Understanding Uncertainty without Sacrificing our Peace

By Denise Colin

I recently met a friend for coffee who had just started a new relationship. 

She shared all the good stuff. And there was plenty of it.

Then, right on the heels of that, the worry spilled out. She was afraid she’d come on too strong. That she seemed too needy. That she’d moved too fast and somehow turned him off.

Her only evidence was that he didn’t call or text as often as she wished he would.

That wasn’t unexpected though. He’d been clear from the start about his demanding job and his commitment to his children and grandchildren. He never promised more than he was able to give.

From my perspective, nothing had gone wrong. And yet, in her mind, everything already did go wrong.

That conversation made me wonder why we do this to ourselves. Why do we take something promising and immediately poke holes in it, looking for reasons to feel fearful instead of joyful?

Choosing the Negative Viewpoint

I wasn’t surprised by my friend’s insecurity. I’ve been there too. What struck me was how thoroughly she had convinced herself that she’d ruined the relationship, without any real evidence to support that conclusion.

There was no bad behavior. No concern had been voiced. And yet she decided that how she showed up was inappropriate; that by being her warm, generous self, she had somehow come on too strong or broken rules.

That kind of self-doubt is painfully familiar to many of us.

These are the moments when we turn a situation over and over in our minds. Not because we did something wrong, but because we fear we did. We struggle to enjoy what we’re experiencing, to embrace a decision, or to sit in uncertainty without our minds rushing in to explain why we’re at fault or why the outcome will be disappointing.

Often, nothing external prompts this spiral. The problem doesn’t come from the outside.  We create it.

Why Do We Do This to Ourselves?

Why, when nothing has actually gone wrong, do we so often assume that it has or will?

A big part of the answer is neurological, not personal.

The human brain is wired to resolve uncertainty as quickly as possible. When an outcome is unclear — when we don’t know how something will unfold, how someone feels, or where we stand — the nervous system stays activated. Uncertainty keeps us alert, scanning, and unsettled. From a biological standpoint, it’s stressful.

Research consistently shows that people experience uncertainty as more distressing than negative certainty. In other words, knowing something bad is coming can feel easier than not knowing what’s coming at all.

So when there’s a gap, like no clear feedback or definitive answer, the brain rushes to fill it.

And it doesn’t fill it with the most optimistic explanation. It fills it with the one that feels most controllable.

This is where negativity bias comes in. Our brains are designed to prioritize potential threats over signs of safety. It’s an ancient survival mechanism that kept our ancestors alive. But in modern life, it means that when something matters to us, our minds instinctively look for danger.

Did I overstep? Did I misjudge? Did I ruin it?

There’s also a subtler mechanism at work: self-blame creates the illusion of control.

If the problem is me, then at least it’s identifiable, and maybe I can prevent it next time. That belief, even when it’s false, can feel more stabilizing than sitting in open-ended possibility.

So we choose the story where we’re at fault because it gives shape to the unknown. It gives us something solid to hold onto in a moment that feels precarious.

The problem, of course, is what this costs us.

In trying to escape uncertainty, we sacrifice presence. We drain joy out of moments that are still alive and unfolding. We treat our own warmth, generosity, and instinct as liabilities rather than expressions of who we are.

And all of this can happen even when things are going well; sometimes especially when they are because we perceive that we have more to lose.

It’s challenging, because allowing something to be good, without guarantees and without guessing the ending, requires a level of trust that runs directly against how our brains are conditioned to operate.

Interrupting the Pattern

If this tendency is rooted in how our brains handle uncertainty, then the work isn’t to get rid of it. It’s to interrupt it. It’s to notice when we’re creating a problem where none yet exists, and to pause before we let that story take over.

First: Separate facts from the stories we tell about them.

The fact, in my friend’s case, was simple: He doesn’t call or text as often as she’d like.

The story her mind supplied was bigger: I came on too strong. I turned him off. I ruined this.

Those two things can feel inseparable, but they’re not the same. Naming what is actually known versus what we’re inferring doesn’t resolve uncertainty. However, it can keep us from treating our conclusions as evidence of our own wrongdoing. 

Second: Allow the discomfort of not knowing.

Much of this spiral is an attempt to escape the deep discomfort of uncertainty, letting the mind rush to close the gap.

Interrupting that rush means letting a situation remain unfinished without insisting on an explanation.

This is hard. It’s an active choice not to replace uncertainty with self-blame. At its core, it requires believing that you will be fine regardless of the outcome, and so it’s ok if you go a little longer without knowing it.

Third: Notice when self-criticism surpasses accountability.

Sometimes self-criticism is intentional as a form of accountability. We review our behavior to see what we can do better. But too often, self-criticism is an automatic script we run, and it’s damaging rather than productive. 

The mind replays moments, questions tone and timing, revisits decisions — not because there’s something to learn, but to find fault with ourselves and place blame.

Interrupting this part of the pattern means recognizing when reflection has stopped being useful. When the same thoughts keep circling without producing clarity or change, an intention of accountability really becomes self-attack on repeat.

Interrupting this pattern isn’t about being naïve or Pollyannaish about potential outcomes. It’s making space to allow the outcome to unfold and to not harm ourselves while we wait.

Letting Good Things Exist

I don’t know how things will unfold for my friend. None of us ever really knows how a relationship, a decision, or a moment in motion will turn out. That uncertainty is part of the deal.

What I do know is that objectively nothing seemed wrong. But she chose to believe that it was. The joy and excitement she should have been feeling over her new relationship was replaced with stress because she was doubting herself.

That lack of trust we sometimes have in ourselves leads to self-sabotage. We become our own worst enemy.

So often, the harm isn’t caused by the eventual outcome. It’s caused by what we decide in the space where things are unfolding. That’s when the familiar patterns kick in: the assumptions. the self-criticism, the internal verdict delivered before an external one arrives.

Interrupting that pattern doesn’t change the outcome. But it does change how we live inside the waiting. It allows us to experience moments of joy without immediately bracing for their disappearance, to feel hopeful without labeling that hope as naïve, to let good things register as good, regardless of whether they turn out to be temporary.