Fretters Unite

Have you ever had one of those days where anxiety shows up, but it doesn't come with a specific storyline or an obvious target? There’s no big plot twist, no dramatic music, and no unsolicited WhatsApp from a passive-aggressive group chat where the vibe is suddenly very, very weird. And it’s not even one of those suspiciously good days where you're waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s just a regular, ordinary day. But underneath it all, there's this feeling. A weird hum under your skin , accompanied by a nagging sense that something is "off"—even though you're just going about a perfectly normal day and nothing has actually gone wrong. Honestly, these are the days that drive me the most mad. It’s incredibly frustrating because no matter how hard you try (and let's face it, that's what us overthinkers are masters at) you can’t give yourself a solid reason for why you feel that way. You can’t point at a specific problem and say, “Ah yes, that’s exact...

Understanding the Anxiety Behind the Automatic ‘Sorry I thought for this blog we would start with a mini quiz... How many times this week have you used the word “sorry”? 🤨 I’m not talking about the big, meaningful apologies you offer when you’ve genuinely messed up or hurt someone. I mean the tiny, automatic, knee-jerk words that tumble out of your mouth before your brain even has a chance to catch up. Because here’s the thing (yes, I’m calling it a thing 🤭)—there’s a very specific kind of “sorry” that anyone who wrestles with anxiety or a finicky body knows all too well. It sounds a bit like this: “Sorry, could you repeat that?” “Sorry, I’m being a bit quiet today.” “Sorry, I just need a second.” “Sorry, my heart is doing its own weird interpretive dance right now.” It’s a strange little habit when you look at it closely . You can be standing perfectly still, just trying to navigate your day, and still feel this sudden, overwhelming urge to apologise for simply needing a bit of spac...

I wanted to go in a slightly different direction with today's blog and look at how we treat ourselves after things get a bit overwhelming. I talk plenty about the stress and the chaos while we’re right in the thick of it, but then what? What about that emotional hangover? Just the other day, I had one of those moments myself. The thing was nothing terrible had particularly happened, but my nervous system clearly didn’t get the memo, and everything just felt very loud, very busy, and very much. It was once the dust settled, I caught myself doing all these tiny, automatic things to bring myself back down to earth. It made me realise how many of us beat ourselves up for feeling "weird" or sluggish after the pressure drops, without realising that our bodies are just trying to get us back on track. Because when you look at it closely, there are actually two very different parts to this. There is the wobble itself—that lovely moment your brain suddenly decides to audition for a...

I was chatting with a friend the other day, and out of nowhere, I made a joke that I’m pretty sure there are two versions of me. We laughed about it at the time—it was a bit of a cheeky, lighthearted moment over a cuppa—but once the words settled, it was like a lightbulb moment. Because underneath it all, I realised it was entirely true. So what do I mean? Well, there’s the Real Us: the one who knows what matters, who’s lived enough life to have some wisdom tucked away, who can make a decent cup of tea and get on with things. And then there’s Anxiety Us: the one who thinks a slightly delayed text means absolute catastrophe and that the dog’s sigh is a personal review of our character. It’s the kind of thing where we don't even always notice they are both there. They just hum away in the background—a quiet, familiar little double act running along beside us. The Daily Tug-of-War For many of us, this internal double act isn’t dramatic. It’s not a constant meltdown or a perpetual cris...

Today I would like to talk about a very specific, (and often very lonely) moment that anyone with anxiety knows all too well. You’re in a conversation. You’re doing the thing. You’re nodding at the right intervals, you’re making the 'thoughtful listener' face—you are, by all external reasoning, adulting. And then, without warning... nothing. Your brain essentially hits Ctrl+Alt+Delete and reboots itself like a dusty laptop from 2009. One second, you’re present, discussing the nuances of the latest TV blockbuster or what to have for tea tonight. The next, you’re staring at someone’s moving lips thinking, 'I recognise that these are words, but they're currently reaching me in a completely random order.' Welcome to the “Anxiety Reboot” When it happens during a harmless bit of chit-chat, it can feel a bit awkward. But the real fun begins when your brain decides to pull this stunt during the moments that actually matter. It has a truly impeccable sense of irony. Because...

The last few weeks have been quietly stressful and it has brought something to mind that if I am honest, I’ve known for a long time so I want to try and put it into words.  I can be coping… and still not be okay. It’s a strange thing to admit, because on the outside I look like someone who’s managing. I get up, I get on with things, I keep life moving. I deal with a life that is somewhat hectic, I make plans, I show up when I can. And because I’m doing all that, part of me thinks, Well, I must be alright then. But inside? Inside it feels different. Inside there’s a tiredness that doesn’t show on my face. Inside there’s a version of me that’s still trying to catch up with everything I’ve been carrying. And that’s the bit I want to talk about — not the performance of coping (I’ve written about that before), but the internal mismatch. The quiet contradiction of functioning on the outside while something deeper is still unsettled. What I’ve realised is that coping feels like this odd e...