I know this. I’ve said it to myself and to countless clients over the years.
And still, worry persists.
The word worry itself offers a clue as to why. Its etymology traces back to Old English wyrgan, meaning “to strangle” or “to choke.” Over time, it came to mean to vex, harass, or torment.
Worry, at its root, was never about problem-solving: it was about constriction. A tightening. A holding on.
Recently, while swimming laps without headphones, I felt that constriction clearly. My body was calm. I was breathing rhythmically as I moved through the water. Nothing bad was happening in the present moment. And yet, worry about my older son would not loosen its grip.
I tried all my familiar tools – breath, focus, mantras. Nothing worked.
So instead of trying to push the worry away, I did something different. I welcomed it.
When Worry Revealed Its True Role
From an Internal Family Systems (IFS) perspective, I stopped seeing worry as the problem and began seeing it as a part – a protector that had been working very hard for a very long time.
As I stayed curious, the worry shifted out of my thoughts and into my body. I noticed it living in my chest. I breathed into that space, allowing the bilateral rhythm of swimming, something EMDR therapists know can naturally support processing, and gently asked the worry what it needed.
The answer surprised me.
I’m tired. I’m so weary. I don’t want to do this anymore.
In that moment, I realized this wasn’t a frantic, fear-driven part. It was an exhausted one.
That weariness brought me back to being three and a half years old – moving between grandparents’ houses while my mother was hospitalized. I didn’t fully understand what was happening. I wasn’t cognitively worried in the way we usually think about worry. I just missed her. My body felt heavy. Tired.
Through an EMDR lens, I can now see how that experience was stored somatically, not as a clear narrative, but as a felt sense of longing and exhaustion. And through an IFS lens, I can see how worry later developed as a protective strategy, trying to ensure that kind of helpless waiting would never happen again.
So, I stayed with the weariness and said:
You can be here.
You don’t have to do this alone anymore.
The worry softened – not because it disappeared, but because it was finally understood.
Over time, both personally and clinically, I’ve come to see that worry isn’t one thing. It’s a strategy, and it shows up in different forms depending on what it’s trying to protect us from.
The Three Faces of Worry
Some worry is rooted in fear: constantly scanning the future for danger.
Some worry grows from powerlessness: the urge to fix, plan, or control what cannot be controlled.
And some worry, like the one I met in the pool, comes from weariness: the deep exhaustion of having held too much for too long.
Each of these worries tightens us differently. Each is an attempt to prevent pain. And each makes sense in the context of our history.
Worry isn’t the problem.
It’s the messenger.
And sometimes the most healing question isn’t “How do I stop worrying?”
It’s “What has this worry been trying to protect me from?”
When worried parts are met with curiosity and compassion rather than resistance, they no longer have to constrict so tightly. And often, that’s when real relief begins.
About the author: Jennifer Jondreau Thompson, Ph.D., LPC, is a licensed professional counselor in Connecticut and New York. She specializes in anxiety and eating disorders, helping clients navigate their emotional and psychological worlds using EMDR and integrative, holistic approaches. Inspired by her early experience in family therapy and her love of personal growth, Dr. Thompson is dedicated to helping individuals better understand their stories and create meaningful, lasting change. Learn more at www.drjthompson.com.