I’ve always had an anxious disposition. It’s simply not in my nature to "go with the flow" or "chill out"—and woe betide anyone who ever tells me to "relax." It's just not how I’m wired.   

I’ve struggled with chronic nerves, crippling indecision, and relentless imposter syndrome. And yet, somehow, I’ve managed to lead an extraordinary life—one far beyond anything I ever imagined. I've competed around the world, won Olympic medals, broken world records, and even brushed shoulders with literal royalty. I’ve also faced public shame, failure on the biggest stages, and national scrutiny. But alongside those hardships, I’ve had some truly surreal moments: from meeting Prince William to carrying the flag at the Opening Ceremony of the Tokyo Olympic Games. 

Over time, I've learned a few strategies for overcoming fear and self-doubt. Here are three that have made all the difference: 

1. Take the feeling with you. 

I thought that the better I got, the less nervous I would become. That with every victory, every milestone, I would lean on those past successes and be able to feel more confident in my future endeavours. In fact, I found the opposite to be true. The better I got, the more eyes I had upon me and the more I felt I had to lose if I were to fail. 

 I could easily have let these fears or doubts overwhelm me. Allowed to discomfort of nerves to prevent me from continuing. Instead, I chose to take the feelings with me and to do the thing anyway.  

 I do not label or judge the feelings. They are not good or bad. It is simply my body doing its job, trying to keep me safe. Prevent me from venturing out into the unknown. Protect me from other people’s opinions. Rather than the severity of these feelings lessening over time, my capacity to handle them has increased. I am able to sit in their discomfort, acknowledge their presence and still push on regardless. 

 Feel the fear and do it anyway.  

2. View feelings as information. 

Feelings are created by our lizard brain, the limbic system. This part of the brain is wired for survival. It thrives off feelings and emotions and doesn’t have much capacity for rational thought or logic. The reason feelings feel so big and important is because it’s our brain’s way of trying to make us pay attention. It can be in response to a threat or perceived threat (you have to give a presentation in front of lots of people and you feel nervous and afraid because your brain cares deeply about what other people might think and say about you) or as a reward for something our brain thinks is advantageous (the butterflies in your stomach after a great first date).  

 Yet while this system is incredibly powerful, it is not always correct. As a society we have evolved beyond our caveman days and so some of the warning systems are a little outdated. 

 Once we understand that our emotions are simply our brain trying to tell us something, we can begin to critically engage with them. Stopping and naming your feelings can help shift from your limbic system into your prefrontal cortex, aka your brain’s computer.  

 If your limbic system is your emotional brain, your prefrontal cortex is your rational brain. Emotions are inherently illogical. They can’t be reasoned with and have the propensity to build in volume and ferocity when either ignored or totally indulged in.  

 Think about a time you ignored or pushed down your feelings. Tried to squish them into a tiny box and hide it away in the back of your mind, only to then have them explode out of you at a seemingly random moment. Once out and raging, it can feel good to surrender to the emotion. And it is often in this state when we do or say things which we, when we are back in our rational and logical brain, later regret.   

 To engage with your feelings in a meaningful way, you need to take them out of the limbic system and transfer them to the prefrontal cortex. Doing so has a disarming effect on the intense feelings of an emotion. Naming a feeling or emotion helps shift processing from the limbic system to the prefrontal cortex—the brain’s rational centre. It's like flipping a switch from pure, instinctive reaction to thoughtful analysis.  

 For example, if I am about to give a presentation in front of a room full of busy important people, my anxiety is likely to be high. My hands will be shaking and my heart racing. Instead of pushing these feelings down and away, I say to myself. “Oh, you are nervous. What are you nervous about? What else are you feeling?”  

 Once I can identify that I am feeling nervous about the fact that I might be about to make a fool of myself in front of a room full of important people. And that I am afraid that I am not smart enough to be speaking to them. Or my favourite fear: that my fly will be undone when I walk out onto stage.  

 Now, even if I can’t do anything about the root cause of the fear (I actually can’t control what people say about me) just by simply naming the fear lessens the feel of it. It shifts the fear from the limbic (emotion) to the prefrontal cortex (rational).  

 My then brain recognises that its warnings have been heard if not heeded and is less likely to keep ramping up the severity and intensity of the feelings. And if there is something I can do about the fear, I am giving myself the opportunity to do that before going out on stage (I compulsively check my fly before every presentation I give). 

3. Strengths and weaknesses are two sides of the same coin. 

For years, I resented my tendency toward self-doubt. Why couldn’t I just be confident? Why did I always second-guess myself, no matter how successful I became? 

