Have you ever found yourself replaying a moment of discomfort or hurt, as though your mind is stuck on a loop? One criticism from a co-worker, one misunderstanding in a conversation, and suddenly, it overshadows everything else. You may have had a wonderful day, but that one single negative moment lingers, colouring your entire experience. This isn’t just something that happens by chance; it’s deeply rooted in how our brains are wired. It’s a tendency called Negative Bias (Rozin & Roizman, 2001).

Negative bias is our brain’s natural tendency to focus more on unwanted experiences than contributive ones. We hold onto insults longer than compliments, react more intensely to criticism than to praise, and often let one moment of discomfort outweigh a dozen moments of joy. It’s not just that unwanted events happen, they stick with us, pulling us down like a weight. But why does this happen?

Our brains evolved to prioritise negative experiences because, in our early history, they often indicated danger (Rolls, 2000). This bias served a survival function, increased alertness to threats kept us safe. However, in today’s world, this wiring could cause us to ruminate on dysfunctional emotions or events, allowing them to dominate our thoughts and behaviour.

Well, then what if you could shift this focus? What if, instead of getting caught in the downward spiral of negativity, you could change the lens through which you see these experiences? A powerful way to do this is by asking the question, "What’s right about this that I’m not getting?" This single question shifts your brain’s attention from what’s wrong to what could be right, from pain to possibility. It interrupts the cycle of negative thinking and opens the door to new perspectives.

Think of your mind like a search engine. When you type in unresourceful keywords like "why is this happening to me?" or "what's wrong with me?" it returns results that reinforce those thoughts, memories of past failures, self-criticism, reasons to feel bad. This is called confirmation bias (Oswald & Grosjean, 2004). But when you ask, "What’s right about this?," it's like typing new keywords into the search bar. Your brain starts searching for evidence to answer that question, filtering through the experience to find something positive or useful. It’s a shift from dwelling on the problem to uncovering insights.

So, the next time you feel stuck in that loop of replaying a negative event, ask yourself: What’s right about this that I’m not getting?

It was just another sweltering summer afternoon and we were all at the office. My gaze landed on X, with a dupatta tied around her head. To lighten the mood, I commented “New Fashion or Ninja Look?” X replied with anguish, “No ya, I have been having this recurring pain. It goes and then comes back promptly. I am just tired of it. I’ve been struggling with it for a few months now. I’ve seen doctors who prescribe medication and exercises, and sure, I feel better for a while, but just when I think it’s finally behind me, it comes back in full form. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Her words painted a vivid picture of frustration and helplessness, revealing a struggle that went far beyond the physical. It struck me how often we unknowingly recreate our problems by constantly checking in on them, asking questions like Is it really gone? I cannot believe it's gone? Will it be back? Is it still there? I cannot feel it anymore. I hope it doesn’t come back!

Using such questions, individuals constantly ferment over problems that have already resolved itself. The mental tug-of-war could be likened to being chased by a dog; after a long sprint, you finally turn around to find it has vanished. Instead of moving on, you call out, “Are you there? Are you there?” In that moment of doubt, the dog reappears, and instinctively, you start running again. This cycle illustrates how our minds could trap us in fear and anxiety, preventing true healing.

It’s not unusual to ruminate over difficulties, but when we become relentlessly preoccupied with them, we risk perpetuating our problems rather than allowing them to transform (Eckstein, 2023). This cycle of self-sabotage often obscures the potential for recovery, entrenching us further into our struggles. As Dick wisely said in class, “We must not dig in doubt what we plant in faith.” His words resonate deeply, emphasizing the importance of cultivating trust in the healing process rather than continuously questioning its validity.

Do you find yourself repeatedly checking in on the issues that trouble you, thereby keeping them alive? How much of your energy is spent revisiting these concerns rather than letting them go?

What if, instead of fixating on the problem, you allowed it to be resolved, acknowledged the resolution and began to direct your attention to new possibilities?

Are you ready to shift your focus from the past issues and move forward into a new context where growth and progress could occur?

What might change in your life if you let go of the constant monitoring of the problem and embraced their transformation?

