The Night I Nearly Turned the Car Around

I've always considered myself a people person.

One of the things I've loved most about being a psychologist is having the privilege of sitting with people from every walk of life. Every day I meet people with different stories, personalities, beliefs and life experiences and I genuinely find human beings fascinating. I can happily spend hours talking to someone I've only just met, whether it's a light-hearted conversation about the weather or sitting alongside them through some of the hardest moments of their life.

It's one of the best jobs in the world and I often joke that I get paid to be nosey and chat to people all day, which usually gets a laugh.

But here's the funny thing.

Put me in a social situation where I'm not "Liz the psychologist" but simply "Liz"... and suddenly it's a completely different story.

A few weeks ago, I was getting ready to go to my book club. I should probably confess that we don't actually spend much time talking about books. It's really just an excuse for a group of wonderful women to get together, share some good food and catch up on life.

I'd been looking forward to it all week and had even baked a batch of melting moment biscuits to take along (my favourite).

I've known many of these women for more than ten years. Our children all went to school together, and they are some of the kindest, funniest and most accepting people you could hope to meet. It should have been one of the easiest invitations in the world to say yes to.

But as the day wore on and the time to leave crept closer, something shifted.

The familiar debate in my mind began.

"I don't really feel like going."

"But you've been looking forward to it all week."

"It's cold. I'd rather stay home."

"You'll enjoy yourself once you get there."

Back and forth my thoughts went, each one trying to convince me why staying home was the better option.

Eventually I gave myself a little pep talk.

"No, you're going," I said to myself. "End of discussion."

Well... as it turned out, my brain wasn't quite ready to surrender that easily.

Ten minutes later I found myself sitting in the driver's seat of my car, seriously considering turning around and driving home.

As I drove, my mind began doing what overloaded minds do so well.

What if I don't have anything interesting to say?

Would they even notice if I wasn't there?

What if I say something silly?

Then, almost on cue, my brain began gathering what felt like perfectly reasonable excuses to support my great escape.

I'm actually really tired.

I'd rather stay home.

The weather looks terrible...

To be fair, by "terrible" I mean there were about three raindrops on the windscreen.

My brain wasn't particularly concerned with accuracy at that point. It simply wanted me back on the couch.

Thankfully, I ignored it and kept driving.

And, unsurprisingly, I had one of the loveliest evenings I'd had in weeks. We laughed, we talked, we shared stories and I drove home wondering why I'd spent so much energy trying to avoid something that had turned out to be exactly what I needed.

As a psychologist, I understand the importance of social connection. I know that spending time with people we care about is one of the best things we can do for our mental wellbeing.

Research consistently shows that strong friendships reduce stress, increase feelings of connection and belonging, and even contribute to better physical health and a longer life.

Yet knowing something and feeling like doing it are often two very different things.

As I reflected on that evening, I realised my reluctance to go had nothing to do with the people and everything to do with how mentally full I'd been feeling.

Whenever life becomes particularly busy or emotionally demanding, home becomes my refuge. It's where I recharge, where I feel grounded and where my nervous system finally gets permission to exhale. The thought of leaving that sanctuary, even to spend time with people I genuinely enjoy, simply felt like one thing too many.

Good food with good people

The interesting thing was that once I arrived, I didn't want to leave. We laughed, shared stories and before I knew it the evening had disappeared and I drove home feeling lighter than I had in weeks. 

I realised something important as I drove home that night.

I'd confused "I need some quiet time" with "I don't want to connect with anyone."

And they weren't the same thing at all.

I also realised something .

When life becomes busy and emotionally demanding, one of the first things we tend to sacrifice are the very things that nourish us most.

Hobby gathering dust

Of course, we tell ourselves it's only temporary.

"I'll catch up with friends when life settles down."

"I'll start exercising again next month."

"I'll get back into that hobby when work is less hectic."

We convince ourselves that we just need to push through this busy patch and then, somehow, life will become easier.

But when we're mentally overloaded, our world often becomes much smaller without us even noticing. The coffee catch-ups quietly disappear from the calendar. The hobbies we once loved gather dust. Walks in nature become something we'll get back to "when life settles down," and weekends somehow become just another opportunity to catch up on jobs around the house.

Before we know it, our lives have narrowed until they're little more than work, responsibilities and if we're lucky, a little time to recover before doing it all again.

The irony is that the very things we push aside in the hope of making life easier are often the very things that give us the energy, perspective and joy we need to cope with life's busier times.

If there's one thing life has taught me, it's that there is rarely a perfect time.

Sometimes it's a major life event and sometimes it's simply a collection of little things that quietly pile up until we realise we're running on empty.

If we keep waiting for life to settle down before reconnecting with the people and activities that nourish us, we may find ourselves waiting a very long time.

Perhaps that's why living well isn't about finding perfect balance. It's about recognising what we need at different moments in our life.

Sometimes we need solitude.

Sometimes we need connection.

Sometimes we need both.

Looking back, I realised that what I'd really needed wasn't to spend the whole evening at home or to force myself to become endlessly social. I needed both.

A little quiet time to recharge, followed by an evening of laughter, conversation and connection.

It made me wonder how many opportunities for connection I'd quietly missed over the years because I'd mistaken feeling overwhelmed for simply not wanting to socialise.

And I suspect many of us make that same mistake without even realising it.

That evening reminded me that meaningful connection is one of the ways we find our way back to ourselves.

Sometimes it feels like effort.

Sometimes it feels uncomfortable.

But every now and then, the best thing we can do is ignore the voice telling us to turn the car around and trust that our future self will be glad we kept driving.

If any of this resonated with you, perhaps it's your mind and body gently asking for a little more space too.

I'd love to invite you to join my free 7 Days to a Calmer You email challenge. Over seven days I'll guide you through simple, practical activities to help you slow down, calm your mind and reconnect with what matters most, one small step at a time.

You'll also receive access to my growing collection of free printable resources, including colouring and reflection pages, nature activities, phone wallpapers and gentle reminders to help you bring a little more calm into everyday life.

Join the free challenge and start your journey today click here.

Written by Liz Anderson, Psychologist

Liz Anderson is a psychologist and author of Stop Rushing, Start Living: A Psychologist's Guide to Slowing Down, Stressing Less and Calming the Mind. Through her writing, videos and practical resources, she helps busy midlife women slow down, reconnect with themselves and create a calmer, more meaningful life.