I’ve always had an anxious disposition. It’s simply not in my nature to "go with the flow" or "chill out"—and woe betide anyone who ever tells me to "relax." It's just not how I’m wired.   

I’ve struggled with chronic nerves, crippling indecision, and relentless imposter syndrome. And yet, somehow, I’ve managed to lead an extraordinary life—one far beyond anything I ever imagined. I've competed around the world, won Olympic medals, broken world records, and even brushed shoulders with literal royalty. I’ve also faced public shame, failure on the biggest stages, and national scrutiny. But alongside those hardships, I’ve had some truly surreal moments: from meeting Prince William to carrying the flag at the Opening Ceremony of the Tokyo Olympic Games. 

Over time, I've learned a few strategies for overcoming fear and self-doubt. Here are three that have made all the difference: 

1. Take the feeling with you. 

I thought that the better I got, the less nervous I would become. That with every victory, every milestone, I would lean on those past successes and be able to feel more confident in my future endeavours. In fact, I found the opposite to be true. The better I got, the more eyes I had upon me and the more I felt I had to lose if I were to fail. 

 I could easily have let these fears or doubts overwhelm me. Allowed to discomfort of nerves to prevent me from continuing. Instead, I chose to take the feelings with me and to do the thing anyway.  

 I do not label or judge the feelings. They are not good or bad. It is simply my body doing its job, trying to keep me safe. Prevent me from venturing out into the unknown. Protect me from other people’s opinions. Rather than the severity of these feelings lessening over time, my capacity to handle them has increased. I am able to sit in their discomfort, acknowledge their presence and still push on regardless. 

 Feel the fear and do it anyway.  

2. View feelings as information. 

Feelings are created by our lizard brain, the limbic system. This part of the brain is wired for survival. It thrives off feelings and emotions and doesn’t have much capacity for rational thought or logic. The reason feelings feel so big and important is because it’s our brain’s way of trying to make us pay attention. It can be in response to a threat or perceived threat (you have to give a presentation in front of lots of people and you feel nervous and afraid because your brain cares deeply about what other people might think and say about you) or as a reward for something our brain thinks is advantageous (the butterflies in your stomach after a great first date).  

 Yet while this system is incredibly powerful, it is not always correct. As a society we have evolved beyond our caveman days and so some of the warning systems are a little outdated. 

 Once we understand that our emotions are simply our brain trying to tell us something, we can begin to critically engage with them. Stopping and naming your feelings can help shift from your limbic system into your prefrontal cortex, aka your brain’s computer.  

 If your limbic system is your emotional brain, your prefrontal cortex is your rational brain. Emotions are inherently illogical. They can’t be reasoned with and have the propensity to build in volume and ferocity when either ignored or totally indulged in.  

 Think about a time you ignored or pushed down your feelings. Tried to squish them into a tiny box and hide it away in the back of your mind, only to then have them explode out of you at a seemingly random moment. Once out and raging, it can feel good to surrender to the emotion. And it is often in this state when we do or say things which we, when we are back in our rational and logical brain, later regret.   

 To engage with your feelings in a meaningful way, you need to take them out of the limbic system and transfer them to the prefrontal cortex. Doing so has a disarming effect on the intense feelings of an emotion. Naming a feeling or emotion helps shift processing from the limbic system to the prefrontal cortex—the brain’s rational centre. It's like flipping a switch from pure, instinctive reaction to thoughtful analysis.  

 For example, if I am about to give a presentation in front of a room full of busy important people, my anxiety is likely to be high. My hands will be shaking and my heart racing. Instead of pushing these feelings down and away, I say to myself. “Oh, you are nervous. What are you nervous about? What else are you feeling?”  

 Once I can identify that I am feeling nervous about the fact that I might be about to make a fool of myself in front of a room full of important people. And that I am afraid that I am not smart enough to be speaking to them. Or my favourite fear: that my fly will be undone when I walk out onto stage.  

 Now, even if I can’t do anything about the root cause of the fear (I actually can’t control what people say about me) just by simply naming the fear lessens the feel of it. It shifts the fear from the limbic (emotion) to the prefrontal cortex (rational).  

 My then brain recognises that its warnings have been heard if not heeded and is less likely to keep ramping up the severity and intensity of the feelings. And if there is something I can do about the fear, I am giving myself the opportunity to do that before going out on stage (I compulsively check my fly before every presentation I give). 

3. Strengths and weaknesses are two sides of the same coin. 

For years, I resented my tendency toward self-doubt. Why couldn’t I just be confident? Why did I always second-guess myself, no matter how successful I became? 

