A Dose of Cynthia: Scary Stories We Tell Ourselves

October is all about scary stories, right? Haunted houses, creepy forests, the sound of footsteps behind you when you’re home alone. But here’s the thing: your brain? It’s the best horror writer you’ll ever meet. And it doesn’t even need Halloween to crank out a terrifying plot.

Anxiety is basically your brain sitting down with a flashlight under its chin, whispering, “What if everything goes wrong?” Intrusive thoughts? Those are the jump scares. Overthinking? That’s the endless sequel nobody asked for. And catastrophizing? That’s the monster under the bed who somehow also has a mortgage and knows your bank account balance.

We all have these mental haunted houses. Sometimes the floors creak with “what ifs.” Sometimes the shadows look like failure. Sometimes the ghosts are your own mistakes, replaying themselves in surround sound at 3 a.m. And here’s the kicker: the story always feels real, because your nervous system doesn’t know the difference between “this is happening” and “this is a thought I made up in my head.” Which is rude, honestly.

My brain? Oh, she’s dramatic. I miss one email and suddenly she’s spinning, “Congrats, Cynthia, you’ve tanked your whole career.” I don’t hear from a friend for a day and it’s, “They definitely hate you now. Write the eulogy for the friendship.” It’s nonsense. But in the moment? It feels as real as the boogeyman.

Here’s the part I remind my clients (and myself): thoughts are just stories. Sometimes they’re true, but most of the time? They’re fan fiction. Your brain is trying to keep you safe by predicting danger, but it’s like that one friend who always thinks the creak in the house means demon possession, not just bad plumbing. It’s not evil — it’s overprotective.

And here’s one of my unhinged but effective strategies: I talk about anxiety like she’s some chick who lives in the basement of my mind. And let me tell you — she is the worst. I shit-talk her constantly. She’s loud, rude, always convinced the sky is falling. Honestly, she’s kind of a bitch. So when she starts up with the “what ifs,” I laugh at how good it feels to not be her. Like, thank God I’m not trapped down there in the basement with the cobwebs and conspiracy theories. That’s her problem. She can stay there with her drama while I live my actual life.

The trick isn’t to stop the scary stories (you won’t). The trick is to check them. Ground yourself. Ask, “Is this fact or fear? Is this an actual monster, or just my brain making shadow puppets again?”

You can treat your thoughts like spooky campfire tales: listen, notice how convincing the storyteller is, then laugh a little and say, “Good one, brain. But we’re not letting you direct this movie.”

And honestly? Sometimes naming the monster out loud steals its power. “Oh, hi anxiety, I see you telling me I’m going to fail at everything. Cute. Go sit in the corner.” It’s like pulling off the Scooby-Doo mask and realizing the monster was just some exhausted part of you in a rubber suit the whole time.

So yeah, October’s full of scary stories. But the scariest ones are the ones you tell yourself. The good news? You get to edit the script. You get to change the ending. And sometimes, you get to decide the monster doesn’t get a sequel.

✅ Mini-prompt: Next time your brain serves up a scary story, write it down like a campfire tale. Add the flashlight under the chin, the thunder sound effects. Then write a new ending. Bonus points if you roast your own “basement roommate” for being melodramatic while you walk out of the haunted house with snacks.