As we navigate through life, we experience a multitude of emotions, some uplifting, others overwhelming. While most of us learn to ride the waves of these emotional currents, there are moments when we find ourselves submerged, weighed down by feelings of remorse, guilt, frustration, or anger. These emotions, when left unprocessed, could sink deep and impact our psyche, manifesting in ways that are far from benign, often transforming into physical discomfort or illness.

When we suppress our emotions, we inadvertently store them in our bodies, much like an overflowing attic filled with forgotten memories and unresolved conflicts. This is why chronic stress and anxiety may manifest as tension headaches, while repressed anger could lead to gastrointestinal issues, such as irritable bowel syndrome (Van der Kolk, 2014).

During a Gestalt intervention, these unseen parts surface, they speak, finally permitted to be acknowledged. As they do, the layers of pain begin to melt, and this is where true transformation and acceptance occur.

In one of these interventions a woman sat before me, plagued by recurring migraines. As we delved deeper, it became clear that these migraines were more than just physical discomfort, multiple scans and X-rays revealed that they did not arise due to organic causes. Rather, they were an outlet for the resentment and anger she had been harbouring for years due to emotional abuse from her in-laws.

I asked her, “What are you hiding from yourself?” She hesitated, “I’m not hiding anything.” “What is the pain in your head telling you?” I asked. “I’m just tired of the pain,” she replied. “What pain are you really tired of?” I pressed. “Everything, my in-laws, my lack of freedom, the feeling of being trapped, and, of course, these constant migraines.”

Her physical pain was a shield, protecting her from facing the deeper emotional wounds she carried. The migraines, though debilitating, allowed her to ignore the emotional pain that she had been avoiding.

It’s important to recognize that our bodies are not separate from our minds, they work in tandem Lloyd, 2007). When we refuse to acknowledge emotional pain, the body often takes over, creating symptoms as a way of speaking the unspoken.

So. reflect back and ask yourself, What physical discomfort or health issues are you facing?

What emotions have you been suppressing that might be manifesting in your body as these issues?

If your body could speak, what message do you think it would have for you?

What is the cost of continuing to carry this emotional weight in your body?

She was not just well dressed, but everything about her spoke flawlessness. She entered and sat down on the chair, exuding elegance and poise. I asked her, “What brings you here today?” She folded her branded glares, put them neatly in the box, slid the box in her well-kept tan coloured tote, and started talking.

"I can’t seem to get past my desire to be perfect, to be the best!" Her voice trembled, frustration spilling over. "I want to reach a point where I’m calm with myself, where I can say, 'That was good enough,' or even just, 'That was good,' and not overthink it. But I worry... constantly. I have this idea in my head about how things should be. A checklist, rules to follow, and it’s suffocating. My life is getting so stressful because, honestly, I don’t think I can keep up with myself anymore." I leaned in, sensing the weight of her words. "Is it okay if you made a mistake?"

Without missing a beat, she shot back, "No. It’s not okay. I can't make a mistake. Things have to be done a certain way."

I let her response hang in the air for a moment, then asked softly, "And if I made a mistake, could you forgive me?"

She blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Yes, of course," she said, as if it were obvious.

"Who would have to forgive you," I asked, my voice steady, "if you made a mistake?"

Her hands stilled as silence filled the space between us. She rubbed them together, her gaze dropping to the floor. The restless energy shifted, uncertainty now lingering in the pause.

I pressed gently, "Who are you trying to please? Or are you trying to prove something to someone?" In life, we often find ourselves compelled to follow certain rules and expectations, as if we have no real choice in the matter. Haven’t we all, at some point, believed things like "I must get perfect grades," "One should never smoke," or "I can’t go out alone"? These seemingly harmless phrases of ‘should’, ‘must’, ‘have to’, and ‘can’t’ are called Operators of Necessity (Zamfir, 2016). While they aim to create order and structure, they also impose rigid limitations on how we experience the world, often making us feel trapped by obligations that may not even be real. This mindset, driven by self-imposed pressures, could quickly become overwhelming. When we live according to these rigid beliefs, we gradually lose sight of the freedom and flexibility inherent in being human. It’s as if we’re placing ourselves in a mental prison, where alternatives vanish and our sense of agency fades. But what are these rules, really? Who sets them? Often, we find that these 'musts' and 'shoulds' are inherited, not from a deep truth about life, but from societal pressures or personal insecurities.

