Overthinking, Worry & Fear: How Mabel Found Peace in Her Thoughts

2. Overthinking Every Decision
   From Googling symptoms to second-guessing every choice, Mabel’s overthinking is drowning out her intuition and making her feel more lost than ever.

The Overthinking Spiral

Mabel sat at her kitchen table, eyes glazed over as she stared at her phone screen. The conversation with Monica about control replayed in her head like one of those annoying pop songs you can’t stop humming. It had been a week, and letting go of control would be so much easier if she could just stop thinking about it all.

“You need to let go, Mabel. Trust yourself. Surrender.”

Surrender? To what exactly? The unknown? The void of not knowing if this next step would actually work? She tapped her fingers nervously on the table, her nails clicking against the wood in a steady rhythm. She had been so sure about IVF last week, but now? Now she wasn’t sure about anything.

What if delaying it was a mistake? What if her eggs were already on some kind of cellular countdown, waving tiny white flags while she twiddled her thumbs?

“I mean, sure,” she muttered to herself, “Monica makes it sound simple. But she’s not the one on the clock anymore. And how does anyone just surrender when it feels like everything depends on getting it right?”

Her phone buzzed faintly in her hand, the screen still open to Telegram. She started typing a message to Monica:

Hey, quick Q—do you really think I’m being too controlling about this whole IVF thing?

She hovered over the send button, her thumb twitching as her thoughts spun faster. She knew Monica would answer with something wise and calming like, What does your intuition tell you? But right now, Mabel’s intuition wasn’t talking. It was buried under a mountain of what ifs.

What if my body isn’t ready and that’s why I feel hesitant?
What if it’s just fear and I’m self-sabotaging again?
What if I wait and it’s too late?

Her thoughts spiraled, picking up speed. Her age. Her timeline. The fact that her neighbor got pregnant just by “relaxing.” God, she hated when people said that. Maybe she should be researching more supplements or booking an energy healer.

Her brain raced faster.

What if I didn’t meditate enough this month? What if I need to switch acupuncturists? What if I should’ve done that full-body cleanse I read about online?

Her chest felt tight. She could practically hear herself booking four unnecessary appointments and Googling "optimal fertility juicing protocol" when suddenly, a sharp voice sliced through her mental fog.

“Are you done yet?”

Mabel jolted, her head snapping up. She blinked in confusion as Monique leaned casually against the kitchen counter, holding a steaming cup of tea and wearing that infuriatingly smug smirk.

“What the—” Mabel glared. “Done with what? And where the f*ck did you come from? I thought you only showed up when Monica was around.”

Monique raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip of her tea before replying. “The mental marathon you’re running right now. I swear, you’ve burned more calories overthinking this than you did at spin class.”

Mabel crossed her arms, her posture firm. “It’s called being informed, Monique. I’m making sure I’ve covered all my bases. Isn’t that what smart people do—research, plan, and prepare?”

“Prepared for what? The fertility apocalypse?” Monique snorted, setting her cup down on the counter with a clink. “Babe, truly smart people know when to stop chasing answers and start trusting themselves. You’ve got the tools—you just need to use them instead of running yourself in circles. And in case you forgot, Monica already gave you the ultimate life hack for this nonsense.”

Mabel frowned. “What life hack?”

Monique straightened, brushing imaginary crumbs off her sleeve, and fixed Mabel with a knowing look. “The one where you stop living in the Land of What If. You know, the classic ‘We don’t live here anymore’ move? Monica’s personal favorite.”

Mabel groaned, slumping back in her chair. “Oh, great. That again. How is repeating that to myself supposed to fix this?” She gestured dramatically at the swirling chaos in her mind, frustration etched into every line of her face.

Monique smirked and plopped onto the stool across from her, resting her elbows on the counter like she was about to deliver a TED Talk. “Let me break it down for you. Right now, you’ve got two big patterns running the show: rumination and over-worrying. They’re like the evil twins of mental exhaustion, and trust me, neither of them is helping you.”

Mabel raised an eyebrow. “Okay, what’s the difference? Because right now, it all feels like one giant ball of misery.”

“Glad you asked,” Monique said, her tone sharp but playful. “Rumination is when your brain starts making up stories. It’s like your own personal drama factory, churning out worst-case scenarios that haven’t even happened. You take one little thought—like, ‘What if my eggs are too old?’—and before you know it, you’ve written an entire screenplay about never getting pregnant, losing your marriage, and dying alone surrounded by cats. It’s pure fiction, but it feels real because you’re replaying it over and over in your head.”

