The Case for “Worrying Well” over “Not Worrying”
Worry gets a bad rap. From childhood, we’re told “don’t worry,” “keep calm and carry on,” or “there’s nothing to be afraid of,” as if worry itself is something shameful. We hear things like “it’ll all work out,” “don’t be such a worrywart,” and “stop overthinking.” These phrases may be well-intentioned, but they often leave us feeling as if worry is something we should just “get over.”
In my own upbringing within a fundamentalist tradition, worry wasn’t just a bad habit — it was a sign that I didn’t trust God enough. Worry meant I lacked faith, which turned it into a moral and spiritual failing. So to say I have a complex relationship with worry is an understatement. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to understand worry and uncertainty from different angles.
I think that’s why I was drawn to study sociology, theology, and psychology. Sociology helped me answer the “why” questions that often fuel worry — why humans behave as they do, why societies change, and what drives people’s actions. Understanding those broader patterns gave me a sense of stability in a world that often felt unpredictable. Theology and philosophy, on the other hand, helped me grapple with deeper existential questions, making space for the unknown and giving me tools to confront life’s big uncertainties. And psychology offered a more personal approach, teaching me how to live with worry rather than seeing it as something to eliminate.
But no amount of intellectual understanding has fully dissolved my relationship with worry, and I've come to realize how deeply it can ripple outward. Worry doesn’t just stay contained within us; it has a way of leaking out and affecting the people around us. Worry is contagious, stirring uncomfortable feelings in ourselves and others, which may be why we live in a culture that quickly moves to suppress it. When we encounter someone else’s worry, many try to comfort it away — not just for their sake, but because it makes them uncomfortable too.
In therapy training, a core lesson is to do the opposite: to resist offering platitudes or shushing hard emotions away, and instead to move closer, letting those emotions breathe so we we can feel our way through them. I’ve learned that worry, like any strong emotion, needs space to exist, both for our own sake and for those around us.
Worry: Not All Created Equal
I know a thing or two about worry. And I’ll be the first to say, not all worries are created equal — and not all are equally worth our time. Some are logical. Others… less so. My first memory of worry was at age five, watching My Girl (a formative experience for many children of the 80s and 90s). That movie shocked me. It gave me my first visceral sense of death and grief. I remember crying with my mom for hours afterward, grappling with the idea that everyone I knew would someday die. It was the start of a lifelong struggle to "safeguard" the lives of those around me.
I also had less logical worries — like the fear that a snake might come up through the toilet and bite me. I didn’t have a solid grasp on plumbing back then, so I developed an elaborate squat technique to pee while keeping a safe distance from the bowl. In hindsight, it probably created more mess than safety, but at the time, it felt necessary.
The Power of Worry
Worry can be destructive — I’ve lived that. But worry can also be powerful. Worry is something uniquely human, requiring advanced cognitive skills: the ability to imagine the future, visualize various outcomes, and plan for possibilities. When harnessed, worry helps us problem-solve, sifting through noise to find what we can influence and act on. Without worry, there are countless things we wouldn’t prepare for, and many inventions that might never have come to be.
Learning to Worry Well
When someone shares their fears or worries, the response is often “don’t worry, it will be okay.” But instead of focusing on not worrying, what if we focused on worrying well? The goal isn’t to banish worry — that’s nearly impossible for most of us. Instead, the idea is to give worry a constructive outlet, which helps us process it and frees up mental space for other things.
At its core, worry is the mind doing what it’s designed to do — solving problems, sifting through potential scenarios, trying to protect us. The key isn’t to suppress this instinct, but to guide it in a way that’s useful. This is where the idea of a “worry period” comes in.
A worry period is a designated time each day to focus intentionally on your worries. By scheduling time for worry, you allow the mind to do its job — on your terms. It creates a container for worry, so it doesn’t bleed into every moment of your day.
What Is a Worry Period?
A worry period is a dedicated time to focus on your worries — a proactive way to bring worry from a background hum into a more intentional, contained space. Many of us experience worry passively, as mental chatter that pops up throughout the day, hijacking our attention and creating a constant state of hypervigilance. Setting aside a worry period can help create a sense of control and boundary, giving worry its own time without letting it take over the entire day.
