Like many, I'm working on my taxes right now. And every year, I run into the same question: Do you expect a considerable change in your 2025 income?

My answer is always the same: I have no idea.

That's the nature of being an entrepreneur, but really, it's the nature of life. Things don't unfold in a straight line. Some years, my business has looked shaky early on, only for everything to turn around in the second half. And yet, even knowing this, I still feel the grip of fear when the numbers don't look good.

Because uncertainty doesn't just feel uncomfortable—it feels dangerous.

And it's not just about money.

I see this pattern in relationships, health, major life decisions, and, yes, even as we watch the world shift around us. The institutions we once trusted are crumbling, and the ground beneath our collective feet feels unsteady. We think we know how things will go. We make predictions based on the past. We cling to what feels solid, afraid of what might happen if we loosen our grip.

But what if certainty isn't the safety net we think it is?

The Stories That Shape Us

Like others in my family, I've struggled with money issues all my life. For a long time, I didn't know how to make enough to support myself. Even now that I do, there's still a part of me that doesn't fully believe I can sustain it.

That's the thing about old wounds. Even when circumstances change, the fear remains, lurking beneath the surface like a shadow following you home.

I've had to do deep emotional work to uncover the beliefs and patterns that keep me stuck. Using Internal Family Systems (IFS) and Polyvagal Theory, I've learned how to recognize the parts of me that get triggered and help them settle rather than letting them run the show.

Because when fear takes over, it doesn't just feel like fear. It feels like truth.

I see this playing out all around us now. As the new administration takes shape and familiar structures give way to uncertainty, our collective nervous system is on high alert. It's not just politics; it’s that deep, primal feeling that says something isn't right here. And when we feel that way, we grasp for control wherever we can find it.

Why Our Brains Treat Uncertainty as a Threat

Neuroscientist Lisa Feldman Barrett explains that our brains are prediction machines. We aren't just reacting to the present—we are constantly scanning for patterns, trying to anticipate what will happen next. When things feel uncertain, the brain fills in the gaps with past experiences.

If the past involved struggle, the brain assumes struggle is coming again. If the past held loss, the brain tells us to brace for impact. Even when nothing is actually wrong, our bodies react as if danger is near.

This isn’t just in your head—it’s in your body too. The nervous system doesn’t care about logic; it cares about survival.

It’s like a tripwire in my brain snaps, launching me straight into survival mode. We either move into sympathetic activation (fight-or-flight) or dorsal shutdown (freeze, collapse). In those states, we lose access to creativity, possibility, and clear thinking—precisely when we need them most.

The good news? We can learn to interrupt the cycle.

How We Get Stuck on the Problem

In Think Again, Adam Grant explains that we can't simultaneously focus on a problem and a solution. We lose the capacity to see a way forward when we lock onto what's wrong.

I saw this with a client recently. He's a successful entrepreneur who took on a struggling business, hoping to turn it around. For months, he focused on all the reasons it couldn't work, which wasn’t like him. But underneath the business stress, there was something deeper—he had been caught in personal drama for a long time, and it was draining his energy and resilience.

I suggested he step back from the business problem and focus on resolving what was happening personally first. And the moment he did? Everything shifted. New ideas flooded in, ideas that had been there all along, but that he couldn't see while he was stuck in problem mode. The business hadn't changed overnight. His focus did.

I wonder if this is true for us collectively as well. When we fixate on everything that's wrong—and there's plenty to fixate on—we lose our ability to imagine what might emerge from this uncertainty. When we spiral in fear about the crumbling of what was, we miss the first tender shoots of what might be growing in its place, tender shoots we could nurture if only we see them.

Shifting Focus Without Denying Reality

None of this is about pretending problems don't exist. It's not about ignoring the very real challenges we face, personally and collectively. It's about recognizing that we don't have access to the solutions we need when we're in a fear-driven state.

I still get scared when the numbers don’t look good—my heart tightens, my mind starts spinning worst-case scenarios. It’s old wiring, hard to shake. But I've learned to catch it before it takes over—most of the time! Instead of spiraling, I come back to what I find helpful:

Journaling – Getting the tangled thoughts out of my head and onto paper, where I can see them for what they are: thoughts, not facts.
Walking in the woods – Where I remind myself that right now, in this moment, I am okay. The trees don't worry about tomorrow. They simply grow toward the light.
Interrupting the spiral – When I notice my mind racing, I ask: Is this fear real or just a prediction? Am I responding to what's happening or reacting to what might happen? Then I tell myself to live it once—if it ever even happens—instead of a thousand times in my imagination.
Regulating my nervous system – Using tools from Polyvagal Theory to shift back into a calm, grounded state. Simple practices like deep breathing, movement, or even humming can signal safety to a nervous system on high alert.
Meeting with my coach – A weekly meeting that keeps me aligned and aware of what still needs healing. We all have blind spots. Having someone who can see what we can't is invaluable.

These practices don't remove uncertainty—nothing can do that. But they help me navigate it without letting fear drive my decisions.

Finding Strength in the Unknown

What if uncertainty isn't the enemy? What if it's simply the space where new possibilities emerge?

In times of significant change—and we are certainly living through such a time—it's natural to yearn for stability. The familiar feels safe, even when it doesn't serve us all.

I've been wondering lately: We can see the fracturing of familiar structures all around us. The discomfort is real. What if this pain isn't just about collapse, though? What if it's also the difficult birth of new possibilities struggling to emerge?

Poet Rainer Maria Rilke wrote:

"Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final."

I often think about this in my work with clients navigating profound transitions, and I think about it now as we all navigate a world that feels increasingly uncertain. So what do we do with this? Maybe nothing at first. Maybe we sit with the discomfort and see what it has to say—to let it teach us, shape us, and reveal parts of ourselves we couldn't have discovered any other way.

I'm learning to trust this process. To hold my beliefs with open hands, as I wrote in an earlier piece. To remember that every moment of profound growth in my life has come through navigating uncertainty—not by avoiding it.

What would change for you if you saw uncertainty not as a threat but as an opening? What strength might you discover in yourself if you learned to move with it instead of bracing against the unknown?

I'm no expert at this—not yet. I'm learning as I go, stumbling, catching myself, beginning again. But I've noticed something important: A different kind of strength emerges when I release my grip on needing to know what comes next. The anxiety doesn’t vanish. Not completely. But it loosens its hold. I discover room to breathe, to think, to create again.

What emerges in that tender moment—the pause between surrendering control and taking the next uncertain step—has surprised me. It's not merely survival I've discovered there, but something more profound. I've found a wellspring of possibility that doesn't require certainty to flourish. This isn't wishful thinking that demands immediate answers. Instead, a grounded trust whispers: We have weathered storms before. We can move through this one, too.

The way forward isn't illuminated because we've figured everything out. It reveals itself because we've developed something more valuable—the capacity to find our footing on shifting ground and sense direction when familiar landmarks disappear.

I'd love to know what this stirred in you. How do you meet uncertainty in your life? What anchors you when everything feels adrift? Drop a comment below, and if these words found you at the right moment, consider subscribing or sharing with someone walking their own uncertain path.