"The Sky Is Falling! The Sky Is Falling!"

Therapists call it "catastrophizing" and I used to be really good at it. It means going into a panic about any little thing. A flat tire? That would be good enough to convince me the Universe was crashing. Being unable to find a parking spot? I just knew it was going to cost me my job. Locking my keys in the car would send me over the edge in a New York minute. Spilling a quart of orange juice on the kitchen floor when I'm late for an appointment would make me suicidal. And don't even think about having some restaurant worker overcook my eggs! I could go into a tizzy over anything -- big or small -- and the amount of emotion was pretty much the same. The word had been rubbed right off my panic button a long time ago.

Over the years, I made some progress with not jumping to the conclusion that my life was over every time I had a bad day. But what really helped me get the hang of breathing through minor (or even not so minor) difficulties was being diagnosed with diabetes. All of a sudden, my uncontrolled emotions could -- and generally did -- send my blood glucose levels through the roof. And now, instead of just a flat tire, I was dealing with something that could turn into a real catastrophe.

I was amazed at how easy it actually was to rein in those rampant emotions when I put my mind to it. Deep breathing helped. In through the nose, out through the mouth, and lower the shoulders from up around my ears. It was almost amusing how much even that little bit could change my whole state of mind immediately and set me free to problem-solve my situation with the maturity my years would suggest possible.

Self talk helped, as well. That running mumble that catastrophizers emit as background music to their lives is invariably negative and, all too often, negative not only about life, but about the catastrophizer him or herself. "I knew when I got up this morning it was going to be a crappy day. Why do these things always happen to me? This is what I get for being such a screw up. No wonder my parents didn't love me..." The mumbling gets in the way of focusing on the task at hand. The jack breaks because it wasn't set right. The negativism turns into rage. The glucose level goes up another 50 or 100 points. And so it goes.

My strong desire to keep my blood glucose level stable quickly taught me that consciously changing my self talk to comments more in line with reality was startlingly effective in changing the moment and changing my day. In no time, I came to realize that I had the option of telling myself, "Nobody wants to have a flat tire, but it's not the end of the world. It could have happened to anybody. I'm glad it didn't make me have a wreck." And the attendant result would be a fixed tire, lower BG readings, and a smug awareness that -- while it may have taken me a while longer than some -- I really am growing up, after all.