The Problems of a Problem Solver Managing an Overwhelming Anxiety: Insights from a Problem Solver's Journey

Rusne Fokiene
May 8
3 min read

#anxiety #restlessness #distortedperception #stress

There is a part of us that genuinely longs for a life without problems. A smooth horizon. A quiet mind. Days where nothing demands fixing, adjusting, analysing, or pre‑empting. And yet, ironically, we’re built with a mechanism that does the exact opposite: a vigilant, ever‑ready internal “problem solver” who scans the landscape for potential trouble long before it arrives.

Our own problems? Those we tend to ignore—until we absolutely cannot. We can close our eyes to them with impressive skill. We can rationalise, postpone, minimise, or simply pretend they’re not there. But the moment a problem threatens to become too loud, too risky, too embarrassing, or too public, the problem solver wakes up like a guard dog hearing a twig snap in the night.

The Escalation: When a Small Problem Becomes a Siren

The escalation is rarely logical. It’s perceptual. A tiny inconvenience can suddenly feel like a looming catastrophe if it crosses the invisible threshold of “unacceptable.” The problem solver part of us starts running two parallel processes:

• One part monitors the situation with forensic precision, tracking every shift, every sign of worsening, every potential consequence.

• Another part stays oddly calm, convinced that prevention is better than cure and that we’ve got this under control.

From the outside, we look competent—even serene. Inside, it’s a different story. There’s a hum of energy consumption, a quiet burn of anxiety, a constant alertness whispering: stay alert, stay alive. Do not miss the danger point.

This is where perception distorts. A minor issue becomes a threat. A delay becomes a failure. A risk becomes a prophecy. The problem solver doesn’t just solve problems; it amplifies them until they justify its existence.

When Problems Resolve Themselves (and the Strange Disappointment That Follows)

But here’s the twist: sometimes problems resolve themselves. Naturally. Effortlessly. Without intervention. Without a strategy. Without the grand performance of the internal crisis‑management team.

And when that happens, there’s relief—of course. But also, a strange, quiet disappointment.

Because the problem solver loves a challenge. It loves the chase, the strategy, the adrenaline of being right on time. It loves the Grand Prix moment: the triumphant “I saved the day.”

When the problem dissolves on its own, the problem solver loses its chance at glory. No medal. No applause. No internal victory lap.

It’s humbling. And slightly irritating.

The Natural Tendency of Life to Sort Itself Out

Life, inconveniently, has a habit of self‑correcting. Not always, but often enough to make the problem solver question its own necessity. Some problems shrink when ignored. Some fade with time. Some reveal themselves to be illusions—shadows mistaken for monsters.

There is a natural intelligence in the flow of things, a rhythm that doesn’t require constant interference. But trusting that rhythm feels risky. What if this time is different? What if letting go leads to embarrassment, or failure, or losing the game?

The Real Question: What Is Truly Dangerous?

This is the heart of the struggle: distinguishing between a real, life‑threatening problem and a moment that simply requires surrender. The problem solver is brilliant at detecting danger, but not always at differentiating between:

• A genuine threat, and

• A situation that only threatens pride, ego, or comfort

Embarrassment is not death. Losing the game is not losing our lives. Being wrong is not being ruined. But to the problem solver, these can feel equally catastrophic.

Learning to let life flow—without constant intervention, without hypervigilance, without the need to pre‑empt every possible outcome—is a skill. A brave one. It requires trust. It requires humility. It requires the willingness to sometimes miss the danger point and discover that the world doesn’t collapse.

The Ongoing Dance

The problem solver will always be part of us. It can be very useful. It is sharp. It has saved us more times than we can count. But it’s not the whole story. There is also the part of us that wants to breathe, to trust, to let things unfold without gripping the steering wheel so tightly.

The dance between vigilance and surrender is ongoing. Some days we get it right. Some days we don’t. But we’re learning that not every problem needs solving, not every risk needs managing, and not every moment needs control.