Mabel winced. “Okay, ouch. But yeah, that sounds familiar.”

“Of course, it does,” Monique said with a shrug. “Now, over-worrying? That’s when you’re hyper-focused on something real—something you can’t control—and you obsess over it. Like your age or your IVF timeline. Those are actual facts, but instead of dealing with what’s in your power, you zero in on the stuff that’s completely out of your hands and spiral into panic mode.”

“So rumination is about imaginary problems, and over-worrying is about real ones I can’t control?” Mabel asked, tilting her head.

“Exactly,” Monique said, snapping her fingers. “And here’s where the life hack comes in. For rumination, you’ve got to stop the stories in their tracks. That’s where ‘We don’t live here anymore’ shines. It’s like slamming the brakes on a runaway train. The second you catch yourself spinning a dramatic ‘what if,’ you say it out loud. Remind yourself: This isn’t my neighborhood anymore. You don’t have to live in those made-up scenarios.”

Mabel nodded slowly, her brows knitting together. “Okay, I get that. But what about over-worrying? Like, when the thing I’m stressed about is real?”

Monique’s tone softened, the edge melting away. “That’s where compassion comes in. When you’re worrying about something you can’t control, the first step is to take a deep breath and acknowledge what you’re feeling. No judgment, no beating yourself up. Just sit with it. Then, instead of going down the shit show of a spiral, ask yourself, Is this really true?”

Mabel frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“Let’s say you’re worrying about your age,” Monique explained. “Your brain might be screaming, ‘You’re too old! You’re running out of time!’ But is that really true? Are you actually out of time, or is that just fear talking? Nine times out of ten, the fear is exaggerating. By asking the question, you shift out of panic and into clarity. It’s about getting honest with yourself instead of letting fear write the story.”

Mabel tapped her fingers on the table, processing the distinction. “So, ‘We don’t live here anymore’ for rumination, and compassion plus ‘Is this really true?’ for over-worrying?”

Monique pointed at her, grinning. “Bingo. It’s like having two tools in your mental toolbox. One for shutting down imaginary dramas, and one for handling real-life fears with grace and honesty.”

Mabel hesitated, her fingers twitching against the table. She glanced at Monique, then looked away, chewing on her lip. Finally, she blurted out, “I’ve tried it already.”

Monique stopped mid-sip of her tea, raising an eyebrow. “Oh? And?”

Mabel groaned, slumping in her chair. “And not even five minutes later, I was back in the same shitty story. It didn’t work.”

Monique’s lips twitched into a grin, her laugh bubbling up before she could stop it. “Oh, babe,” she said, shaking her head, “you tried it once? That’s like doing one push-up and expecting to wake up with biceps.”

Mabel glared at her. “It’s not funny, Monique.”

“It’s a little funny,” Monique said, setting her tea down and leaning on the counter. “Look, I get it. You wanted instant results. But this isn’t about flipping a magic switch and suddenly living happily ever after. It’s about rewiring years—maybe decades—of patterns. And yeah, that takes more than one shot.”

Mabel sighed, rubbing her temples. “Fine. But it’s so frustrating. The thoughts just... keep coming. What am I supposed to do when they don’t stop?”

“You don’t stop either,” Monique said, her tone softening. “You catch the thought, you take action and you let it go. Then you do it again. And again. It’s not about perfection, Mabel. It’s about persistence.”

Mabel slumped forward, resting her chin in her hands. “And what if it still doesn’t work?”

Monique shrugged, giving her a playful wink. “Then you keep at it. Because every time you interrupt that spiral, you’re teaching your brain something new. And eventually, those shitty stories? They’ll get quieter. Trust me.”

Mabel rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile creeping across her face. “Alright. I’ll try again.”

“That’s my girl,” Monique said, straightening up. “And if you decide to book that energy healer, fine. Just promise me you’re doing it from the version of you who knows she’s worth it—not the version still living in the Land of What If.”

Mabel chuckled softly, her shoulders finally relaxing. “Deal.”

She took a deep breath, letting the words settle in her chest as she whispered to herself, “We don’t live here anymore.”

Monique grinned, heading for the door. “And don’t forget—every time you do that, you’re rewriting your story. One thought at a time.”

