There is a thief within us, and it can be remarkably persuasive. It tells us all the terrible things that might happen, reminds us of the painful things that already have, and convinces us that remaining vigilant will somehow protect us from experiencing them again. It encourages us to anticipate problems, reconsider decisions, rehearse conversations, and prepare for circumstances that may never occur. And because its warnings often contain some element of truth, we can spend years listening without recognizing how much it has taken from us.
The thief is the anxiety that interrupts an otherwise lovely afternoon with thoughts of everything that could go wrong. It is the rumination that keeps us occupied with an unpleasant interaction at work while we are having dinner with someone we love. It is the inability to appreciate the natural beauty around us because our attention is consumed by something that happened yesterday or something we fear might happen tomorrow.
Sometimes the thief sounds like ambition or responsibility. It tells us we should be working harder, accomplishing more, preparing for the next challenge. It reminds us of everything we have yet to do and questions whether we have earned the right to rest. Even when we have accomplished what we set out to do, it is quick to identify another obligation, another concern, another reason to postpone enjoying what we have.
And sometimes it is much quieter. It is the difficulty relaxing in a relationship because we are watching for signs of disappointment or rejection. It is the impulse to withdraw from a moment of closeness because allowing ourselves to feel deeply connected also means acknowledging how painful it would be to lose that connection. It is the inability to experience happiness without simultaneously imagining its disappearance.
What makes the thief so difficult to recognize is that it presents itself as an ally. It promises that if we remain sufficiently attentive, careful, productive, or prepared, we will be less vulnerable to disappointment, loss, embarrassment, or pain. It persuades us to surrender something we have today in exchange for the possibility of feeling safer tomorrow.
And its demands are never quite satisfied.
How We Learn to Listen
There are often understandable reasons we develop these patterns. A child who grows up around unpredictable emotions may become exceptionally skilled at anticipating other people’s reactions. Someone who has experienced betrayal may learn to examine seemingly insignificant details for evidence of another deception. A person whose success has depended on anticipating problems and taking responsibility for difficult decisions may find that the same vigilance follows them home.
Over time, these ways of responding can become so familiar that we barely recognize them as choices. We simply experience ourselves as people who worry, overthink, have difficulty relaxing, or need to stay busy. We may even take pride in some of these qualities, particularly when they have contributed to our success or helped us navigate difficult circumstances.
I think this is an important part of understanding anxiety. We often continue doing things because, at some point, they helped us. We learned that anticipating problems reduced the likelihood of being surprised, that staying busy kept uncomfortable feelings at a distance, or that paying close attention to others helped us avoid conflict. These experiences can create powerful associations between vigilance and safety, even when the original circumstances are no longer present.
The problem is that the mind can become extraordinarily committed to strategies that offer diminishing returns. We continue reviewing conversations long after there is anything useful to learn from them. We seek reassurance that provides relief for a few hours before another concern takes its place. We postpone rest until everything is finished, knowing somewhere in the back of our minds that everything will never be finished.
The thief has a remarkable ability to keep changing the rules.
What the Thief Takes From Us
One of the more painful aspects of anxiety and rumination is how much of our attention they consume. We have a finite capacity to experience what is happening around us, and when our minds are occupied with imagined dangers or unresolved experiences, there is simply less of us available for the people and experiences in front of us.
Think about something as ordinary as going to a concert. You’ve been looking forward to seeing a band you love, perhaps with people whose company you enjoy. There is the anticipation of hearing the music, sharing the experience, and having an evening away from your usual responsibilities. Yet instead of enjoying that anticipation, you spend the afternoon worrying about traffic, whether you’ll get there on time, how late you’ll be out, or how little sleep you’ll get that night. By the time you arrive, you’ve already spent hours mentally occupied with the inconveniences surrounding an experience you were excited about. The thief has taken some of the pleasure before the music has even started.
