Don’t Worry, Be Happy: How to Catch Your Mind in the Act

There’s a trick our minds love to play on us, and honestly, it’s not even entertaining. It’s not the kind where a rabbit appears out of a hat, or where your ex or your mother-in-law vanishes forever in a puff of smoke. No, this one is quieter, sneakier, and far less glamorous. It’s called worry. And despite what we’ve convinced ourselves, it’s not helping.

If you’re anything like me, you’ve got an Olympic-level talent for overthinking. One tiny thought slips in - anything from “Did I brush my teeth?” to “Did I lock the door?”- and before you know it, you’ve spun yourself into a full-blown disaster film where you're homeless, starving, and somehow personally responsible for the collapse of civilisation.

I came across a book recently by Dr David Carbonell, fittingly titled The Worry Trick. It hit me right between the eyes, but in a good way. His big idea is deceptively simple: we think worry is problem-solving, but really it’s the problem itself. Our brains like to pretend panic equals productivity. It feels like we’re “doing something” when in fact, we’re just running around like a chicken with its head cut off.

The reason it feels useful is because it gives us the illusion of control. It’s like yelling at a horror movie character not to run into the car park or open the basement door - it feels active, like you’re influencing the outcome, but really it’s a moot exercise. Our brains, still wired for caveman survival, are permanently on alert for danger. Only now, instead of dodging lions, tigers, and bears (oh my!), we’re sidestepping judgment, failure, and the full gamut of completely imaginary catastrophes.

Carbonell’s genius is in showing how worry disguises itself as the solution. We tell ourselves if we think long and hard enough, we’ll stumble across peace of mind.

But does that ever happen? Exactly. Worry tricks us into running through the worst possible scenarios so we’ll feel 'prepared', but all it really does is rob us of the moment we’re in.

The antidote, oddly enough, isn’t fighting worry - it’s recognising it for what it is. Imagine floating in the ocean. The waves roll in, they rise, they fall. You don’t battle the current; you let it carry you, knowing you’ll come back to the surface. It's like watching anxious thoughts drift past like clouds. The moment you stop chasing after them, they start to lose their urgency.

I had to put this into practice recently. A big opportunity landed in my lap, something I’d worked toward for years. Instead of celebrating, I immediately started imagining all the ways it could go wrong. My brain, by default, turned into anxiety-central, churning out Hollywood movie scripts that would give even Hitchcock a run for his money, each one ending with everything turning to custard. Then I remembered the book. I caught myself mid-spiral and thought, “Ah, this is the trick.” Naming it made all the difference. I still felt the nerves, but now they had a label. And that label gave me enough distance to step back, breathe, and remember I didn’t have to buy into the story my mind was trying to sell me.

The truth is, worry thrives on “what ifs.” What if I fail? What if she’s angry? What if the entire universe collapses because I forgot to pay my electricity bill? But here’s the important bit: there’s a difference between worry and real concern. Concern is when your child is unwell, your roof is leaking, or your bill is overdue. You can take action, make a call, fix it. Worry is the invented stuff - I'm talking about the “what ifs” that live in the future and keep you awake at 3am. That’s the loop. And the great thing about loops is that they can be broken.

For me, breaking it usually comes down to awareness. Sometimes it’s as simple as saying, “Oh hey, that’s just my anxious brain cooking up another B-grade suspense thriller.” Other times it’s taking a walk, running a bath, or phoning a friend to talk me down. And sometimes it’s just reminding myself that, no matter how convincing it sounds, my brain’s script isn’t gospel.

I’m sharing this not as a lecture but as a confession. Worry has stolen far too many hours of peace from me. And I know I’m not the only one. I’m not a betting woman, but if I were, I’d put money on the fact that behind plenty of those calm exteriors are people quietly caught in their own worry spirals - taking walks, running baths, making calls, all while drafting their own late-night horror stories.

Maybe the trick is simply seeing worry for what it is: smoke and mirrors.

Maybe peace doesn’t come from predicting every possible disaster.

Or just maybe it’s what’s left when we stop trying so hard to control the future and actually let ourselves live in the now.