Finding Strength in the Chaos: A Personal Lesson in Self-Care

My background is in social work. I remember the lectures vividly—learning how to guide clients from a place of helplessness to empowerment. One of the fundamental tools we were introduced to was Egan’s problem-solving model. The first step? Telling the story. Simply articulating an experience, we were taught, could be cathartic in itself.

Over the years, I’ve used this approach countless times in my professional career, witnessing its varied success with others. But yesterday, I used it on myself. And this is what happened:

The Incident

I was almost robbed.

Driving down Commercial Road, just past Field Street and heading towards Soldiers Way, I reached a pedestrian crossing. The traffic light turned red. I stopped. The heat was unbearable and I was having a power surge (hot flash moment), and my air conditioning wasn’t helping. In a desperate attempt for relief, I rolled down my window.

That’s when it happened.

A man appeared at my side, mumbling something indistinct. In a split second, I saw his hands reaching for my keys. Then, the words registered: “Give me your phone.”

In that moment, something primal took over. The banshee in me was unleashed. I screamed, “WHAT!!” followed by an emphatic “NO!” And then, well… let’s just say, Beth Dutton from Yellowstone would have been proud. My hands flew, landing a hit or two. A stream of expletives flowed freely from my lips.

He turned and walked away.

I looked in my rearview mirror—cars were lined up behind me. I pressed the accelerator, but my car didn’t move. Panic surged again. He had switched off my car. It took me a second to realize that my car’s safety feature had saved me—he couldn’t remove the keys because the gear wasn’t in park.

I restarted the car and drove away, hands shaking and tears rolling down my face as the adrenaline subsided.

A minibus- taxi driver pulled up beside me at the next traffic light. He motioned, asking if I was okay. I nodded through my tears. “Did he get anything?” he asked.

“No.”

“You okay?”

Another nod.

I was shaken, but I was thankful.

• Thankful that my phone was tucked away in my bag, strapped securely across my body.

• Thankful that he didn’t have a weapon.

• Thankful for my car’s safety features.

• And, yes—thankful for Beth Dutton, because those cussing, badass vibes definitely helped.

Processing the Aftermath

I drove straight to work. Sitting in the parking lot, I took deep breaths, trying to steady myself. I had a crucial meeting in less than an hour and needed to be fully present.

A colleague stopped to walk with me into the building. She took one look at my glistening eyes and knew something was wrong. I relayed the story, trying to keep the emotions at bay.

Then, I walked into my office, sat at my desk, and started typing. Word by word, I laid out the experience, the emotions, the aftermath. And with each sentence, calmness replaced the chaos.

By the time I finished, I had seven minutes to spare before my meeting—and I was okay.

I shared my story with my husband, colleagues and my sister. The simple act of putting it into words was cathartic. Sharing it with my trusted circle was healing.

Why I’m Sharing This

Life moves at high speed. We juggle roles, expectations, and endless to-do lists. But moments like these remind us why self-care isn’t a luxury—it’s essential.

For me, telling my story worked. Writing it down, processing it, and sharing it gave me back control.

Maybe it’ll work for you, too.

Whatever tool helps you process life’s unexpected moments—whether it’s writing, talking, or even channeling your inner Beth Dutton—find it, use it, and make space for healing.

Because in the end, our stories are what make us stronger.

photocredit for Egan Model: https://sagecraft-lifecoach.org/skilled-helper-model/