WHEN I was seven years old, my mother gave me a box of beautiful
Guatemalan worry dolls. She set me on her lap and explained that
these tiny, handmade figurines were special dolls I could hold in my
hands before going to bed and confide in everything that was
stressing me out. Afterward, I was to put them under my pillow. In
the morning, she promised, all my fears and anxiety would be gone.
I had just begun to have suspicions about the tooth fairy, so I was
skeptical of yet another under-the-pillow magic trick. I knew I spent a
lot of time feeling anxious about everything in my little world, but I
figured that was just the challenge of a second grader. It never
occurred to me that other kids might not worry as much as I did.
Was tucking dolls the size of a pinkie under my pillow going to
make me less nervous when my teacher asked me to solve a math
problem on the chalkboard in front of the class? Would it get me
back the sleep I’d lost lying awake at night, replaying every social
and academic mistake I’d made that week? Would it stop me from
wondering if/when my grandparents, parents, and—oof—I would
eventually die?
I kept the worry dolls in their little box on the bookshelf in my
room. I didn’t tell them about my fears and sorrows, and I didn’t put
them under my pillow. But now that I’ve learned what I have from
Meredith and this incredible book about overthinking, I’m guessing I
should have.
So much of thriving as an overthinker is exploring the tricks and
tools that work for you—that allow you to ride the wave, as Meredith
says. Maybe off-loading the tight, growing knot of concerns in my
belly to the worry dolls might have helped after all. Or maybe it
wouldn’t have, but if I had had Get Out of My Head back then, I
would have known that the key was not to continue to spiral, but
rather to try something and keep trying until I found the mantra or
hobby or walking habit or whatever that helped, because something
that works is always out there.
Get Out of My Head is not designed to sit untouched on your
bookshelf or as decoration for your coffee table—though I
understand that impulse, since it’s a completely gorgeous piece of
art in its own right. Rather, it should live close to you, wherever you