The Overthinking Spiral: Part Two

Later that night, Mabel lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as the soft hum of the fan-filled the room. The clock on her nightstand read 11:47 PM, but sleep felt like a distant dream.

Her mind had locked onto its favorite target for relentless analysis: her age.

Thirty-nine.

She sighed and rolled onto her side. That number carried a weight she couldn’t shake, like it was etched in bold letters across her forehead, flashing neon with every passing thought. A relentless reminder that time—always the cruelest companion—wasn’t on her side.

“What if I’m too old?” she whispered into the darkness.

Her chest tightened as her thoughts spun faster. What if all the good eggs are gone? What if I waited too long, and now my body just… can’t do it? She closed her eyes, willing herself to stop. But the spiral had already taken hold.

What if this is my last chance, and I blow it?
What if it’s already too late, and no one wants to tell me?
What if all those fertility blogs were right, and thirty-five really was the cutoff?

Her heart raced as her mind conjured images of ticking clocks and expiration dates. She felt the familiar panic rising, her breath quickening, when suddenly, a voice sliced through the chaos.

“Oh, for crying out loud, Mabel. Are we seriously doing this again?” Monique shook her head, her voice dripping with mock disbelief. “What did we talk about this morning in the kitchen? Rumination, over-worrying, and staying out of the Land of What If? Did it all just fly out the window the second the lights went out?”

Her eyes shot open. Monique was perched on the edge of her dresser, arms crossed, looking completely unimpressed.

Mabel groaned, dragging a pillow over her face. “Monique, it’s almost midnight. Can you not?”

Monique smirked, hopping down and sauntering over to the bed. “Oh, I can not. But clearly, you can’t stop this ridiculous overthinking, so here I am. What’s tonight’s special? Ah, yes—your age. Classic choice.”

Mabel peeked out from under the pillow, her voice muffled. “It’s not ridiculous. It’s real. I’m old.”

Monique raised an eyebrow, her smirk softening into something closer to exasperation. “Old? Babe, you’re not old. You’re seasoned. Like fine wine—except you’re the one forgetting how good you’ve still got it.”

Mabel sat up, glaring. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one on a deadline. Every day that passes feels like a countdown to failure.”

“Failure?” Monique scoffed, pulling up a chair and sitting backward on it, her chin resting on her arms. “Let me ask you this: has worrying about your age ever stopped the clock? Did all this mental gymnastics buy you an extra ovulation cycle or two?”

Mabel folded her arms, biting her lip. “No, but—”

“But nothing,” Monique interrupted, her tone sharper now. “You don’t get to control time, Mabel. Newsflash: nobody does. So, you’ve got two choices. You can either keep freaking out over something you can’t change, or you can use that energy for something that actually matters. Like, I don’t know, sleeping?”

Mabel exhaled slowly, her shoulders sagging. “It’s not that simple.”

“Of course, it’s not,” Monique said, her voice softening just a touch. “But you know what makes it harder? You. You’re turning the calendar into a weapon against yourself. Stop fighting time and start working with it.”

Mabel blinked, confused. “How do I work with it?”

Monique leaned in, her gaze steady. “By showing up for yourself every damn day. Not with panic, but with purpose. You’re not too old, Mabel. You’re too busy buying into a bullshit story that says you are.”

Mabel looked down at her hands, her mind quiet for the first time in hours. “What if you’re wrong?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the fan.

Monique snorted, shaking her head. “Oh, come on, Mabel. Let’s cut the crap. You don’t actually mean me being wrong. What you’re really asking is, What if I don’t get pregnant? That’s the fear clawing at you right now, isn’t it?”

Mabel’s head snapped up, her breath catching in her throat. “I mean... yeah. Of course, I’m scared of that. Who wouldn’t be?”

“Exactly,” Monique said, leaning forward, her voice softer but still firm. “It’s not about your age, or the timeline, or whether you’ve meditated enough this month. It’s about that one big, ugly fear you’re dancing around. You’re terrified of trying your hardest and still not getting what you want.”

Mabel blinked rapidly, her throat tightening. “Well, yeah. Who wouldn’t be afraid of that? It feels like... like if I don’t get pregnant, I’ve failed. Like I’m broken.”

Monique stood up, pacing the room now, her tone sharp and unrelenting. “Broken? Babe, listen to me. Not getting pregnant doesn’t make you broken. It doesn’t make you less of a woman, less of a person, or less worthy of love. All it means is that you’re human, living a life that sometimes doesn’t follow the damn script.”

