“But I don’t want to be feeling this way!” How Attentional Syndrome Keeps You Stuck

We’ve all been there: grappling with an uncomfortable emotion – anxiety, sadness, anger, shame – and wishing that it would just… vanish. That gnawing sensation, that restless energy, that heavy weight in our chest. Our knee-jerk reaction is often to push it away, distract ourselves, or figure out why we're feeling this way and how to make it stop. While these attempts might offer temporary relief, they often lead to a frustrating paradox: the more we try to control or eliminate unwanted feelings, the more firmly they seem to dig their heels in.

This insidious cycle, where our very efforts to escape discomfort lead us further into its clutches, is often driven the Cognitive Attentional Syndrome (CAS). Far from a fleeting thought, CAS represents a persistent, active engagement in a particular style of thinking and monitoring that, ironically, entrenches the very states we wish to avoid. In this article, we'll dive deep into CAS, explore its various forms – both those identified by research and some of our own lived categories – and uncover how this relentless attentional focus keeps us trapped in a loop of emotional distress.

The Metacognitive Maze

Metacognition is "thinking about thinking." It’s our awareness and control over our own cognitive processes – how we interpret, monitor, and regulate our thoughts, feelings, and beliefs (Flavell, 1979). Metacognition isn't just about what we think, but how we think about our thoughts. Do we see our thoughts as facts, or just passing mental events? Do we believe we must control our feelings, or that they are simply sensations to be observed? These metacognitive beliefs and processes are the bedrock upon which CAS is built.

The Cognitive Attentional Syndrome (CAS) was first proposed by Adrian Wells and Gerald Matthews (1994) as a central component in the maintenance of psychological distress across various disorders, particularly anxiety and depression. They define CAS as a stable and recurrent pattern of thinking and attentional processes that includes worry, rumination, threat monitoring, and unhelpful coping strategies. From a metacognitive perspective, CAS isn't just about having negative thoughts; it’s about a particular way of relating to those thoughts and feelings. It's an executive style of processing that actively engages cognitive resources in an attempt to understand, predict, and control internal and external threats, often driven by metacognitive beliefs such as "worrying helps me prepare" or "I must understand why I feel this way to make it stop" (Wells, 2009).

Imagine Dorothy, a meticulous accountant who recently made a minor error at work. Instead of acknowledging the mistake and moving on, Dorothy thinks: "Why did I do that? I'm usually so careful. What if my boss loses faith in me? I need to go over everything again and again to make sure it never happens." She dives deep into active rumination and threat monitoring. She spends hours replaying the incident, scrutinizing emails, and mentally rehearsing potential conversations with her boss. She believes "If I don't analyze this thoroughly, I'll be unprepared for future mistakes, or worse, my incompetence will be exposed." This intense, focused attention, though intended to prevent future problems, only serves to amplify her anxiety, making her feel constantly on edge and perpetuating a cycle of self-doubt.

The Usual Suspects: Research-Identified Categories of CAS

Research into CAS typically identifies several key processes that work in concert to maintain emotional distress. These are:

• Worry: This is often characterized as a chain of thoughts and images, negatively valanced and relatively uncontrollable, that are directed towards anticipating future negative events (Borkovec et al., 1983). It’s the "what if" game, played on repeat, often with a perceived intention to problem-solve or prevent future harm. More often than not, worry becomes excessive and unhelpful, leading to more anxiety rather than solutions.

• Rumination: Unlike worry, which is future-oriented, rumination is typically past-oriented. It involves repetitive and passive focusing on symptoms of distress and possible causes and consequences (Nolen-Hoeksema, 1991). This might involve replaying past events, analyzing perceived failures, or dwelling on feelings of sadness or anger without moving towards resolution. Ruminative thinking often feels productive, as if analyzing the past will offer insight, but it rarely does, instead deepening negative mood states.

• Threat Monitoring: This component involves a heightened vigilance for signs of danger, both internal and external. Internally, it might manifest as constantly checking one's body for anxiety symptoms (e.g., heart palpitations, shortness of breath), or scrutinizing thoughts for evidence of distress. Externally, it manifests as scanning the environment for potential threats or negative social cues. This hyper-vigilance keeps us in a perpetual state of alert, ready to react to perceived danger (Wells, 2009).

• Unhelpful Coping Strategies: These are the behaviors we engage in to manage or escape their distress, but which paradoxically contribute to its maintenance. Examples include avoidance (of situations, thoughts, or feelings), thought suppression, reassurance seeking, procrastination, or excessive reliance on distraction. While these might provide momentary relief, they prevent us from truly processing or accepting their experience, reinforcing the idea that the internal experience is dangerous and must be controlled.

Consider Mark, a student prone to perfectionism. After receiving a B on an assignment, he falls into a classic trap. His worry kicks in: "What if this affects my GPA? What if I don't get into graduate school? My future is ruined." Then comes rumination: "I should have studied harder. I remember that one question I got wrong... If only I had done X, Y, or Z." He starts monitoring for threats, anxiously checking his university portal for new grades and scanning his professors' faces for any sign of disapproval. To cope, he isolates himself, avoids social gatherings, and spends even more time obsessively studying.  In the end he is just more exhausted and stressed. These processes, far from solving his academic concerns, trap him in a spiral of anxiety and self-doubt and interfere with his ability to absorb new information.

