How to Stop Making Mountains Out of Molehills (or Nothing at All)
Emotional Management: How Not to Lose Your Mind Over Minor Inconveniences
This morning, I created a mountain out of... nothing. Not even a molehill. Just thin air.
And I let it ruin my mood.
Here’s what happened:
I attended an optional online meeting of a non-profit organization. A few of my friends were already chatting, and I hadn’t seen some of them in a while. I unmuted myself and joined the conversation.
The host muted us.
I didn’t realize it was the host, so I unmuted again and tried to speak.
Muted again.
Then I saw the host shaking their head and texting on their phone. That did it. I allowed the moment to hijack my emotions.
I thought:
Who does this person think they are?
Why join a meeting if you’re not ready to meet?
Why not just mute your speakers (or turn them down) instead of muting us?
I stewed. I fumed. I thought, “Screw this,” and left the meeting.
The Real Problem? I Gave Away My Power.
I let someone else’s behavior dictate my emotional state.
And I do this more often than I’d like to admit.
When I finally cooled down, I replayed the situation in my head.
I realized that I didn’t act, I reacted.
And that’s a problem.
Reactions Are Often Thoughtless. Actions Require Intention.
I’ve tried to teach my kids that no one “makes” us mad. We choose how we respond.
But in moments like this, I forget my own advice.
So I did a quick self-check. Sometimes that means journaling for an hour. Sometimes it’s a 30-second mental reset. This time, I just asked myself:
What was I feeling?
Why did I let it escalate?
What could I have done differently?
I answered these questions in my journal.
Here’s the Better Version of That Morning:
The host mutes me.
I notice it, but I don’t take it personally.
I stay calm. I stay present.
I make a choice to ignore it.
That version feels better. That version doesn’t leave me frustrated or embarrassed.
Why We Turn Molehills Into Mountains
We all do it. A small inconvenience becomes a personal insult. A minor delay becomes a crisis. A single comment becomes a character judgment. Why? Because we’re wired to protect ourselves.
Sometimes, my emotional alarm goes off when there’s no real danger.
A while back, I was in the drive-thru at my favorite fast food restaurant, McDonald’s. I ordered a meal. Drove to the first window, paid, and chose not to accept my receipt. (Big mistake.)
Getting to the second window, a new girl tries to hand me a medium drink.
“That’s not my drink. I ordered a large drink.” She quickly points at a monitor on the wall that I can’t see and says, “This says you ordered a medium drink.”
Imaginary flames of frustration started shooting out of my bald head like a cartoon character, triggered entirely by her tone and attitude. My first thoughts were: “Are you calling me a liar? I don’t give a d@mn what that monitor says, I said I wanted a large Diet Dr. Pepper into the speaker.”
Now, I was “pretty sure” I saw my drink displayed correctly on the order screen when I gave them my order. But I failed to get my receipt when I paid, so technically, I couldn’t prove it. D@ng!
I said (my voice level up just slightly), I don’t care what the screen says, I ordered a large drink. Most people would have set that medium drink aside and made me a large Diet Dr. Pepper. Not the new girl.
I can’t remember the words that were coming out of her mouth after that, but I heard myself say, “May I speak to the manager, please?”
We all have moments when our emotional alarms go off unnecessarily. The key isn’t to eliminate those moments.
We need to recognize them, pause, and choose a better response. That’s how we keep our power. That’s how we stop making mountains out of nothing at all.
Step on the Molehills Before They Grow
There’s something oddly satisfying about stepping on a molehill and pressing it back into the earth. You feel the power rush through your veins.
You’ve caught it before it had a chance to become a mountain. That’s the goal here: to notice the rise, pause, and flatten it before it escalates.
But how?
The trick is learning to pause and ask:
Is this worth the energy I’m about to spend?
Is this reaction helping me or hurting me?
These questions are deceptively simple. They don’t require a therapist, a journal, or a 10-day silent retreat. They just require a moment of awareness. Just a breath, a blink, or a beat before the reaction takes over.
Let’s be honest: most molehills don’t announce themselves. They sneak in disguised as annoyances, interruptions, or moments that just rub us the wrong way.
But if you train yourself to spot them early, you can stomp them down before they grow legs and start climbing.
What if I’d calmly answered the young girl at the second window with,
I’m sorry that says a medium drink, but I ordered a large drink at the speaker. Could you just change that medium into a large? I understand if you need to check with the manager. I’m not in a hurry.
Here’s a Disgustingly Simple strategy I have learned to use:
The Pause Practice
Feel the Rise
That little surge of heat in your chest? The tightening in your jaw? That’s your signal. Don’t ignore it. Acknowledge it.Name the Feeling
“I’m feeling dismissed.”
“I’m feeling disrespected.”
“I’m feeling unheard.”
Naming it helps tame it.Ask the Two Questions
Is this worth the energy?
Is this reaction helping me or hurting me?Choose Your Action
Not your reaction. Your action.
Maybe you speak calmly. Maybe you walk away. Maybe you laugh it off.
Whatever you do, make it intentional.
The More You Practice, the Better You Get
Emotional discipline is like a muscle. The more you use it, the stronger it gets.
I’ve learned that when I react impulsively, I often turn molehills into mountains.
And sometimes, I turn nothing into mountains.
Molehills are annoying. Mountains are exhausting.
And nothing? Nothing should ever become a mountain.
Your Disgustingly Simple Challenge:
This week, catch one molehill before it grows.
Pause.
Name the feeling.
Ask the two questions.
Choose your action.
Then celebrate the win.
Every time you flatten a molehill, you reclaim your peace and your power.