“But what if it’s all for nothing?” Mabel’s voice cracked, the vulnerability spilling out despite her effort to keep it in.

Monique stopped pacing and turned to her, her gaze piercing. “It’s never for nothing, Mabel. Every moment you spend showing up for yourself, healing, growing, and learning to trust your gut—that’s for you. Not some baby. You. Because you’re worth it, with or without a kid. Got it?”

Mabel swallowed hard, tears pricking at her eyes. “I don’t know if I can believe that.”

Monique crouched in front of her, locking eyes. “Then say it until you do. Fake it, scream it, write it on sticky notes and slap them all over the house if you have to. But stop letting fear dictate how you live. Whether or not you get the ending you’re hoping for, you deserve to live a life that feels good right now. Not someday. Now.”

Mabel let out a shaky breath, her fingers tightening around the blanket draped over her lap. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not easy,” Monique said, standing again and crossing her arms. “But it’s a hell of a lot easier than letting fear run your life. So, you tell me, Mabel—what’s scarier? Taking the leap and trusting yourself, or staying stuck in this loop forever?”

Mabel stared at her for a long moment, the words sinking in like drops of rain soaking into parched ground. Finally, she nodded, the smallest hint of resolve creeping into her expression. “Okay. I’ll try.”

Monique grinned, satisfied, like a coach watching their player finally nail a long-overdue win. “Good. Now, let’s seal the deal. When you’re worried about something you can’t control—like your age—you don’t fight it, Mabel. You face it. Acknowledge it for what it is, and remind yourself: My age is my age. I can’t control it any more than I can control the sun setting and rising. But I trust that I am exactly where I’m meant to be right now. Say it, Mabel.”

Mabel hesitated, then took a deep breath, her voice quiet but steady. “I trust that I am exactly where I’m meant to be right now.”

Monique nodded approvingly, her expression softening. “Damn right. That’s how you take the power back. Now, do yourself a favor—tap into that whole brain posture thing Monica loves so much. You know, where you sit with the fear instead of running from it.”

Mabel raised an eyebrow. “You mean the thing I always avoid because it feels like a lot of work?”

“Exactly that,” Monique said with a smirk. “Sit with it, let it bubble up, let it feel as ugly as it wants to feel. And then, let it leave your body. Picture yourself kicking it to the curb like last week’s trash. Once it’s gone, make space for that trust you just affirmed—it’s there, waiting for you.”

Mabel rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but smile a little. “You really know how to sell a moment, don’t you?”

“It’s a gift,” Monique quipped, waving her hand dramatically. “But seriously, once you let the fear go, welcome the peace in. Imagine it filling up all the empty space that worry used to take up. Then, you fall asleep with one intention: tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Mabel asked, tilting her head.

Monique’s expression softened, her voice gentler now. “Yeah, tomorrow. A fresh start. A chance to trust yourself just a little more than you did today. You don’t have to figure it all out right now, babe. Just focus on tomorrow.”

Mabel let out a slow exhale, feeling a surprising weight lift from her chest. “Alright. I’ll try it.”

“Good,” Monique said, standing and heading for the door. She paused, glancing back with a wink. “And if you start overthinking again, I’ll be back. You know I don’t sleep.”

Mabel laughed softly, pulling the blanket up to her chin. “Thanks, Monique.”

“Don’t mention it,” Monique replied, disappearing into the shadows.

As the room fell quiet, Mabel shifted into the posture Monica had taught her, settling into the stillness with a deep, deliberate inhale. She closed her eyes, silently repeating to herself, I trust that I am exactly where I’m meant to be right now.

The words became a rhythm in her mind, steady and grounding, as she let the fear rise in her like a storm rolling in. It was hot and heavy, pressing against her chest and throat. Her heart pounded as the panic twisted and turned, wild and unruly, demanding her attention. Tears spilled over her cheeks, hot and relentless, as she sat with the full weight of it, refusing to turn away.

It felt like chaos, like she might shatter under its intensity. But then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, the storm began to shift. The fear that had seemed so overwhelming just moments ago started to dissipate. It unraveled thread by thread, its grip loosening, as if the simple act of facing it had drained it of its power.

