uncertainty ≠ death

a reflection on worry

One of my simple pleasures in life is waking up early and going for a run. I love the routine—leaving my place for a 7.5 km run down to the river. About a kilometre from the finish, I swing by an Aldi to pick up my beloved “Franzbrötchen” – imagine the perfect flaky buttery texture of a croissant mixed with a moist cinnamon bun inside –, before sprinting the final stretch. Once I arrive at the riverbank, I settle in on a bench with my makeshift breakfast, watching an eclectic mix of wildlife (including some amusing human antics) before a short walk to the bus stop and a 15‑minute ride back home. I've mastered the art of pacing my run perfectly so that by the end, I'm both pleasantly exhausted and mentally clear, with a nice 25–30 minutes to enjoy my time at the river.

Today wasn’t anything extraordinary—except for the sun, which made a rare appearance as of late. The past few days have been incredibly stressful. I’m moving at the end of April🤞🏼, but in a twist that I hadn’t predicted on my bingo card, a few nights ago, I discovered that as of February 2025, I now need a visa for my destination due to my country of citizenship’s increasingly strained foreign relations. While the visa application in and of itself isn’t a huge issue, external complications are currently preventing me from applying. And I am forced to either worry or surrender to uncertainty. To be honest, the last few days have been tough because, as I’ll explore in the rest of this post, I understand the science behind why I shouldn’t worry—yet I still find myself fighting against my own physiology. I have at least half a lifetime of experience proving that worrying isn’t helpful, and I recognize how we’ve been conditioned to believe it’s necessary. And yet, I still find myself feeling disoriented when faced with situations that seem significant.

I don’t talk about C-PTSD (Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) a lot, because I don’t particularly fancy having a diagnosis become an entire personality or platform; but that’s just me. However, for today’s post, it necessitates at least an honourable mention. C-PTSD arises from prolonged or repeated trauma—be it subtle or extreme—and includes not only the classic symptoms of PTSD like flashbacks, hypervigilance, and emotional numbness but also difficulties regulating emotions, negative self-perception, and challenges in relationships. In my own journey, flashbacks, hypervigilance, and difficulty regulating my nervous system have been my most persistent companions. Please keep that in mind as you read on.

This morning, while savoring my “breakfast”, as I let my heart rate recover from my run, I watched two ducks in the river. One duck was clearly pestering the other, which responded with an assertive, “get away from me” beak flick. In that quirky moment, I wondered—do animals get bored? They lingered in stillness, perfectly at ease, as if boredom were a human invention. There’s a quiet trust in them, as if nature itself is pleading with us to do the same. I often struggle with boredom, more accurately, I think, I feel boredom more acutely than most people, which really isn’t that important, or at least I thought it wasn’t. But boredom is often present not because we’re truly bored, but because we have a lack of autonomy in the tasks we are doing. How much of what you do every day would you still choose if you weren’t pressured by the dire expectations of most of today’s billionaires, elitists, bigots, and the systems they uphold? And, on a larger scale, how much would you choose if the expectations you bow down to weren’t shaped by social conditioning (society’s gift that just keeps on giving), just to survive? If true autonomy were possible—free from external demands and the weight of imposed survival—how much of your daily life would actually be a reflection of your own desires, values, and purpose?

For over a decade, I've been trapped in a cycle of chronic worrying, but to my credit, I've become much better at recognizing it and snapping out of it. I’d read scriptures such as Matthew 6:25-27 (NIV):
"Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?"

— or even better, Luke 12:25-26 (NIV):
"Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life? Since you cannot do this very little thing, why do you worry about the rest?"

While I found great wisdom in these words, I was constantly agitated by my inability to simply stop worrying—especially in a world that insists we’re never enough and always lacking. A world that is constantly trying to get us to comply with things that don’t really matter. Quite frankly, that pressure truly sucks.

Over time, through what felt like unintentional exposure therapy, I learned that chronic worrying doesn’t help at all. In fact, it forces my nervous system into states of stress that aren’t real because the brain simply can’t tell the difference between a perceived threat and an actual one. The worse part is that the body experiences the same hormonal releases and the situation isn’t even happening.

