Now accepting new TRICARE clients for secure telehealth therapy. Intakes within the week! Get Started →

Meet Amy: She Means Well

Meet Amy—the cardigan-wearing, overprotective part of your brain that sees danger everywhere. She can be exhausting, but when something is truly wrong, you’ll be very glad she’s there.

Judy Lamb Ph.D. with quotes from Talladega Nights

9/17/20264 min read

Meet Amy: She Means Well

In graduate school, I learned about a part of the brain called the amygdala. There are actually two of them, one on each side of the brain, and they are shaped a little like almonds.

I have a tendency to turn parts of the brain into people, so somewhere along the way, the amygdala became Amy.

In my mind, Amy wears dark, thick glasses and keeps her hair in a messy top knot. She always has on a cardigan, no matter the weather, and she carries a clipboard filled with things that require immediate attention. She also has terrible eyesight and is constantly tripping over her own two feet.

This is particularly unfortunate because Amy’s job is to look for danger.

Since she cannot see very well, she tends to play it safe and assume everything might be dangerous. Every mushroom is poisonous. Every step is something you could trip over. Every noise downstairs means someone may be breaking into the house. Every email that says, “Can we talk?” means you are probably in trouble.

She is like an overprotective mother who would send you outside wearing sunscreen, knee pads, a helmet and a jacket, just in case it gets chilly later.

Amy means well, but she can be a total pain in the butt.

Until she isn’t.

When something is actually wrong, you are very glad she is there. She is part of the reason you slam on the brakes before you have fully processed the car pulling out in front of you. She gets your hand away from the hot stove and gets your body moving when you hear your child scream.

Amy does not stop to gather all the information. That would take too long. Her priority is keeping you alive, not being perfectly accurate.

In the words of Talladega Nights, “If you’re not first, you’re last.”

That is basically Amy’s operating philosophy. She wants to be the first to notice danger, the first to sound the alarm and the first to get you moving. She would rather send you running from ten buildings because someone burned toast than miss the one building that is truly on fire.

That system made a lot of sense when danger was easier to identify. Modern life is more complicated. Now Amy spends her time evaluating emails, facial expressions, text messages, medical portals and unexpected phone calls.

Military families give her even more material to work with. Orders change. Homecoming dates move. A spouse does not call when expected. TRICARE sends a confusing message. The school calls in the middle of the day. There is often a great deal of uncertainty, and Amy does not particularly enjoy uncertainty.

She fills in the missing information, usually with the worst possible explanation.

The difficult part is that Amy does not simply give you a worried thought. She gets your entire body involved. Your heart speeds up. Your shoulders tighten. Your breathing changes. Your stomach suddenly has opinions. Your attention narrows until the possible danger is the only thing you can think about.

Then the rest of your brain notices all this physical commotion and assumes Amy must have a good reason for it.

I feel afraid, so something dangerous must be happening.

Sometimes that is true. Other times, Amy simply does not have enough information yet.

Telling her to calm down usually does not help. No cardigan-wearing, overprotective mother in history has ever relaxed because someone told her to calm down.

It works better to notice what she is doing without immediately letting her take over.

When I feel Amy getting worked up, I try to ask myself a few basic questions. What has actually happened? What am I predicting? Is there something I need to do right now, or do I need to wait until I know more?

Sometimes I need to help my body settle before I can answer those questions. I put my feet on the floor, slow my breathing and look around the room. It is difficult to think clearly while Amy is running through the building pulling every alarm.

This is where the military offers a useful counterpoint. There is an adage that sometimes you have to go slow to go fast. You slow down long enough to understand what is happening so you can respond effectively instead of simply reacting.

Amy hates this idea.

She would prefer to act now and sort out the details later. But speed is not always the same thing as effectiveness. Sometimes moving too quickly is exactly how we make a difficult situation worse.

That is when I tell her, “We're good, Amy. You saw something. Thank you. Now let’s slow down and figure out what it actually is.”

The goal is not to get rid of her. We need Amy. The goal is to recognize when she is warning us about a real fire and when she has smelled burnt toast.

She can still come to the meeting. She just does not get to run it.

She may pace in the background, adjust her glasses and remind you that mushrooms really can be poisonous. That is okay. You do not have to eliminate every anxious feeling before you continue with your day.

Amy means well. She has terrible eyesight, excellent intentions and a job that rewards speed more than accuracy.

She is not broken.

She is just fast.