The Call I Didn’t Want to Make*
What a hard morning taught me about pausing, praying, and letting someone in
Not long ago, I woke up feeling… off.
Annoyed. Tired. Anxious. At first I couldn’t figure out why, beyond the ordinary worries that had woken me up way too early and a to-do list that felt a lot bigger in the early hours of the morning than it really was. But I knew that wasn’t all it was.
I went on a run. Not really to shake the funk. Mostly because it’s what I do. My usual 5-mile loop at the… almost to the second… pace I always run it. Sometimes that’s enough, and I return home having moved on from whatever I was feeling. But this time the heaviness didn’t shake loose.
The discouraging thing about this funk was that it felt familiar. It was a place I’d spent more time than I’d like in the past, and one I’d recently found my way out of during the weeklong retreat I wrote about in my last post. I didn’t want to slide back.
But I was not going down without a fight. I cleaned myself up after my run, took my kids to school (one of my favorite times of the day) and headed to my office an hour before the first event on my calendar.
What happened in the next hour shifted everything I was feeling.
Wound tight
So you see, I am someone you might call, uh, wound tight. Yeah, as a mental health professional I could reframe it in kinder terms like “I care deeply,” and I’d probably even believe it on a good day. But it’s actually helpful for me to just admit it: I’m tightly wound.
What’s uniquely interesting about me (though probably not entirely unique, but give me my uniqueness, OK?) is that most of the people around me don’t experience me as tightly wound. I’m fairly quiet and calm, and I don’t tend to get too worked up on the outside. What people don’t see is my insides doing more acrobatics than a trampoline park on a summer weekend.
Anyone else?
I hear A LOT of noise. Constantly. And most of it comes from my overly critical self. It’s hard to step away from, and even harder to turn down, especially when life is busy, chaotic, uncertain or pulling me in multiple directions.
This is incredibly common, especially for men who look steady from the outside. A calm exterior can hide a nervous system that rarely gets to rest. And when the inner noise is loud, our minds tend to scan for problems and jump to the worst-case version of the story.
That’s what that morning was about: my mind being pulled in many directions. Some of it was real stress. Mostly, though, my mind couldn’t land anywhere, so it pinged back and forth.
What changed
I took the advice I’ve offered countless times in my professional life, advice I frequently ignore myself.
I paused. I evaluated. I acted.
OK, there you go. There’s my wise nugget for this post. Feel free to frame it and hang it on your wall.
But seriously, this was the work I needed. It started by simply acknowledging what I felt. In my car. On the morning commute to my office.
I felt anxious. I felt isolated. I felt a complicated mix of emotions I could only untangle with care and attention.
There’s a reason this step matters. Putting words to what we feel tends to turn down its intensity. Psychiatrist Dan Siegel calls it “name it to tame it.” The feeling doesn’t disappear, but it stops running the show.
Then I prayed. Really, it was a meditation that led to prayer: an acknowledgment of my powerlessness and a commitment to receive love in that moment. I pictured myself sitting before God as someone loved just as I am. I could be right where I was, funk and all, and still be loved. Still be whole.
If you read my last post, those words might sound familiar.
I know meditation and prayer aren’t everyone’s thing. But they’re mine. They help me return to the things I often forget are true. I dare you to find your thing.
Then I made a phone call I’d been putting off. Why was I putting it off? I told myself it was because I was busy. The reality is I was worried the person on the other end was going to question me on something I had recently written. It was a conversation I didn’t want to have.
The call ended up being the exact opposite. It was kind, thoughtful, curious and connecting.
Once again, I had gotten in my own way and told myself a story that disconnected me from my core.
This is one of the most common patterns I see in my office. We predict the worst, avoid the thing, and the avoidance quietly feeds the anxiety. The relief of putting it off is real, but it’s borrowed against later.
Why it worked
If I had to sum up what happened in that hour, it’s this: connection happened to me.
CONNECTION.
I started the day fragmented, my mind and heart running in different directions.
Sometimes I can work through these moments in real time. Other times, like this one, I need to slow down. There is so much power in the space between what happens in our lives and how we respond.
When I paused, I could name what I was actually feeling: disconnected, fearful and uncertain. Naming it showed me the gap between the life I want and the moment I was in. It also showed me what I needed. (That’s the evaluating part.)
And then I acted. Not in a “power through it” kind of way, but based on what I needed in that moment. I returned to the practices that connect me most to God and to myself. Then I made the call I’d been avoiding (which was likely feeding some of those feelings).
Connection with God. Connection with myself. Connection with someone else.
And I felt completely different. Loved, valued, cared for and confident in my own capacity to co-create the life I desire.
A lighter day
My life didn’t fundamentally change. Outside of that phone call, none of my challenges were magically resolved. But what I needed in that moment (and in so many moments like it) wasn’t for the uncertain things to become certain. I needed to be reminded that I belong. I’m not alone. I’m made for connection. And I have support: from God, from within, and from the people around me.
And the rest of the day felt lighter. I was more reflective and far more present.
Same to-do list. Same uncertain future. But I wasn’t carrying it alone anymore.
That’s the life we were made for. Shared burdens. Real belonging.
It’s true for me… and it’s true for you too.
Where counseling fits
Pause, evaluate, act sounds simple. In the moment, it rarely is, especially if you’ve spent years looking calm on the outside while your insides run laps. That’s a lot of what counseling is: a steady place to slow down, put words to what’s happening underneath, notice the stories that keep you stuck, and practice reaching toward connection instead of away from it.
If you’ve been feeling “off” for longer than a hard morning, you don’t have to sort it out alone. I’d be glad to talk. You can reach out at AnchorRidgeCC.com to schedule a time to connect.
A few reflection questions
What does “off” feel like for you, and what do you usually do with it?
Is there a call or conversation you’ve been putting off? What story are you telling yourself about it?
When your mind and heart are running in different directions, what helps you find your way back?
What does connection mean for you? How do you know when you’re experiencing it?
*This post originally appeared on my Substack and has been adapted slightly for the Anchor Ridge blog.
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