The same thing happens in less obvious ways. We may be sitting with our children while thinking about work, spending time with our partners while mentally revisiting an argument, or standing somewhere beautiful without being able to appreciate what we are seeing. Sometimes we become so absorbed in our thoughts that we feel disconnected from our bodies and surroundings. We move through experiences without feeling fully engaged in them.
I am particularly struck by how easily this becomes an accepted way of living. We become accustomed to being preoccupied. We tell ourselves that things will settle down after the next deadline, once a difficult decision has been made, when the relationship feels more secure, or when we have accumulated enough money to stop worrying about the future.
But the anticipated relief is often brief. The mind finds something else to consider, another uncertainty to resolve, another possible loss to prevent.
Meanwhile, life continues.
Our children grow older. Relationships change. Opportunities for connection come and go. There are ordinary pleasures available to us every day that require very little beyond our ability to notice and experience them. Yet we can become so invested in protecting our future that we lose access to much of what makes the present worth protecting.
There is a sadness in recognizing that we can spend years preparing to enjoy a life we are already living.
Understanding What the Thief Is Trying to Protect
In my work with clients, I am interested in understanding what these patterns accomplish for them, and what they fear might happen if they stopped relying on them.
What feels so uncomfortable about leaving a question unanswered? What do we imagine would happen if we allowed ourselves to rest while there was still work to do? Why does a moment of happiness sometimes produce an immediate awareness of everything we could lose? What are we trying to accomplish by revisiting a conversation that ended three days ago?
These questions often lead us toward beliefs and experiences that have become deeply embedded in how we understand ourselves and the world. Sometimes there is a history of unpredictability, criticism, loss, or betrayal. Sometimes our sense of worth has become closely tied to being useful, productive, or exceptionally competent. And sometimes we have become so accustomed to anticipating other people’s needs and reactions that we have lost touch with our own.
Understanding these connections can be illuminating. But I also see how frustrating it can be for people who understand their patterns quite well and still find themselves repeating them. They know that worrying will not change the outcome, that reviewing the conversation again will not provide new information, or that taking an afternoon off will not undo years of hard work. Yet the urge remains.
These responses can become deeply practiced, emotionally and physically. Changing them requires more than an intellectual appreciation of where they came from.
Reclaiming the Present
Much of the work I do in therapy involves helping people recognize the thief within and develop greater freedom in how they respond to it.
We begin by becoming more attentive to the moments when anxiety, rumination, self-criticism, or the need for control starts directing our behavior. We examine the assumptions underneath those responses and consider whether the protections they promise are actually being delivered. We pay attention to what happens emotionally and physically when someone resists a familiar impulse to worry, seek reassurance, withdraw, or keep working.
This can involve challenging longstanding beliefs about responsibility, safety, achievement, and self-worth. It can also involve learning to tolerate feelings that we have spent much of our lives trying to avoid. For some people, focused work with painful memories or earlier experiences is an important part of loosening the hold those experiences continue to have on the present.
I am interested in helping people develop more agency and autonomy in their own lives, including the ability to decide where they want to direct their attention, how they want to spend their time, and which internal demands deserve a response.
There is something quite powerful about recognizing that a thought can be compelling without being an instruction we have to follow. We can feel anxious and still remain engaged in a conversation. We can have unfinished work and allow ourselves to enjoy an afternoon. We can acknowledge that people and experiences are precious, and that losing them would be painful, without allowing the possibility of loss to consume the time we have with them.
None of this requires pretending that life is predictable or that suffering can be avoided. There are things worth preparing for, responsibilities that deserve our attention, and circumstances in which vigilance is appropriate. The work involves developing the capacity to recognize the difference between responding to what is actually happening and surrendering ourselves to what we fear might happen.
The thief within will always have another concern, another demand, another reason to postpone our enjoyment of the present. It can never promise enough safety to justify everything it asks us to give up.
The thief steals today by promising us a safer tomorrow.
At some point, we have to decide how much more of the present we are willing to give it.
I work with individuals and couples in person in Hermosa Beach and throughout California by telehealth.
If you are ready to do the work, let’s begin.
