Writings on the wall - anti-catastrophisation

I’m not sure if ‘anti-catastrophisation’ is actually a word but what I mean is talking back to thoughts of imminent disaster with more rational, realistic and calming thoughts. I’ve called this post ‘Writings on the wall’ because something I find helpful in countering my automatic thoughts is to write posters in big letters and bright colours and pin them on the wall. Each poster lists the best answers I’ve found to my most common upsetting thoughts. One of these is catastrophising. It’s something I learned from my Mum – she could make a major disaster out of losing a sock! But I’ve become an expert at it in my own right. Here are my writings on the wall about it.

Am I thinking gloomy thoughts? Assuming things will go wrong?

• I can assume it will turn out well and feel better
• I have no evidence that it will turn out badly
• Lots of things in my life have turned out well, even when it’s looked like they wouldn’t e.g. getting Barney, training him, moving to a small town, Bowie not being missing
• I don’t know how it will turn out. But given that it might turn out well (and that assuming it will turn out well makes life more enjoyable) I might as well assume it will all be OK and enjoy life more. My present moment is my only reality.

I find that when I start to panic about something or assume the worst, these thoughts make me feel a lot better.

N.B. The picture above is not of my actual mother, although this woman does look very distressed about the loss of a sock!

The Joy of Cat-astrophising

I arrive home from a trip to the beach and – as usual – the first thing I do is check the house and yard for my disabled cat to make sure he hasn’t found a way through the fence to the outside world. He is the Mr Magoo of the cat world – deaf, brain damaged, with erratic vision (he sees cats where there is only paper blowing in the wind and misses actual cats that walk right by him). But like Mr Magoo, he is supremely confident of his ability to negotiate the world despite this. He would go out onto the road in a minute, unaware that a cat who can’t hear a car coming and has a very slow reaction time is road kill about to happen. I’m more concerned than usual tonight because our new neighbours have two huuuge dogs that look very capable of jumping my fence and have no fence at their place to keep them in.

Bowie the cat is not on the bed where I usually find him. Neither is he anywhere in the house. I check the yard but there is no sign, and a white cat is fairly easy to see in the dark. I feel the symptoms of rising panic – acid in my throat, heart beating faster, a faint sick feeling. I return to the house for another look, wondering what I’ll do if I can’t find him. He could be anywhere. Then I hear his distinctive rusty gate meow. Goodness knows where he was hiding. He looks annoyed, as usual, as if he is tut-tutting about the age I’ve been away and suggesting that his jelly meat could do with refreshing. No wagging tail and ecstatic dog-like welcome here.

I feel a familiar sensation of relief – huge, all-consuming and intensely pleasurable. ‘This,’ I think with a sudden insight, ‘is the reward of catastrophizing – this wonderful feeling when the disaster doesn’t happen.’ No wonder I’m so addicted to it. The payoff is enormous. I’m not really sure how you counter this. But tomorrow I outline how I talk back to my catastrophising thoughts.