Turning worry into wisdom

Worry doesn’t always arrive with sirens. Sometimes, it slips in through a sentence. A glance. A moment that just doesn’t sit right.

And then it stays.

If you’ve ever obsessed over something small that somehow became everything, if you’ve spiraled into overthinking and ended up questioning yourself, your worth, your place in someone’s life. This is for you.

Because I’ve been there. And this is the story of how one offhand comment cracked open something deeper. Not just anxiety BUT truth. Not just spiraling BUT clarity. Not just worry BUT wisdom.

The comment that cracked something open

Years ago, I worked in a vibrant co-working space, the kind where ideas buzz in the air and the coffee is always strong. It was the perfect place to focus, plan big things and be surrounded by people who got it. People like her.

We became close quickly. The kind of friends who celebrated birthdays, talked shop over wine, let our kids run wild together. She felt like a sister in hustle and heart. One of my people.

Then, one day, I walked into the room and found her at her desk. She looked up, smiled, and launched into a story about a personality test she’d just taken.

“It was so accurate,” she said. “It said I don’t need lots of people. Just my family. That’s all I need.”

And without thinking, I laughed and said, “Oh, and me.”

What I got in return was… nothing. A smile. A small nod. And then silence.

And just like that, something shifted inside me.

My thoughts took over

At first, I told myself it was nothing. But inside, the thoughts started racing.

Why did I say that?
Did I sound desperate?
Did she just confirm I’m not important to her?

My chest tightened. I couldn’t focus. I kept replaying it over and over. The tone, the expression, what it might mean. That tiny moment took up the whole of my afternoon, and when I went to bed, it followed me there too.

Worry doesn’t need much to grow. It feeds on silence, on what wasn’t said.

And then it asks, again and again: Are you enough?

My husband was the first to notice something was off.

“You okay?” he asked gently. “You seem… not here.”

He was right. I wasn’t. I was stuck in my head, tension in my shoulders, breath shallow, heart racing like a drum. The moment was long gone yet it was still inside me.

That’s when I remembered what I know, but sometimes forget: the body always knows first.

So I stopped. I sat. I placed my hands on my belly and took one deep, grounding breath.

And then another.

That breath didn’t fix everything but it slowed me down enough to see clearly. Enough to start asking better questions.

This is a practice I’ve come back to over and over:

The Why x 3 technique.

Why did this upset me so much?
→ Because I felt dismissed.

Why did that matter?
→ Because I value connection and want to feel like I matter to the people in my life.

Why is that so important to me?
→ Because I give people my heart and I want that kind of care in return.

What I realised in that moment was simple, but big: my truth had been triggered. My values were poked at. And I was spiraling because I was clinging to something that wasn’t meeting me halfway.

Finding wisdom in the discomfort

I started to pay attention after that day. To what happened when I didn’t text first. When I didn’t reach out. When I stopped initiating.

And the silence that followed said more than her words ever did.

I hadn’t just been worried about her comment. I’d been trying to earn a place in her world for months. Trying to be included, invited, seen and it wasn’t happening.

It was never about that one conversation. It was about the realisation that I’d been pouring energy into a friendship that wasn’t built on the same foundations I needed.

And that insight? It wasn’t easy. But it was powerful.

Because discomfort — if we let it — can be our greatest teacher.

Three powerful tools to turn worry into wisdom: 

When I look back now, I don’t regret the worry. I just wish I’d had the tools to move through it faster.

Here are the ones that made all the difference:

1. Movement: shift the energy

When your mind is spinning, your body is often stuck.
Frozen. Clenched. Held.

So I moved. A long walk. Some yin yoga. A dance party in the kitchen (yes, really). Anything to move that tension through instead of letting it harden inside me.

Worry hates movement. It thrives on stillness and stagnation. Shake it off. Your body will thank you.

2. Journaling: ask better questions

I didn’t need to journal every single thought, what I needed was to question the right ones.

Three questions that helped me most:

• Is this thought useful or just loud?

• Who would I be without this thought?

• What is this thought trying to protect me from?

Write them. Sit with them. Let your pen be the mirror.

3. Reframe the thought

The thought I kept having was: “She doesn’t care about me.”
But when I reframed it, it became: “She has her own ways of showing love, and that might not match what I need — and that’s okay.”

Reframing doesn’t erase pain — it gives it a different shape. One that feels more grounded. More honest. More yours.

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That friendship quietly faded. And you know what? It created space for something better.

I’ve since found friendships that are mutual, safe, and deeply nourishing. But only because I was willing to face that uncomfortable truth, slow down, and listen to what my worry was trying to say.

Because worry isn’t weakness.
It’s a flashlight.
And sometimes it’s pointing to something that needs your attention.

So next time your mind spirals, pause. Breathe deep. Ask “why” three times. And remember:

Wisdom lives on the other side of discomfort.

Let it teach you.