I’ve always had an anxious disposition. It’s simply not in my nature to "go with the flow" or "chill out"—and woe betide anyone who ever tells me to "relax." It's just not how I’m wired.   

I’ve struggled with chronic nerves, crippling indecision, and relentless imposter syndrome. And yet, somehow, I’ve managed to lead an extraordinary life—one far beyond anything I ever imagined. I've competed around the world, won Olympic medals, broken world records, and even brushed shoulders with literal royalty. I’ve also faced public shame, failure on the biggest stages, and national scrutiny. But alongside those hardships, I’ve had some truly surreal moments: from meeting Prince William to carrying the flag at the Opening Ceremony of the Tokyo Olympic Games. 

Over time, I've learned a few strategies for overcoming fear and self-doubt. Here are three that have made all the difference: 

1. Take the feeling with you. 

I thought that the better I got, the less nervous I would become. That with every victory, every milestone, I would lean on those past successes and be able to feel more confident in my future endeavours. In fact, I found the opposite to be true. The better I got, the more eyes I had upon me and the more I felt I had to lose if I were to fail. 

 I could easily have let these fears or doubts overwhelm me. Allowed to discomfort of nerves to prevent me from continuing. Instead, I chose to take the feelings with me and to do the thing anyway.  

 I do not label or judge the feelings. They are not good or bad. It is simply my body doing its job, trying to keep me safe. Prevent me from venturing out into the unknown. Protect me from other people’s opinions. Rather than the severity of these feelings lessening over time, my capacity to handle them has increased. I am able to sit in their discomfort, acknowledge their presence and still push on regardless. 

 Feel the fear and do it anyway.  

2. View feelings as information. 

Feelings are created by our lizard brain, the limbic system. This part of the brain is wired for survival. It thrives off feelings and emotions and doesn’t have much capacity for rational thought or logic. The reason feelings feel so big and important is because it’s our brain’s way of trying to make us pay attention. It can be in response to a threat or perceived threat (you have to give a presentation in front of lots of people and you feel nervous and afraid because your brain cares deeply about what other people might think and say about you) or as a reward for something our brain thinks is advantageous (the butterflies in your stomach after a great first date).  

 Yet while this system is incredibly powerful, it is not always correct. As a society we have evolved beyond our caveman days and so some of the warning systems are a little outdated. 

 Once we understand that our emotions are simply our brain trying to tell us something, we can begin to critically engage with them. Stopping and naming your feelings can help shift from your limbic system into your prefrontal cortex, aka your brain’s computer.  

 If your limbic system is your emotional brain, your prefrontal cortex is your rational brain. Emotions are inherently illogical. They can’t be reasoned with and have the propensity to build in volume and ferocity when either ignored or totally indulged in.  

 Think about a time you ignored or pushed down your feelings. Tried to squish them into a tiny box and hide it away in the back of your mind, only to then have them explode out of you at a seemingly random moment. Once out and raging, it can feel good to surrender to the emotion. And it is often in this state when we do or say things which we, when we are back in our rational and logical brain, later regret.   

 To engage with your feelings in a meaningful way, you need to take them out of the limbic system and transfer them to the prefrontal cortex. Doing so has a disarming effect on the intense feelings of an emotion. Naming a feeling or emotion helps shift processing from the limbic system to the prefrontal cortex—the brain’s rational centre. It's like flipping a switch from pure, instinctive reaction to thoughtful analysis.  

 For example, if I am about to give a presentation in front of a room full of busy important people, my anxiety is likely to be high. My hands will be shaking and my heart racing. Instead of pushing these feelings down and away, I say to myself. “Oh, you are nervous. What are you nervous about? What else are you feeling?”  

 Once I can identify that I am feeling nervous about the fact that I might be about to make a fool of myself in front of a room full of important people. And that I am afraid that I am not smart enough to be speaking to them. Or my favourite fear: that my fly will be undone when I walk out onto stage.  

 Now, even if I can’t do anything about the root cause of the fear (I actually can’t control what people say about me) just by simply naming the fear lessens the feel of it. It shifts the fear from the limbic (emotion) to the prefrontal cortex (rational).  

 My then brain recognises that its warnings have been heard if not heeded and is less likely to keep ramping up the severity and intensity of the feelings. And if there is something I can do about the fear, I am giving myself the opportunity to do that before going out on stage (I compulsively check my fly before every presentation I give). 

3. Strengths and weaknesses are two sides of the same coin. 

For years, I resented my tendency toward self-doubt. Why couldn’t I just be confident? Why did I always second-guess myself, no matter how successful I became?