And then, like smoke in the wind, it was gone—drifting away into the night, leaving nothing but a quiet stillness in its wake. In its place, Mabel felt something new settle into her chest: peace. It was warm, steady, and surprisingly light, as if her body had been holding onto a weight she hadn’t even fully realized was there.

Her breathing slowed, each inhale and exhale grounding her further. The corners of her lips twitched into a faint smile as she whispered, “I don’t live in this worry anymore, and I’m at peace with my age.”

The words hung in the air, carrying a quiet finality. For the first time in what felt like forever, she truly meant them.

She exhaled again, this time with a sense of relief, knowing the work wasn’t entirely done. The fear of not getting pregnant still lingered, a mountain she hadn’t climbed yet. But that was a hike she’d save to do with Monica—she new she couldn’t do that alone.

For tonight, she let herself rest, cradled in the warmth of her newfound peace. And with that, Mabel finally drifted off to sleep, her heart a little lighter and her mind a little quieter.

The next morning, Mabel woke up feeling lighter than she had in weeks. The sun streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow across her room, and for once, she didn’t feel the heavy weight of overthinking pressing on her chest. She stretched, yawning, and went to make herself a cup of tea.

Later that morning, as Mabel scrolled through her notifications, her mind wandered back to the night before. Monique. She always had a way of barging into her thoughts at the most inconvenient yet oddly perfect times.

Mabel opened Telegram and typed out a message to Monica.

Mabel: Why is Monique showing up without you?

She hit send and stared at the screen, half-expecting Monique to pop up with a snarky remark about wasting time texting Monica instead of trusting her intuition.

A few minutes later, Monica’s reply came through.

Monica: Haha, because she loves you, obviously. 😉

Mabel rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Mabel: Seriously. She’s like a fiery, uninvited guest in my brain. Do you... send her? Or does she just appear on her own?

This time, Monica took a little longer to reply.

Monica: Monique shows up when you need her most. She’s the part of you that’s tired of your fears running the show. She’s there to remind you that you’re stronger than the stories you keep telling yourself.

Mabel frowned, rereading the message.

Mabel: So, she’s... me?

Monica: Kind of! She’s the version of you that doesn’t tolerate the BS anymore. The one that sees through your excuses and calls you out on your patterns. She’s tough love, but she’s still love.

Mabel stared at the message, chewing on her lip. It made sense in a weird, uncomfortable way. Monique’s bluntness, her timing, her ability to cut through the noise—it wasn’t random.

Mabel: So, what you’re saying is... I created her?

Monica: Yep. She’s your inner fire, Mabel, and the more you listen to her, the less you’ll need her to show up.

Mabel let out a small laugh, shaking her head. Of course Monica would spin this into some deep, empowering revelation.

Mabel: Great. So, I’ve basically manifested a bossy imaginary friend.

Monica: 😂 Exactly. But hey, she’s a friend who’s helping you grow. Embrace her. She’s here to remind you that you’re capable of so much more than you think.

Mabel stared at the screen, a warmth spreading through her chest. Monique wasn’t just there to annoy her—she was there to challenge her, push her, and remind her of her strength.

Mabel: Alright, fine. I’ll try to make peace with her. But if she shows up during my morning tea, we’re going to have words.

Monica: Deal. Or, as Monique would say, “About time, babe.” 😉

Let’s Do This Together 💚 Monica

Finding Fertility

Listen to the Podcast: How to Overcome Overthinking, Worry & Fear During Infertility & IVF

Truth # 1: The Illusion of Control

Grieving Together: 10 Things Monica Sees in Mabel’s Journey That Are Causing Unnecessary Chaos

Listen up, lovelies: Everything I share about health, diet, or fertility magic is my opinion. Yep, it’s all based on years of trial and error, study, reading, listening, and side-eyeing the nonsense out there. What worked for me might be a jackpot for you—or it might be a total flop. Bodies are weird like that. 🤷‍♀️

Let’s get one thing straight: I’m not a doctor, nutritionist, dietitian, or any other kind of licensed health wizard. If you need medical advice, run—don’t walk—to an actual qualified professional. Don’t come back here saying Monique told you to eat kale for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, okay?

As for the products I mention, they’re either what I used during my own infertility rollercoaster or what I wish I’d known about back then. No guarantees, no promises, and absolutely no refunds on your hope budget if it doesn’t work out.

Now that we’ve cleared that up, proceed with curiosity and, above all, discernment. You’ve got this. 💪✨