The renowned philosopher, Jean-Paul Sartre’s concept of bad faith holds that individuals often convince themselves they have no choice when, in fact, they do. We tell ourselves we must behave in a certain way or follow a particular path, but this removes personal responsibility from our choices, shielding us from the discomfort of freedom. The truth is, the discomfort we feel isn’t from the choices themselves, but from the illusion that we have none. This form of thinking, which involves making unrealistic demands from self, represents a cognitive distortion called "shoulding.” (Beck, 1979). It creates a binary world where life becomes a series of rigid boxes. You either meet your unrealistic expectations, or you’ve failed. By framing life in these extremes, we set ourselves up for disappointment and miss the rich spectrum of possibilities between the perfect and the imperfect. Real freedom lies not in adhering to absolutes, but in embracing the uncertainty and flexibility of choice, and understanding that it’s okay to deviate, to question the "rules," and to live in the grey areas of life.

In letting go of the tyranny of shoulds and musts, we open ourselves to a life with more nuance, compassion, and balance. It’s a shift from seeing life as a series of obligations to understanding it as a series of opportunities.

When you save money, is there a clear purpose behind it, or do you find yourself saving for the sake of saving? Do you experience anxiety when spending, or feel uncomfortable parting with your money, even when it comes to those close to you? Are you constantly worried about losing your savings, or do you harbour distrust towards others regarding financial matters? Does managing or tracking your money create tension and anxiety in your life?

These emotions and behaviours could be subtle hints that the practice of saving and hoarding has evolved into a significant emotional attachment, where the act of saving overshadows the very joy of living. Let’s explore a few real-life cases to see if any resonate with your experience.

Take, for instance, a man who earned 4 lakh rupees a month, yet managed to spend only 10% of his income, saving the other 90%. When asked, “Are you saving for future generations?” he replied, “No, they are all independent.” Yet, despite his impressive savings, he couldn’t bring himself to enjoy the fruits of his labour. His savings became a fortress, protecting him from the perceived risks of life, but in doing so, he locked himself out of joy and fulfilment.

Then there’s a woman who went shopping with friends but only window-shopped, despite always carrying more than 20,000 rupees. When I asked her, “What holds you back from buying what you want?” she responded, “I’m afraid that if I indulge too much, the money will run out.” Her fear of scarcity overshadowed her ability to enjoy the moment, transforming what should be a pleasurable outing into a painful reminder of her limitations.

Another man had been saving diligently since he started earning, but after marriage and children, his focus narrowed solely to securing his family’s future. The act of saving consumed him; spending on himself or finding joy in life became a distant memory. He was a provider, yes, but at what cost? In his quest for security, he sacrificed the richness of his own experience.

Lastly, consider the elderly woman with substantial wealth who struggled to give, even to her own grandchildren. On her grandson’s birthday, she offered only a small sum, even though she had the means to give so much more. Clinging tightly to her wealth, she missed the opportunity to strengthen familial bonds, allowing fear to keep her isolated and disconnected. Her wealth became a barrier rather than a bridge.

These examples highlight a profound tendency in many individuals: the fear of loss and the compulsive need for security leading to an unhealthy relationship with money. This attachment often stems from early life experiences, perhaps of financial instability and struggles. Consequently, the act of saving becomes a coping mechanism, a way to manage anxiety in a world that feels inherently unpredictable (Goldberg & Lewis, 2000).

This fear-driven mindset could create a cycle where the desire to accumulate wealth leads to a neglect of the present moment, causing individuals to miss out on life's simple joys and meaningful connections (Klontz et al., 2012). It's a paradox: the more we cling to our savings, the more we may inadvertently block the flow of abundance into our lives.

So, ask yourself: Have you made money more valuable than yourself? Your relations? More valuable than the experience of living? What might change if you allowed yourself to release this grip on money and truly enjoy the gifts that life has to offer? What beliefs about money have you internalised that make it difficult to enjoy spending or sharing it? How would your life change if you allowed yourself to view money as a tool for creating joy and connection rather than something to hoard? What would you do differently with your money if you knew you couldn’t fail financially?