"Can We Sleep On It?" (And Other Ways I Punish Myself)
My husband traded in my car yesterday without me seeing it. My immediate response revealed something I'd been doing for...
My husband traded in my car yesterday. Sight unseen by me.
He called from the dealership: “Found a great deal. Color you love. Better features. I’m doing it.”
My immediate response? “Can we sleep on it?”
He laughed. “The incentive ends today. I’m already here. You trust me, right?”
I did trust him. That wasn’t the issue.
The issue was that I needed permission to worry about it first.
My husband handles all car-related things because I’d rather do literally anything else, I realized something devastating: I wasn’t asking to sleep on it because I needed more information.
I was asking to sleep on it because I needed to punish myself with worry before I could allow myself to have something good.
I needed to earn this decision through suffering.
In my practice, I see incredibly creative, intelligent women using their imagination in the most devastating way possible. They’re not writing novels or painting or building businesses with that creative energy.
They’re writing disaster scenarios.
A client tells me she can’t make a decision about changing jobs because she’s already imagined fifteen different ways it could go wrong. She’s written the script where her new boss criticizes her. She’s planned what she’ll say when coworkers resent her. She’s imagined realizing she made a terrible mistake.
None of this has happened. But in her mind, she’s lived through it multiple times.
That’s what I call “misused creativity.”
When my husband called from the dealership, my brain immediately started writing: What if there are more car accidents and something happens? What if we hate it in two years? What if I miss my sunroof?
He said, “That’s what insurance is for. You’re a great driver. If we don’t like it, we’ll trade it.”
And I realized: I was trying to create enough worry to justify the decision.
Like I had some internal worry quota that needed to be met. I’ve only worried about this two percent, and I need to worry about it at least eighty percent before I can be okay with this choice.
This isn’t careful consideration. It’s active self-sabotage disguised as being responsible.
The recognition came when I asked myself: How many hours of my life have I spent worrying about things that either never happened or would have been fine regardless?
The answer was devastating. Thousands of hours. Thousands of hours of creative energy poured into imagining worst-case scenarios, rehearsing difficult conversations that never happened, planning for disasters that existed only in my imagination.
I was so busy writing tragedies that I wasn’t living my actual life.
Think about the mental energy required to imagine disaster scenarios in vivid detail. To write out conversations in your head. To plan for every negative outcome. To rehearse responses to criticism you haven’t received.
That’s the same creative energy that could be used to actually solve real problems, create something meaningful, or just be present in the moment you’re actually living.
After the car situation, I started noticing the pattern everywhere. Wanting to research paint colors for days. Needing to sleep on purchases. Over-preparing for conversations. Imagining how things could go wrong before they’ve started.
And here’s what made me angry: I could spot misused creativity in clients instantly, but when it came to my own worry patterns? I called it “being thorough” or “thinking things through.”
It was neither. It was self-punishment masquerading as careful decision-making.
The renewal came when I started asking myself one simple question before spiraling into worry: “Is this creative energy serving me, or am I using it to sabotage myself?”
If I’m about to research something for the third time, is that because I need more information, or because I need to prove I’ve suffered enough to deserve the thing?
If I’m imagining a difficult conversation, is that preparation, or am I writing a disaster that hasn’t happened?
If I’m worrying about a decision, is there a real problem to solve, or do I think I need to worry a certain amount before I’m allowed to feel okay?
Most of the time, it’s the latter.
The rise has been learning from people who don’t do this. Like my husband, who can make a decision, execute it, and move on without needing to torture himself with what-ifs first.
He’s not reckless. He just doesn’t confuse worry with wisdom.
He doesn’t think he needs to earn good things through suffering.
Now when I catch myself writing disaster scenarios, I pause and redirect. Instead of imagining fifteen ways a conversation could go wrong, I just have the conversation. Instead of researching a decision to death, I gather enough information and choose.
And you know what I’ve learned? The amount of time I spend worrying has zero correlation with the outcome.
The decisions I made after five minutes turned out just as well as the ones I tortured myself over for weeks. The conversations I dreaded weren’t any harder than the ones I just showed up for. The disasters I imagined almost never happened.
All that worry was just stealing my peace and calling it preparation.
Here’s what I want you to consider: What could you create if you took all that energy you’re spending on imagining disasters and redirected it toward literally anything else?
Your invitation this week:
Notice when you’re using creative energy to write disaster scenarios. Catch yourself mid-spiral and ask: “Is this serving me, or am I punishing myself?”
Try making one decision this week without requiring yourself to worry about it first. See what happens when you skip the self-torture step.
And if you catch yourself saying “But I need to think about it more,” ask honestly: Do you need more information, or do you need to suffer more before you feel allowed to have what you want?
Related reading:
Your creative energy is too valuable to waste on rehearsing tragedies.
Until next week,
A few friendly notes: Client names are always changed to protect privacy. This newsletter may contain affiliate links to products I genuinely love and use myself. While I'm a licensed therapist, this content is for educational purposes and isn't medical advice - think of it as a conversation with a friend who happens to know about mental health. For personalized support, always consult your healthcare provider.