A Quick Neuroscience Excursion: Understanding the Stress Response

1. The Fight-or-Flight Mechanism

   • The body's response to stress is controlled by the sympathetic nervous system (SNS), which activates the fight-or-flight response.

   • When the brain detects a threat, the amygdala signals the hypothalamus, triggering the hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal (HPA) axis.

   • This leads to the release of cortisol and adrenaline, increasing heart rate, blood pressure, and muscle tension while suppressing digestion, immune function, and long-term thinking.

2. Perceived vs. Real Threats

   • The brain does not distinguish between physical danger and psychological stressors.

   • Research (Sapolsky, 2004; McEwen, 2007) shows that simply imagining a stressful situation —like a deadline or social conflict—engages the amygdala, prefrontal cortex, and hippocampus in ways similar to experiencing the threat firsthand. This phenomenon, known as anticipatory stress, reinforces a heightened state of alertness, often keeping the stress response active long after the actual event.

3. Chronic Stress and Its Consequences

   • Repeated activation of the stress response leads to allostatic load—the cumulative wear and tear on the body.

   • Prolonged exposure to stress hormones disrupts the HPA axis

   • Chronic stress keeps the body in survival mode, making it harder to engage in long-term thinking, emotional regulation, and overall well-being.

4. Why This Matters

   • Many of our stressors are not immediate physical dangers but perceived threats shaped by conditioning and past experiences.

   • Learning to regulate the stress response—through mindfulness and other somatic therapeutic concepts like movement and body awareness—can shift the nervous system from survival mode to resilience.

So what does all this mean for me?

Over the past decade, I have painfully learned that my need for certainty and control is deeply rooted in C-PTSD. My nervous system, often in a state of chronic activation, perceives threats even in moments of safety. This heightened stress response means that everyday stressors—or even subtle, unconscious sensory triggers—can ignite the brain’s fight-or-flight mechanism, flooding my body with stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline. I find myself anticipating disaster at every turn, which often results in overwhelming anxiety and a feeling of disconnection or even dissociation from the world around me. In an attempt to regain a sense of control, I used to cling to the illusion of certainty—relying on routines and fixed expectations of society and myself as a lifeline. For a long time, I failed to recognize how my craving for certainty and control was intertwined with a deeper struggle: the loss of autonomy and the fear of incompetence.

The irony is that while uncertainty is deeply unsettling and scary, our desperate attempts to banish it by demanding control can lead us to idolize certainty. It becomes a sort of god—something we “worship” in the hope that it will provide comfort and security. Yet, when we examine the nature of life more closely, we realize that there are very few things, if any, that we can be absolutely certain of. This realization creates a paradox: the very tools we use to shield ourselves from uncertainty are built on an illusion of permanence.

In essence, my pursuit of control is driven by the fear of the unpredictable, and it becomes a self-perpetuating cycle. The more I try to impose order, the more I distance myself from the natural flow of life—a flow that, if allowed to unfold, might actually bring clarity, peace and a sense of play. Recognizing this interconnected web of fear, control, and the inherent uncertainty of existence has been both challenging and enlightening, prompting me to question what is truly necessary for a fulfilling life.

During the quiet moment observing the two ducks by the river—one asserting its space and the other reluctantly yielding—I was reminded of a profound truth: so much of what we obsess over is trivial and really unimportant, even if it demands “life or death” status. The natural interaction between the ducks symbolized how surrendering to life’s unpredictable flow can lead to unexpected serenity. The greatest paradox is that uncertainty, when embraced, can free us from the exhausting pursuit of control and invite us into a space of acceptance. Worry will never secure a better outcome, and uncertainty does not equal death—it is simply an invitation to live without fear.

And perhaps, in embracing this, we can create a space where everyone is welcome at the table. A space where no one needs to cling to certainty as a measure of worth or belonging. Because in the end, none of us hold the absolute answers we like to profess. But maybe, just maybe, that is where true freedom begins. And perhaps just like this applies to connection and relationship, perhaps the uncertainty I face yet again, might just be my greatest adventure, my greatest freedom.

Literature

• Sapolsky, R. M. (2004). Why Zebras Don't Get Ulcers.

• McEwen, B. S. (2007). The End of Stress as We Know It.

• Biblical Scriptures: Matthew 6:25-27 and Luke 12:25-26 (New International Version)