Sometimes, what hurts the most isn’t what happened. It’s how close we’re standing to it.
You know the feeling. One moment, you’re moving through the day as usual, and then something negative.
It’s rarely catastrophic, but it doesn’t have to be. Before you know it, that one thing becomes everything. You think from it, move from it, react from it. Everything starts to revolve around that problem.
When we’re that close to a problem, the instinct is to fix it. To grip tighter. To think faster. But maybe the answer isn’t in doing more, maybe it’s in taking a step back, to gain perspective.
Because perspective can change everything. Not the facts, but the experience of them. Not the pain itself, but how much of you gets swallowed by it.
Some weeks ago, I listened to entrepreneur Alex Hormozi talk about three mental frames on how to reach that perspective. What he said was very useful. Because having the ability to step back in order to see your problems more clearly, and from there find better solutions if there are any, and if not, at least find a way to deal with the situation in a more manageable way, is powerful.
Let’s look at these three mental frames that can help you deal with your problems more effectively:
1. the veteran frame
This is the one I reach for when everything feels too overwhelming.
It starts with a question: if I had already gone through this exact situation a hundred times, how would it hit me now?
Most of the time, the answer is simple: softer, familiar, manageable. Because repetition takes the edge off pain. It doesn’t make you numb, not necessarily, it makes you equipped, more prepared.
When something happens for the first time, it feels personal. When it’s the hundredth, it’s just part of the road. There’s no panic, no performance, just a recognition: “Oh, this again. I know how this goes.”
You don’t need to have actually lived something a hundred times to benefit from this frame. You just have to imagine it. Imagine yourself on the other side of this, looking back. Imagine already knowing the outcome. Imagine already having survived it.
And from that imaginary future, ask: what would I already know about myself?
That I’ve made it through before. That I can hold more than I thought. That even on the days I felt broken, I found a way forward. The veteran frame reminds you that you don’t need to feel prepared to be capable. Most of the time, you already are.
2. the cosmic frame
This one pulls me out of the smallness. It’s the moment when I look up and remember: I’m a human being, on a planet, floating through space. My worries, however real they feel, are unfolding on a speck of dust.
That email I’m anxious about, the comment that didn’t sit right, the plans that got cancelled… none of it matters in the vastness of it all.
And far from feeling meaningless, that thought makes me feel free. It puts air back in the room.
Because when life feels too heavy, what we often need isn’t more control, it’s relief. And the cosmic frame brings that relief. It says: you don’t have to carry all of this. You were never meant to. Let the moment be small.
This frame doesn’t ask you to detach from reality. Far from that. It asks you to loosen your grip. To remember that most of what consumes you now won’t even cross your mind in five years, let alone fifty. That doesn’t make your pain irrelevant, it just puts it in proportion. And sometimes, proportion is the most merciful thing there is.
3. the grandfather frame
I use this one when I catch myself rushing through the day, irritated by small things, or forgetting what actually matters. It’s a reset when I’ve lost sight of the bigger picture.
Imagine you’re 85 years old. You’ve lived a full, complex, aching, beautiful life. Your body is slower now. Your mornings are quieter. You’ve lost people. You’ve let go of things. You’ve learned to cherish simplicity, because you know what’s truly important in life.
And then one day, you wake up, not as that 85-year-old, but back here. In your younger body, on this particular day, with these exact problems.
What do you notice?
Perspective. Perhaps, gratitude. Not because life is perfect, but because you have time. You can still choose, still feel, still start over. And even the little things, which are never truly little, feel sacred with that perspective in mind.
The grandfather frame doesn’t romanticise struggle. It reminds you that this version of life, this imperfect, mundane, messy version, is something your older self would long to come back to. Even with some of the problems. Even with the bad mood. Even with the undone to-do list.
Now.
None of these frames solve the problem in front of you. They don’t rewrite reality or protect you from future pain. But they do offer something better: a shift in perspective.
Because when you’re too close, you lose perspective. And when you lose perspective, you lose freedom. You become reactive, rigid, consumed by your problems. Stuck in a never-ending loop, not knowing what to do or where to go. Overwhelmed.
So when things feel like too much, here’s what I ask myself:
→ Am I the veteran? Can I remember that I’ve survived this shape of pain before?
→ Am I a speck in space? Can I give myself permission to stop carrying it all?
→ Am I 85, waking up in this life? Can I see the miracle in the ordinary, before something good even happens?
This way, you gain clarity. A fresh perspective to manage your problems, or to place them in the second-priority position they sometimes deserve. And when you’re clear, you stop clinging. You stop spiralling. You stop believing that you’re the problem that needs to be solved.
And if you need a little more help to put this perspective into practice, don’t just think the frames, write them. If your mind feels like a tangled mess, you could jot it down, get it out of your head and onto the page.
My recommendation is:
Use a journaling notebook to externalise what’s going on:
→ Describe the situation from the veteran’s frame. How would this feel if you’d lived it a hundred times?
→ Then zoom out. What does this look like from a cosmic scale? How small could it actually be?
→ Finally, look through the eyes of your 85-year-old self. What would they see here that you can’t?
Writing helps you shift the story without forcing it. It gives shape to what feels chaotic. You could use a journal like this one.
Remember: you can let this be what it is. You can let it move. You can zoom out, and breathe.
Love,
Noemi
P.S. The journal to help you reframe your problems is here. If you’d rather stay stuck in your problems and make them worse than they really are, just turn on Netflix.
