The morning started innocently enough. It was dry and quiet, perfect for a routine walk with Buddy. However, the sky quickly turned a heavy, dark grey. We cut our route short, but the clouds won the race—we didn’t make it home in time to avoid the downpour.

Getting wet was unpleasant, but it wasn’t the real “event.” That was yet to come.

Once we were inside, I grabbed a towel to dry Buddy off. As I was scrubbing his fur, a strange sound cut through the quiet: the steady, rhythmic noise of running water. I listened. I looked outside, everything seemed normal. Then, I looked up.

Small, dark circles were blooming across the white ceiling. Within seconds, those spots began to leak. First, it was a slow drip… drip… but the pace accelerated instantly. It looked as if invisible water taps were opened. The contractor had been here just a day before to work on the roof. It was now very obvious that they had not closed it properly. I noticed tiny cracks appearing where the water flowed, and the thought that the ceiling might collapse frightened me. I stood there, watching the water stream down, and my mind went totally blank. I was unable to think or act. A moment when the amygdala was active.

Then, Buddy barked. I looked at him and realized I hadn’t even fed him yet. Suddenly, I was back in the moment. Thanks to my daily mindfulness practice, my frontal cortex took back control pretty easily. I gave Buddy his food and watched him eat. My mind was finally clear. The panic was gone, replaced by a quiet focus.

I stood for a moment, observing the room and analyzing what was best for that moment. Instead of rushing, I acted with a clear plan. I placed buckets under the leaks to catch the water, dried the cabinets with cloths, and moved our belongings to a safe spot.

Then I noticed the chattering mind.

As I wiped the floors, my mind spiraled from one subject to another. Is the contractor reliable? Will he even answer our call? What if he never comes back? What are we going to do? Then, a thought of blaming my husband arose, followed by a train of thought that hooked my mind. This is his fault! Why did he choose this worker? He really needs to learn how to make better choices! In that moment, I noticed the tension in my body. My head felt heavy, and my heart was racing. Those thoughts were affecting my physical body and my mood. I paused. Immediately, I became aware that those thoughts were not the truth; I didn’t have to believe them. In the next moment, I made a conscious choice: I would not entertain those thoughts anymore. The anger and blame began losing their ground. Before long, I found spaciousness and calm amidst the chaos.

When my husband finally came home, I welcomed him like a firefighter coming to the rescue. The atmosphere was surprisingly peaceful. We worked as a team. There was no finger-pointing, no blaming, and no anger. We simply moved through the house together, emptying the splash zone and drying the floors.

By choosing not to follow those negative thoughts, I found a sense of peace. As Jon Kabat-Zinn said, “You can’t stop the waves, but you can learn to surf.”