The Only Certain Thing Is Uncertainty

I hate uncertainty.

I really do.

Those are probably strong words, and perhaps a little surprising coming from a psychologist who has spent more than thirty years helping people navigate life's challenges but I have never liked uncertainty.

I've always been someone who likes to feel prepared. Planning has always been one of my strengths and I genuinely enjoy organising things. Give me a holiday to prepare for and my suitcase will probably be packed a week in advance, complete with a checklist to make sure nothing has been forgotten. I like knowing where I'm going, what I'm doing, and that I've thought through every possible scenario. I even pack my own toilet paper, just in case (none of that two-ply toilet paper for me, I'm a 3-ply girl all the way!).

My husband has spent years rolling his eyes every time we go away because I somehow manage to pack for every possible scenario, only to come home having used barely half of what I brought. My defence has always been the same: "Better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it." In my mind, being prepared has always felt reassuring.

So it's fair to say that uncertainty and I have never been particularly good friends.

Yet over the past few years, as life has become a little more unpredictable and my body has reminded me that I'm no longer twenty-five, uncertainty has shown up at my door far more often than I would have chosen. Health challenges, changing circumstances, and the simple reality that not everything can be planned have forced me into unfamiliar territory. As I write this, I'm only days away from major surgery. There are still questions nobody can answer for me. How long will recovery take? Will it fix my issues? How will I feel? When will I be back to normal? My mind would love certainty, but life isn't offering it.

At first, I resisted it. I wanted answers. I wanted certainty and I wanted to know what was going to happen and when.

But somewhere along the way, I found myself asking a different question.

Why does uncertainty make me so uncomfortable in the first place?

When I really sat with that question and gave myself the space to think about it. I realised that uncertainty itself wasn't actually the problem.

It was what uncertainty made me feel.

It made me feel vulnerable. It made me feel as though life was slipping beyond my control.

I worried that I wouldn't be able to cope. I worried about who would look after the people I love or manage all the things I usually take care of if I couldn't. Beneath all of those thoughts was a deeper fear, that I was already running on empty and one more unexpected challenge might be enough to tip me over the edge.

All those thoughts sent me down a familiar rabbit hole and the more I reflected on them, the more I realised they had very little to do with uncertainty itself and everything to do with the pressure I place on myself. No one else expects me to carry the weight of the world. No one else expects me to have all the answers or hold everything together.

I do and that was a confronting realisation!

It also helped me recognise how easily I can slip into anticipatory anxiety - spending hours, sometimes days even worrying about a future that hasn't happened and, quite often, never does.

How much of my life had I spent preparing for problems that never arrived?

How much peace had I sacrificed trying to control things that were never mine to control in the first place? So much wasted energy I could have used for other much more enjoyable things.

I found myself thinking how strange it is that the world feels more uncertain today than ever before despite having access to more information than at any other time in human history. News reaches us within seconds. We can follow events unfolding on the other side of the world in real time and have more ways to stay connected than previous generations could ever have imagined.

Yet despite all of that, many of us don't feel more certain or more at peace.

If anything, we often feel the opposite.

Perhaps knowledge and technology alone aren't what help us cope with uncertainty.

So then, what, does?

What Helps Us Cope with Uncertainty?

When you look at people who have lived through profound personal loss or collective tragedies, what is it that allows some of them not only to survive but eventually find their footing again?

What are the qualities they have in common?

Over the years, I have noticed that the people who seem to navigate uncertainty most successfully don't necessarily have easier lives. They haven't avoided hardship or somehow discovered the secret to predicting the future. Instead, they seem to have a few things in common.

The first is ACCEPTANCE.

Not giving up, denial or defeatism but rather, acceptance is simply acknowledging reality as it is, rather than exhausting yourself wishing it were different.

Acceptance is recognising that some things are within your control and many things are not. We can't control what tomorrow brings, what other people choose to do, or many of life's unexpected twists and turns. What we do have control over is how we respond. We can choose our attitude, the actions we take and, with practice, where we place our attention. We don't have to believe every thought that tells us everything is going to end badly.

The second is CONNECTION.

You don't have to be a social butterfly to benefit from community.

I'm certainly not.

I'm a self-confessed hermit who genuinely loves being at home. Give me a quiet afternoon in my garden over a crowded party any day.

But every now and then, I poke my head out of my shell and I meet a friend for coffee, have a laugh, or spend time with people who know me well and without fail, I come home feeling lighter than when I left.

When life feels chaotic, knowing there is someone who will listen without judgement, make you laugh with the same silly jokes you've heard a hundred times before, or simply sit beside you with a cup of coffee can be incredibly grounding.

We often underestimate how healing ordinary human connection can be.

The third is creating space to SLOW DOWN.

When uncertainty takes over, our minds naturally speed up. We try to solve problems that don't yet exist, imagine every possible outcome and convince ourselves that if we think about it long enough, we'll somehow find certainty.

Yet the opposite is often true.

For me, slowing down means wandering through my backyard, checking on my vegetables, watching the clouds drift overhead or simply noticing what is growing around me. Those quiet moments gently remind me that life has continued through every difficult season I have faced before and I have always landed on my feet.

Perhaps not exactly where I expected to land, but somehow life has found a way of bringing the right information, the right opportunity or the right person into my path at the time I needed them most.

And finally, there is ROUTINE.

When life feels unpredictable, familiar routines become little anchors. Making your morning coffee, walking the dog, watering the garden, reading before bed or taking a short walk each day may seem insignificant, but these ordinary rituals remind our nervous system that not everything has changed.

Uncertainty may be part of life, but it doesn't have to become our entire life.

Perhaps the greatest lesson uncertainty has taught me is this:

The goal isn't to become certain about the future.

It's to become more confident in yourself.

To trust that whatever tomorrow brings, you will find a way to meet it, just as you always have.

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 Written by Liz Anderson

Liz Anderson is a registered psychologist with more than 30 years of experience helping people navigate stress, anxiety and life's challenges.

She is the author of Stop Rushing Start Living and the creator of Slow Down with Liz, where she shares practical psychology, gentle reflections and simple tools to help busy people slow down, reconnect with themselves and create a calmer, more meaningful life.

When she's not working, you'll usually find her wandering through her garden, writing, reading with a cup of coffee or enjoying the quiet moments that inspired her work.