investigate the Story
Byron Katie has a question I love for this: Who would you be without that thought?
If I didn’t believe Jerome was drowning, who would I be? I would be a woman enjoying a swim in Greece.
If you didn’t believe your partner was angry, who would you be? You would be someone getting their work done, trusting that they are busy.
The next time you feel that spiral beginning, pause. Ask yourself what is the thing that actually happened, and what is the story you are wrapping around it.
We cannot stop our brains from writing stories. It is what they are designed to do. But we can stop believing every draft they hand us.
