There's an old R.E.M. song that goes, "It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine."

Great song. Terrible way to live.

But for those of us with trauma, that song is basically our brain's default setting—except we definitely don't feel fine. We feel terrified. Anxious. Certain that disaster is right around the corner.

Welcome to the catastrophizing trauma brain.

It's the part of you that assumes the worst. Always. Instantly. Without evidence. Your spouse is late coming home? They're dead in a ditch. Your boss wants to talk? You're getting fired. Your friend calls unexpectedly? They're angry with you and you're in trouble.

The logical part of your brain knows this is ridiculous. But the trauma part of your brain doesn't care about logic. It cares about survival. And it's convinced that if it can just anticipate the disaster, maybe—just maybe—it can protect you from it.

Spoiler alert: it can't. It's just exhausting you.

My Brain Does This Too

I wish I could tell you I've mastered this. I haven't.

I have a friend—a good friend—and for whatever reason, every time he calls, my brain immediately assumes the worst. He's angry with me. He's upset about something. I'm in trouble.

Every. Single. Time.

And every single time, the call is sweet, loving, kind. He's just checking in on me. There's no anger. No problem. No trouble.

But my brain doesn't learn. The next time he calls? Same thing. Instant dread. Immediate assumption of disaster.

That's trauma. That's my brain going right back to old patterns—patterns that were formed long ago when maybe assuming the worst DID keep me safe. But now? It's just lying to me.

"They're All Dead in a Ditch"

Here's another one.

A while back, David, K'leigh, and Remington were visiting family down in the Woodlands, Texas. On the day they were supposed to drive back, I tried to call them.

No answer.

Okay, that's typical. They don't always answer. So I texted.

Nothing.

And just like that, my brain went straight to: "They're all dead in a ditch."

Not "they're probably busy." Not "their phones might be off." Not "they'll call me back."

Nope. Dead in a ditch. All of them. It's over. Catastrophe.

Now here's the good news: I recognized what my brain was doing. I'd been here before. I knew this was my trauma brain screaming worst-case scenarios, not reality delivering actual information.

So I did my breathing. I grounded myself. I let it go.

I did NOT flood them with panicked texts. I did NOT spiral into a full meltdown. I waited.

And of course, they were fine. They'd been asleep with their phones off. They contacted me before they left. Nothing bad had happened.

Thank God I didn't go crazy. Because my brain sure wanted me to.

Why Your Brain Does This

Here's what's actually happening when your brain jumps to the worst possible scenario:

Your amygdala is running the show. The amygdala is the alarm system in your brain. Its job is to detect threats and keep you alive. When you've experienced trauma, your amygdala gets overactive. It starts seeing threats everywhere—even where there are none.

Your brain is trying to protect you. At some point in your life, assuming the worst may have been adaptive. Maybe you grew up in an environment where bad things DID happen without warning. Maybe you learned that if you anticipated disaster, you could brace yourself for it. Your brain learned: expect the worst, and you won't be caught off guard.

But now it won't turn off. The problem is, your brain doesn't know the danger has passed. It's still running the old program. Still scanning for threats. Still assuming that every phone call, every unexpected conversation, every moment of uncertainty is the beginning of the end.

It's exhausting. Living in constant threat-detection mode drains you. Physically. Emotionally. Mentally. You're burning enormous amounts of energy preparing for disasters that never come.

The Lie Your Brain Tells

Here's what I want you to understand:

Catastrophizing feels like wisdom. It's not.

It feels like you're being realistic. Prepared. Smart. "I'm just thinking ahead. I'm just being cautious. I'm just not being naive."

No. You're being traumatized.

There's a difference between healthy awareness and hypervigilant catastrophizing. Healthy awareness says, "Let me gather information before I react." Catastrophizing says, "I already know how this ends—badly—so let me panic now."

Your trauma brain is not a prophet. It doesn't actually know the future. It's just terrified of it.

And every time you believe the catastrophic thought—every time you treat it as truth instead of trauma—you reinforce the pattern. You teach your brain that it was RIGHT to panic, even when nothing bad happened.

How to Interrupt the Loop

So what do you do when your brain starts screaming that it's the end of the world?

Step 1: Recognize what's happening.

The first and most important step is simply noticing: "Oh. This is my trauma brain. This is catastrophizing. This is not necessarily reality."

You don't have to fix it immediately. Just name it. Awareness alone starts to break the pattern.

"I notice I'm having the thought that they're all dead in a ditch. That's my trauma brain talking."

Step 2: Breathe.

I know it sounds simple. Almost too simple. But your breath is the fastest way to tell your nervous system that you're not actually in danger.

Slow, deep breaths activate your parasympathetic nervous system—the "rest and digest" mode that counteracts the "fight or flight" response. Your amygdala is screaming danger; your breath tells your body to stand down.

Try this: Breathe in for 4 counts. Hold for 4 counts. Breathe out for 6 counts. Repeat until your heart rate slows.

Step 3: Ground yourself.

Grounding techniques bring you back to the present moment—back to reality instead of the disaster movie playing in your head.

Try the 5-4-3-2-1 technique:

• Name 5 things you can see
• Name 4 things you can hear
• Name 3 things you can touch
• Name 2 things you can smell
• Name 1 thing you can taste

This pulls your brain out of the imagined future and into the actual present.

Step 4: Respond instead of react.

Reacting is what your trauma brain wants you to do. Send the panicked texts. Make the accusatory phone call. Spiral into anxiety and drag everyone around you into it.

Responding is what your wise mind knows to do. Pause. Gather information. Wait for actual evidence before treating the thought as truth.

I could have flooded my kids with frantic messages. Instead, I waited. And everything was fine.

Step 5: Be patient with yourself.

This takes practice. A lot of practice. Your brain has been running this program for years—maybe decades. It's not going to stop overnight.

But every time you catch the catastrophic thought, every time you breathe through it instead of believing it, every time you respond instead of react—you're rewiring your brain. You're teaching it that the world isn't ending. That you're safe. That it can stand down.

It gets easier. I promise.

It's Not the End of the World

Here's what I want you to take away from this:

Your catastrophizing is not crazy. It's trauma.

Your brain is doing exactly what it learned to do to keep you safe. The problem is, it doesn't know when to stop.

But you can teach it. You can interrupt the pattern. You can learn to recognize the alarm for what it is—a false alarm—and choose not to evacuate the building every time it goes off.

It's not the end of the world. It just feels like it.

And with the right tools and support, you can learn to feel fine anyway.

If your brain is stuck in constant catastrophe mode, you don't have to figure this out alone.

The Trauma Recovery Experience is a 3-hour virtual intensive where I help you understand what's happening in your brain, identify your triggers, and learn practical tools to finally find freedom. Includes 30 days of text support and Smalley Sojourners community access.

You're not crazy. You're traumatized. And healing is possible.

Learn More About The Trauma Recovery Experience →

You can also text me at (303) 435-2630 or email [email protected].

Does your brain jump to worst-case scenarios? What's the catastrophic thought that plays on repeat for you? I'd love to hear from you in the comments.