One thing I’ve been noticing recently is this.
Whenever something keeps replaying in my head, it’s rarely because of what happened.
It’s because of the story I wrote about what happened.
A comment on social media.
An interaction at work.
A disagreement.
Feedback from a cat show judge.
They all have one thing in common.
The actual event usually takes less than a minute.
The replay in my head lasts much longer.
For example, I recently found myself getting irritated by a few comments on a campaign post. My first instinct was to make another post to correct the misinformation.
Halfway through thinking about it, I stopped.
Was I making the post because it would help people?
Or was I making it because I wanted to prove a point?
The content would have looked almost identical.
The intention behind it was completely different.
Another example was at work.
I had an interaction with a colleague that kept replaying in my head for days.
I kept revisiting the conversation, thinking of better responses and wondering why it bothered me so much.
Eventually I realized something.
The conversation wasn’t what’s taking up space in my head.
It was everything I had attached to it.
“She doesn’t respect my time.”
“She always does this.”
“This is why…”
The event was over.
The story was still running.
The same thing happened after Conan’s first cat show.
I questioned whether I was becoming cynical because judging felt subjective.
Then another question came to mind.
Was I disappointed because the judging was subjective?
Or because I expected it not to be?
They’re similar questions, but they lead to different answers.
I’ve started asking myself two simple questions whenever something sticks in my head.
What do I know for a fact?
What story did my brain add on top of those facts?
Sometimes the story turns out to be true.
Sometimes it doesn’t.
Either way, separating the two helps me respond instead of react.
I’m realizing this applies to more than work or social media.
It applies to almost everything.
When someone doesn’t reply.
When a post doesn’t perform well.
When plans change.
When people say something that rubs me the wrong way.
Reality gives me the facts.
My brain fills in the blanks.
The blanks are usually where most of my stress comes from.
I’m still learning this.
I still catch myself writing stories every day.
The difference now is that I notice I’m writing them.
And sometimes, noticing is enough to stop the story from becoming the truth.
