Fretters Unite

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...

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how the past shows up in the present — not in big, obvious ways, but in tiny, unexpected ones. A feeling, a sensation, a moment that makes the body react before the mind has even caught up. It’s something I’ve lived with through my own heart‑health journey, but it’s also something anyone with anxiety or old fears will recognise. It’s that strange mismatch between what you know and what your body insists on doing anyway — the classic “knee jerk”. My body often jumps in long before my mind has even woken up to the moment. Be it a tiny flutter, a tightness that runs through my whole body, or even a sudden chill. There it is, the full internal fanfare of “something is wrong”. Except nothing is wrong. Not in this moment. Yes my brain is whirring but in reality I’m just trying to make a cup of tea . It’s a strange thing, living in a body that remembers more than you do. My mind has moved on from certain moments — the shocks, the scares, the “whats happen...

Do you ever get that "rattle"? That strange, wobbly feeling where you’re desperate for someone to tell you it’s okay, but—here's the thing—you’ve got no idea what “it” even is? It’s a lonely place to be because there’s no drama to point to. You haven’t had a crisis. But you’re still stuck trying to convince yourself it’s "nothing," even though that nothing is currently taking up every bit of space in your head.  Asking for reassurance when you can’t point to a specific "event" is hard. It’s like trying to describe an ache to a doctor when there’s no bruise to show them. You know it's there—it’s loud and it’s heavy—but because you can’t hold up a piece of evidence to explain why, you feel like you have to just stay quiet and carry it. But I’ve come to realise that the moments when we can’t find the words are actually the moments we really need someone to steady the ship the most. It’s not about having a "good enough" reason; it’s about the...

I wrote recently about those "tiny tells"— the "I’m fine" scripts and the subtle pauses that show up when we’re feeling the weight of things. But if those are the clues that we’re a bit off-balance, then today is about the actual fixes. These aren't the signs that we’re struggling. These are our handbrake turns. They’re the clever, slightly weird, and totally instinctive ways we stay on track when life gets a bit twisty. It’s not about losing control; it’s about steering into the day so we can get on with the important stuff without ending up in the hedge. And the best part? They’re fair game. If they help you get from A to B without the wheels coming off, they’re worth their weight in gold. So, what are these quirky rituals that—somehow—actually work ? Yours might look a bit different to mine, but I’ve a feeling at least one of these will ring a bell... The classic: Aggressive Negotiations with Inanimate Objects “Come on, laptop, don’t do this to me today. We ...

You know those moments where something tiny happens—a song, a phrase, a number on a clock—and bam. Your brain goes from zero to a hundred, shouting: “Right. That’s it. That’s a sign!” It’s a funny shift, isn’t it? One minute you’re just going about your day, trying to remember if you actually turned the oven off. The next, you’re convinced you’re at the center of a huge story, and the universe is giving you a pointed look and a stage whisper. This happened to me recently . I was just sitting at home, the radio on in the background, while my mind did its usual anxious gymnastics. I was caught in a spiral of thoughts about my dad—we’re in the middle of selling his family home, and I’d been stuck on a loop thinking about all the little DIY jobs he’d done around the place over the years. The small repairs, the things only he knew how to fix. Right as that heavy wave of nostalgia hit, one of his favorite songs ever started to play. It happened at the exact moment I hit a certain thought, an...