One of the things I often do in my therapy room is get out the whiteboard.
Not to draw some complicated psychological model. Not to give someone another list of things they should be doing to manage their anxiety.
But to ask a fairly simple question.
Talk me through your day.
We start when they wake up.
If they've got children, we're usually about three minutes into the conversation before the board starts filling up.
Getting everyone out of bed. Breakfast. School uniforms. The missing PE kit. The homework nobody remembered. The school email that came through last night. Getting themselves dressed. Trying to answer a work email while someone shouts that they can't find their shoes.
And that's before they've even left the house.
Then there's the school run, the commute, the meetings, the deadlines, the possibility of a phone call from school because someone's feeling unwell.
Already, we're looking at what feels like a full-time job before the actual working day has properly started.
But then I ask another question.
What else are you holding in your head at the moment?
And that's when things get interesting.
The dentist appointment that needs booking. The medication that needs collecting. The elderly parent who's not been well. The secondary school applications. The worry about whether their child is struggling. The bills. The house. The relationship that's feeling a bit strained.
The job that might not be secure.
The constant news about redundancies, wars, economic uncertainty and everything else we're apparently supposed to be prepared for.
And somewhere amongst all of this, there's a woman who's been meaning to book a GP appointment about a symptom she's had for months, but hasn't quite found the time.
This isn't just about motherhood, either. Women without children can be carrying enormous responsibilities for family, partners, colleagues, friends and other people who depend on them.
The board gets fuller.
And fuller.
And fuller.
Until eventually we stand back and look at it.
Often, the woman sitting opposite me is genuinely shocked.
And quite frankly, sometimes I am too.
Because here is someone who's walked into my therapy room believing she's not coping particularly well. That she's too anxious, too emotional, too disorganised, or somehow not as capable as everyone else.
And now we're looking at an enormous whiteboard containing everything she's trying to manage, remember, anticipate and worry about.
And you're wondering why you feel anxious?
Look at what you're carrying.
Of course, anxiety is more complicated than a busy life. Sometimes anxiety persists even when external pressures are relatively low. But before we start teaching someone another strategy for managing their thoughts, we need to understand the circumstances in which those thoughts are happening.
Because perhaps the problem isn't simply that you're not coping well enough.
Perhaps nobody has stopped to ask how much you're being expected to cope with.
So, what do we actually do about it?
This is where people sometimes expect me to produce a magical list of anxiety-management techniques.
And yes, there are some excellent tools we can use.
But first, we need to stop trying to hold the entire whiteboard in our heads at once.
One of my favourite exercises involves a container.
Sometimes it's an actual object. Sometimes it's something we imagine.
We start by putting everything that's swirling around in our heads into that container.
Work worries. Family responsibilities. Health concerns. The endless life admin. The things we need to do, the things we're worried might happen, and the things we haven't quite worked out yet.
All of it.
And then we start taking things out, one at a time.
Because despite how much we pride ourselves on multitasking, our attention isn't limitless. Constantly switching between competing demands comes at a cost.
So when we're at work, perhaps we take out work me.
When we're at home, perhaps we take out home me.
It's not about pretending the other responsibilities have disappeared. It's about giving ourselves permission not to mentally tackle every part of our lives simultaneously.
And importantly, we look at what can be postponed, shared, delegated or genuinely put down.
Not everything needs to be carried by you.
Would you speak to somebody else like that?
This is another part of therapy that I find incredibly revealing.
A woman might look at that enormous whiteboard and still tell me:
I'm just not coping.
I should be doing more.
Other people manage.
I'm not good enough.
So I'll ask her something.
If somebody you loved came to you with that exact same whiteboard, what would you say to them?
And the response is almost always different.
She'll recognise how much that person is doing. She'll acknowledge that they're exhausted. She'll probably tell them they deserve support, rest, kindness and a bloody break.
And I'll ask:
So why aren't you allowed those things?
That's where we begin working with self-compassion.
Not the fluffy, positive-affirmations version where we pretend everything is wonderful.