If you’d like to give this a try, here’s one simple approach:
Set a Timer: Choose a time each day for 15-20 minutes of “worry work.” Treat it like any other task on your to-do list. Many people find it helpful to schedule this earlier in the day rather than near bedtime, so it doesn’t interfere with winding down.
Write It Out: On a piece of paper, draw a line down the center. Label one column “In My Control” and the other “Out of My Control.”
Sort Your Worries: List what’s been nagging at you, then sort each worry into the appropriate column. For example, if you’re worried about your health, that might go in the “In My Control” column because you can take small steps — like eating well or getting more sleep — that feel proactive. Worries like natural disasters or global events, however, might go in the “Out of My Control” column as reminders that they’re beyond your immediate influence.
Take Small Actions: For worries in the “In My Control” column, choose one or two that you could act on in small ways. The goal here is to shift from passive worry to active problem solving of your worries. Even tiny steps can help satisfy the mind’s need for progress and agency.
Practice Letting Go: For worries in the “Out of My Control” column, focus on release rather than rumination. Acknowledge these fears, then gently remind yourself that endless worrying about things you can’t change is like spinning your wheels in mud. Some people find practices like somatic practices, journaling, mindfulness, or spiritual rituals helpful for letting go.
A Few Things to Keep in Mind
A worry period isn’t for everyone, and it may take a little experimenting to see if it’s helpful for you. Some people find that it creates a boundary around their worries, helping them feel more contained. Others feel a sense of relief simply by acknowledging and naming their worries in a structured way.
At the same time, a worry period might bring up fears or anxieties that need deeper processing. In moments of heightened stress, reaching out to a friend or working through these feelings in therapy can provide space for validation and support. Recognizing when a worry needs release versus deeper exploration is part of learning to worry well.
For example, this week in the Learning Nook, we hosted a “be sad and craft” hour. We weren’t trying to release or fix anything; we simply came together in our sadness and fear. It was the most therapeutic hour I’ve had all week. Sometimes, what we need most in our worry is simply connection.
Finally, if you try a worry period and it leads to more rumination or makes you feel worse, it might not be the best approach right now — and that’s okay. Different strategies work better at different times.
One tip if you do give this a try: consider scheduling your worry period earlier in the day. Doing it too close to bedtime might just invite your mind to run wild while it has your attention, making it harder to wind down for sleep.
The Power of the Worry Period
Many people find that after a worry period, their anxieties feel more manageable and contained. By giving worry its own space, you acknowledge it without letting it take over your entire day. It often leads to a sense of clarity, concrete steps, and — perhaps most importantly — a feeling of greater agency in the face of worry.
Creating a Container for Worry
In my experience, the true power of a worry period is in the container it creates. With a designated time set aside, you’re not just learning how to worry well — you’re also reclaiming more of your mental real estate.
If you’re like me, with a mind that’s constantly buzzing with worries — everything from existential fears to silly ones (like snakes in toilets) — the worry period offers a simple but powerful reminder: this worry will be addressed. Whenever a worry pops up throughout the day, I remind myself it will have its time during my next worry period. If I’m concerned I’ll forget, I jot it down on a quick list on my phone.
This practice protects my mental space, allowing me to acknowledge each worry without letting it take over. The worry knows it will be “seen,” so it doesn’t need to keep tugging at me, fighting for attention. This isn’t about invalidating or shushing away fears, but rather about giving them a contained space to breathe, allowing me to stay present and focused in the rest of my life.
Looking Ahead
Learning how to worry well has helped me navigate my relationship with worry in a more constructive way. It hasn’t removed worry from my life entirely, and it certainly doesn’t “fix” the hard truths or uncertainties that fuel it. But by giving worry its own time and space, I’ve been able to take back some of my mental real estate and approach my days with a bit more agency.
That said, while a worry period can help us worry well, it doesn’t answer the larger question of how to live well amidst constant uncertainty. Next week, I’ll dive into the second part of this exploration: How can we live well alongside worry? How can we continue to find joy, meaning, and pleasure, even when worry is our frequent companion?
