The Strange Logic of My Over-Achieving Brain

Have you ever received a text that just says, "Hey, do you have a second?" and immediately started mentally packing your bags to move to a damp cottage in the Outer Hebrides because you’re convinced everyone you know has finally decided to "fire" you as a friend?

Welcome to the inner workings of the anxious mind.

I like to think of my brain as an over-eager motion-sensor light. It’s incredibly diligent and very well-intentioned, but it’s also incapable of telling the difference between an actual guest at the door and a moth that happened to flutter by at 3:00 AM. If there is a "worst-case scenario" to be found, my brain will find it, illuminate it with a 500-watt bulb, and present it to me in high-definition before I’ve even finished my morning cuppa.

If your mind is prone to these kinds of daft, over-the-top leaps, I promise you aren’t broken. You’ve just got a brain that’s a bit of a chatterbox—one that insists on making a mountain out of a molehill before you’ve even had a chance to put the kettle on.

The logic of an anxious brain is rarely a straight line. It’s more of a sudden, uninvited leap from a tiny "nothing" to a massive "everything." You don't just ponder a situation; you find yourself catapulted into the worst-case scenario before you’ve even had a chance to blink.

You’ll hear a notification ping at 9:00 PM, and rather than thinking it’s just an automated shipping update or a group chat joke, your brain decides it’s a friend you haven't caught up with in a while. Suddenly, you’re convinced they’re only reaching out because you’ve forgotten their birthday or missed an important invite. By the time you’ve actually picked up your phone, you’ve already mentally rehearsed an apology for a mistake you haven't even made yet.

It’s just what the mind does—it takes a small detail and runs a marathon with it. You might see that a friend has read your message but hasn't replied, and suddenly you’re convinced you said something slightly "off" years ago that they’ve finally decided was the last straw. Or you notice a bit of a twinge in your knee and, after a thirty-second scroll on your phone, you’re basically convinced it’s something serious. It’s a lot of energy spent on things that haven't actually happened, but in the moment, that strange, zig-zagging logic feels completely sound.

As I understand it, there’s actually a fairly simple reason our heads do this. Way back when we were living in caves, being a bit jumpy was actually quite a useful trait. If you heard a rustle in the grass, it was much safer to assume it was a tiger than to just hope it was a nice breeze. The problem is, we don't have many tigers to worry about these days, but we still have that same jumpy instinct🫣.

Without any real predators to spot, our brains get a bit bored and start looking for "danger" in everyday things instead—like a slightly short email from a colleague or a "seen" message with no reply. It’s not that we’re losing our minds; it’s just that our brains are still using an old operating system that hasn’t had an update in about ten thousand years.

When I catch myself getting into a state over something tiny, I try to remember that my brain isn't actually trying to ruin my day. It’s just being incredibly over-protective. It’s a bit like that one friend who worries far too much and insists on packing an umbrella, a spare jumper, and a first-aid kit for a ten-minute walk to the shops—just in case.

My mind is essentially saying, "Look, I’ve spent the last twenty minutes imagining every single way this could go wrong, so if it actually does, we’ll be ready for it!" It’s a deeply exhausting way to live, and it’s usually completely unnecessary, but I am learning to accept that it's a habit my brain falls back on when it’s trying to be helpful. Once you recognise that’s what’s happening, it feels a little less like a crisis and a bit more like a high-drama performance you didn't buy tickets for.

But here’s the thing, and this is important: we don’t need to "fix" our brains to find a little peace. We might never stop the initial "ping" of a wild thought—that part is often automatic—but we can change how we respond to it when it arrives.

So next time your brain presents you with a five-step plan for how a missed phone call will lead to your social ruin, try to just see it for what it is. You don't have to believe the story it's telling you, and you don't have to pretend it’s funny, either. You can just acknowledge that your mind is doing that "thing" it does—spinning a complicated, high-stakes thriller out of a very simple moment.

Tonight, let’s give the motion-sensor light a rest. The silence is just silence, the notification is probably just a reminder to put the bins out, and I promise, you really are doing much better than your brain is leading you to believe.

I had a prime example of this just the other week. I’d bought a really nice pair of joggers for my grandson for Christmas, but I’d bought them quite early and—in a classic move—managed to lose the receipt.

Because it was one of his main presents, my brain didn’t just see a 'lost slip of paper.' It saw a catastrophe. I spent the best part of a week running through every possible disaster: I’d left it too long to return; they’d refuse to help without the physical receipt; and I’d be left feeling like I’d completely failed the 'Nanny' assignment. I was gutted, and I’d basically convinced myself the shop assistant would take one look at me and laugh me out of the building.

In the end, even though I was dreading it, I knew I had to go in and try for him. I showed them the purchase on my banking app and the staff couldn’t have been more helpful. Within minutes, the return was sorted, and we actually walked out with a new top that my grandson liked even more than the original purchase. I walked back to the car feeling a bit silly for carrying around a week’s worth of dread for a problem that took five minutes to solve.

Take a breath. You're safe, you're here, and you're definitely not moving to the Outer Hebrides just yet. The stories our heads tell us are just that—stories—and for right now, you’re doing just fine exactly where you are.

Thanks for reading and virtual hugs to you all