Cass-tastrophizing

I've been reflecting on my feelings rather than writing them down, but getting everything out on this virtual paper feels cleansing and cathartic. Some of you may find pieces of your own journey here, too.

We worry. We fear. We run through worst-case scenarios like it's our job—because, in a way, it is. Our brains are wired for survival, which means preparing for threats, even imaginary ones.

To control my emotions and protect myself, I started "practicing" how things would play out if they went the opposite of what I wanted. If I could rehearse the disappointment, the rejection, the failure—then maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much when it happened.

It worked. I felt at peace, in control. Nothing could truly shake me if I had already accepted the worst. I wouldn’t be heartbroken over a job I didn’t get or a boy who didn’t want me. If I detached from the outcome, I could avoid pain altogether.

Except, I wasn’t practicing detachment—I was practicing disaster. Instead of shielding myself, I was manifesting my fears.

"Oh fuck yeah, she’s getting all woo-woo again," the crowd exclaims.

Listen. If you’re like me and deal with anxiety, falling into these practice scenarios might just be second nature to you. It feels like self-protection, but it’s just self-sabotage. Every time we catastrophize, we add another brick to the wall between us and the things we want.

“But…but I’m just being realistic. Preparing for the worst is healthy.”

Oh, my sweet summer child. The phrase "hope for the best but expect the worst" is not the proverb we think it is. What you focus on expands, and when we fixate on what could go wrong, we are literally training our brains to expect disappointment. We are not preparing—we are preemptively grieving.

We mistake control for safety. If I plan for every bad outcome, then I am in control. If I am in control, then nothing bad can happen to me. As long as I feel like I have control, I don’t feel anxious.

But the second we realize we are not actually in control is when the anxiety hits, and the panic sets in. We’ve never really been in control.

Newt Scamander said, "Worrying means you suffer twice." He was right. How many times have you agonized over something, only for it to turn out fine? And even when things didn’t go your way, was the outcome ever as bad as the hellscape your mind built?

If you can’t see into the darkness, there’s definitely a monster lurking in there. If someone approaches you on the street, they’re probably going to rob you. If you walk into a party alone, it’s guaranteed to be the most uncomfortable night of your life.

We are, not by nature but by training, a negatively-focused people. And what we focus on, we attract.

There’s no such thing as "Lucky Girl Syndrome." That whole concept—where things magically fall into your lap, like dollar bills raining from the sky—is just the Law of Attraction with a rebrand.

A refresher: What you focus on, you get more of. You feed that energy if you are naturally inclined to expect the worst. You build momentum. You reinforce a belief system that primes your brain to look for more of the same.

Not only do we predict negative outcomes, but we often unconsciously create them. The things we fear most have a funny way of finding us.

Catastrophizing is a learned behavior. Every thought you think builds a neural pathway–a shortcut your brain will use again and again until it becomes second nature. You don’t even have to try—your mind defaults to fear.

So, what do we do?

First, we stop visualizing the worst-case scenario. We don’t train our brains to expect failure, rejection, and heartbreak. Instead, we visualize reality—challenges will come, but we will meet them with grace, agility, and peace. We will figure it out.

And that brings me to my next point: stop fucking with your future while pretending to protect yourself.

Ever wonder why I’m perceived as blunt? A tell-it-like-it-is girly? Because I don’t waste time catastrophizing anymore. If I have an issue, I say it. If you hurt my feelings, I’ll tell you. I don’t sit around crafting alternate timelines—I live in the one I’m in.

Scene: You sit alone in your room, wondering why he isn’t texting back.

Maybe he’s with someone else. Or worse, fucking someone else. Maybe he’s in jail. Or maybe—oh god—he hates me. That’s it. He’s over me. He’s moved on. I’m annoying. I’m awful. I will die alone.

Now, we’re in the shame spiral. You think, “Fine. I’ll text someone else. I’ll redownload Hinge. I’ll craft the perfect message to tell him off. I’ll start planning my life without him.”

DING. A text. A sigh of relief.

Congrats, you just went through the seven stages of grief over something that wasn’t even real. And for what? To "protect yourself"? No, babe. You just put yourself through unnecessary pain.

This is where grace comes in.

And no, not the woman—the act. Grace, the willingness to meet people where they are. To extend understanding. To sit with uncertainty and not let it consume you.

Giving others grace will save you so much unnecessary heartache. It keeps you from making assumptions, from jumping to conclusions, from manifesting outcomes you don’t even want in the first place.

So, let’s reframe. Instead of “He’s ignoring me,” let’s try “Maybe he’s just busy.” Instead of “This will never work out,” let’s try “I trust that whatever happens is for my highest good.” Instead of death-gripping control, let’s learn to let go.

Letting go is not the same as giving up. Non-attachment isn’t about suppressing emotions or pretending not to care—it’s about loosening your grip on outcomes. It’s about understanding that control is an illusion and clinging to it only creates suffering.

Buddhism teaches that attachment is the root of suffering, and catastrophizing is just another form of attachment—attachment to fear, to control, to the illusion that if we anticipate pain, we can somehow soften the blow. But suffering twice doesn’t make the first hit hurt any less.

By constantly bracing for the worst, you don’t just manifest negative outcomes—you rob yourself of feeling anything fully. You dull your own joy before it even has the chance to exist. You preemptively grieve what you haven't lost yet, just in case. But in doing so, you also deny yourself the full experience of excitement, hope, and love. You’re so busy protecting yourself from pain that you forget to let yourself live.

So, instead, we practice trust. Not in an "everything happens for a reason" kind of way, but in an "I can handle whatever comes" kind of way. We shift our focus from bracing for disaster to embracing the unknown. We remind ourselves that uncertainty is not a threat—it’s just life.

And that’s where the real peace is. Not in predicting the future, but in knowing we’ll be okay no matter what.