I'm talking about real compassion.
Recognising when you're struggling. Understanding why. Speaking to yourself with the same care you'd offer somebody you love.
Sometimes we can't get rid of the list.
There are children to care for, jobs to do, people who need us, appointments to organise and a world that isn't going to suddenly become less demanding.
But we can start changing our relationship with ourselves while we're carrying it.
Instead of I'm failing, perhaps we begin with:
I'm holding a lot. No wonder this feels difficult. What do I need right now?
That question doesn't solve everything.
But it gives us somewhere much kinder, and often much more useful, to begin.
But won't I just become lazy if I'm kinder to myself?
This is a question I hear all the time.
If I stop pushing myself, won't I just stop doing everything?
If I'm compassionate towards myself, won't I just make excuses?
What if I become lazy?
And this is where I often talk about the pendulum.
Imagine you're standing at one extreme end of it.
You're doing everything. Saying yes to everyone. Holding everyone else's needs in your head. Constantly pushing yourself to do more, be better, work harder.
And all the while, you've got this critical voice telling you that you're still not doing enough.
Now imagine what would need to happen for that pendulum to swing all the way to the other extreme, where you suddenly stop caring about everything and abandon all your responsibilities.
That's a pretty enormous swing.
You don't suddenly change your entire nature because you start treating yourself with kindness.
What you're more likely to discover is somewhere in the middle.
A place where you still care about your work, your family, your relationships and the things that matter to you, but you're not constantly exhausting yourself trying to prove you're good enough.
And here's something else I often say.
What you currently think of as being a bit lazy might not be anywhere near an unreasonable level of rest.
Because if you've spent years measuring yourself against an impossible standard, even a small step towards balance can feel uncomfortable.
But let's question the word lazy for a moment.
Why is that the label we reach for when we need to stop?
Why do we feel we have to justify resting?
Why is saying no interpreted as letting people down, rather than recognising our own limits?
If somebody you loved was exhausted, anxious and trying to hold absolutely everything together, would you want them to keep pushing until they had nothing left?
Or would you want them to look after themselves?
To ask for help?
To say no occasionally?
To have some bloody rest?
That's not laziness. That's self-care. That's kindness. That's having boundaries.
And sometimes it feels like a radical change simply because you've spent so long believing you weren't allowed to do it.
Three things you can try this week
1. Make your mental load visible. Take a piece of paper and write down everything you're currently responsible for, including the things you're anticipating and worrying about. Don't just list the practical tasks. Include the invisible planning.
2. Use the container. Group those responsibilities into categories. Choose one thing that needs your attention now, and consider what can wait, be shared or be put down. You don't need to solve the entire list today.
3. Question your inner critic. When you catch yourself thinking I'm not doing enough, imagine someone you care about showing you the same list. What would you say to them? Try offering yourself that response.
You don't need another reason to criticise yourself
Anxiety can be incredibly difficult to live with. And there are times when we need specific therapeutic strategies to help us understand and manage it.
Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) can help us explore how our thoughts, feelings, physical sensations and behaviours interact, identify patterns that maintain anxiety, and develop more helpful responses.
But I don't want women leaving therapy believing that the solution is simply to become better at coping with everything.
Sometimes the work is about recognising what you've been carrying, questioning the expectations you've internalised, and learning that you deserve the same compassion you so readily give to everyone else.
You can still be ambitious.
You can still be capable.
You can still care deeply about the people and things in your life.
But you don't have to keep proving your worth by exhausting yourself.
And perhaps the next time you find yourself thinking, Why can't I cope?, you might ask a different question.
What am I carrying, what can I put down, and how can I be kinder to myself while I work through the rest?
Looking for anxiety therapy in London?
I'm Natalie McCandless, a BABCP-accredited Cognitive Behavioural Psychotherapist. I work with adults experiencing anxiety, perfectionism, burnout, low self-esteem and the challenges that come with life's transitions.
I offer therapy in London and online across the UK. If you're tired of feeling that you should be coping better, we can explore what's happening and what might help.