By Paint Her in Color Founder, Laura Spiegel

I have a confession to make. I’m a ruminator. Until just a few weeks ago, I didn’t even know what the term “ruminate” meant. But then I read Rachel Simmons’ Enough As She Is, and it hit me.

I ruminate like a boss.

I chew matters over and over in my mind until a small seed of doubt or concern has flourished into a giant, prickly weed that’s destined to eat me alive.

Ever play Super Mario Kart? Know the piranha plant? It’s kind of like that.

I used to think my rumination fueled me. I thought that by imagining every possible way things could turn out, I would be preparing myself to react accordingly.

For example, my daughter, who lives with cystic fibrosis, recently went to the hospital for an upper GI scan. The ruminator in me would tell me to research every possible outcome of the test and begin to wrap my brain around “accepting” each one should it come to pass.

The problem with this thinking is that it requires me to spend not just moments or minutes, but hours… hours!... dwelling on things that will likely never happen.

Oh, I should clarify. As a champion ruminator, I don’t waste my time dwelling on potentially positive outcomes. No, I reserve my chewiest cud – my most ardent reflection- for the negative. The worst-case scenario.

The sucker punch to the gut.

I used to think that my rumination was a sign that I cared. If I didn’t reflect on something over and over again, I wasn’t giving it the credence it deserved.

Truly important problems or decisions or grievances should be met with mental fortitude. They should be chewed over and over again until there’s nothing left but the bitter aftertaste of battle.

Anything less is just half-assing it.   

Right?

Wrong.

This line of thinking has historically brought me nothing but mental anguish. It’s like that old Mark Twain quote: “I’ve lived through some terrible things in my life, some of which actually happened.”

So not long ago, I named and claimed my rumination. Then I set out to prove to myself that my negative thoughts and “what if’s” did not have to control me. They had been my “go to” for so long, but maybe they didn’t have to be.

These days, when I can feel my mind starting to swirl, I deploy another one of Simmons’ tactics. I talk to my rumination like it’s a person.

“Oh, hello, Rumination.” I say. “I see you’ve arrived.”

I then remind myself that this particular party-goer hasn’t done much for me in the past. She’s like that drunk person who crashes in late, creates a giant scene, then passes out when it’s time to clean up. She might be entertaining for a while, and every now and again, she makes a passionate, borderline-valid point.

But for the most part, she’s exhausting. And I really wish I didn’t have to invite her.

So last week, I didn’t.

As I prepared for my daughter’s GI scan, when Rumination entered stage right, I not-so politely asked her to beat it.

I spent ten minutes looking up the potential maladies an upper GI could diagnose, then closed the computer. They were all over the place. Far too many to wrap my brain around.

I spent fifteen minutes packing my bag to take to the children’s hospital. I planned for how and when my daughter and I would mask up, how I’d firmly insist on wiping down the exam table before my daughter hopped up, and I called it a day.

I sent a note to a friend asking her to pray for three things. That the scan results were good. That we didn’t get exposed to COVID-19 on our first trip outside our home in more than two months. And that I would be able to navigate through the experience without freaking out about germs.

And then we went.

Yesterday, we got the results back, and everything was normal.

Not one of the potentially 17 dire outcomes that I would have historically ruminated over came to pass.

And just because I didn’t devote hours to mentally rehearsing each scenario in my mind didn’t mean that I didn’t care. I care immensely.

I’m just learning to care for myself, too.

I still have work to do. I’m probably never going to be what one would call “easygoing” when it comes to my daughter’s healthcare. Or healthcare in general.

Or life overall.

But by naming and claiming my rumination and taking steps to acknowledge it, I do feel like I’m retaking some control over my thoughts.

And guess what, Rumination? That’s good enough for now.

So beat it.