Beyond the Obvious: Our Active Engagement Categories

While the research-identified categories of CAS provide a robust framework, I find it helpful to think about certain manifestations as particularly active forms of engagement in a thinking/monitoring process. These aren’t just fleeting thoughts; they are deliberate, albeit often unconscious, investments of mental energy.  They create a dynamic internal struggle that actively fuels discomfort.

1. Active Waiting ("When will it happen, or when will that be over?"): This isn't merely passive anticipation; it's a relentless, high-alert mental posture. It's the internal timer ticking, the mental countdown to a perceived future threat or desired cessation of discomfort. The person who engages in active waiting is on standby, mentally prepared for the next wave of anxiety, the next panic attack, or simply for the current uncomfortable feeling to finally dissipate. This process drains our mental resources, keeping the nervous system primed for threat.

   • Vignette: Emily experienced a severe panic attack a few weeks ago. Now, every morning, she wakes up with a knot in her stomach, engaging in "active waiting." "Is today the day it happens again? Will I feel that surge of terror? I need to be ready." She mentally scans her body for sensations, interprets any slight flutter in her chest as a precursor, and avoids strenuous activities, believing they might trigger another episode. Her day is punctuated by this internal question, turning normal physiological sensations into potential alarm bells.

     
     

2. Active Resentment ("This should not be happening!"): This category involves a fierce, internal battle against the present reality of one's feelings or circumstances. It's an indignant refusal to accept what is, fueled by a deep-seated belief that things should be different.

   • Vignette: Tom has been struggling with chronic pain for months. While he seeks medical help, his mind is consumed by "active resentment." "This shouldn't be happening to me. I was so active before. It's not fair! Why can't my body just work properly? I hate feeling like this!" He replays moments from his pre-pain life, feeling robbed, and becomes agitated whenever his pain flares up, seeing it as an injustice. This intense internal protest prevents him from adapting or finding moments of peace.  Instead, it deepens his suffering by layering anger and frustration onto his physical discomfort.

     
     

3. Impatience ("I want it to end now!"): This is a relentless demand for immediate relief, a powerful urge to fast-forward through or abruptly terminate an unpleasant emotional experience. It's driven by a low tolerance for discomfort and a belief that feelings, especially negative ones, should be quickly managed or eradicated. I am writing this article on a day with a particularly nasty blizzard outside of my window.  Will my impatience turn Canadian winter into spring? Well, it might ruin my day but at least it will not make the weather any worse.  When it comes to mental processes, we actually amplify what we pay attention to.

   • Vignette: Jessica often experiences waves of self-doubt. When these feelings arise, her internal monologue shifts to "impatience." "Oh, not this again! I need this feeling to go away now. I have things to do; I can't be held back by this stupid doubt." She frantically searches online for quick fixes, tries to distract herself with endless scrolling, or attempts to force positive thoughts, only to find the feeling persisting. Her urgency and demand for immediate cessation create a heightened state of agitation, making the self-doubt feel even more intrusive and persistent.

     
     

4. Bracing for Impact ("What if I start feeling like that or even worse again?"): This is a proactive, defensive stance, a mental readiness for a feared internal state to return or intensify. It's similar to threat monitoring but specifically focused on the recurrence or escalation of prior distress. The individual lives in a state of guardedness, constantly on the lookout for early warning signs, which paradoxically keeps the very feared state front and center in their awareness.

   • Vignette: After a period of intense depression, Michael is feeling slightly better, but he’s "bracing for impact." Every slight dip in mood, every fleeting sad thought, is meticulously scrutinized. "Is this it? Is the depression coming back? What if it gets worse than before? I can't handle that." He avoids situations that might trigger sadness, even if they were once enjoyable, and withdraws from friends who might notice a change in his demeanor. This constant vigilance, intended to protect him from a relapse, keeps him emotionally fragile and prevents him from fully experiencing his improved mood.

These "active engagement" categories highlight how our internal responses to discomfort can become as problematic as the discomfort itself. They are not merely passive reactions but energetic, cognitive investments that sustain the very emotional states we desperately wish to escape.

The Paradox of Protection: Threat Monitoring and the Fight-Flight-Freeze Response

What links all these active engagement categories, as well as the more traditionally defined components of CAS, is a pervasive undercurrent of threat monitoring. Whether it's actively waiting for anxiety, resenting a feeling, demanding its immediate cessation, or bracing for a relapse, the underlying mechanism is a constant scanning for danger – internal or external. Our brains are wired for survival, and the primary function of our limbic system, particularly the amygdala, is to detect and respond to threats (LeDoux, 1996). When we engage in threat monitoring, we are essentially sending a continuous "danger!" signal to our brain and body.

This scanning for threats, even for internal ones like unwanted emotions, triggers fight-flight-freeze response. The sympathetic nervous system is kept in a high gear, preparing us to either confront, escape, or become immobilized in the face of danger. Physiologically, this means a cascade of changes: increased heart rate, accelerated breathing, muscle tension, heightened vigilance, and a rush of stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline.

The cruel irony of CAS is that these physiological responses – the racing heart, the shallow breath, the stomach churning – are precisely the sensations that many people find so unpleasant and frightening, often mistaking them for signs of a catastrophic physical or mental breakdown. For someone with anxiety, monitoring their heart rate and interpreting a slight increase as a sign of impending panic creates the very panic they fear. For someone actively resenting sadness, the physical sensations of sorrow become amplified by the body's stress response to the perceived "threat" of the emotion itself.

Vignette: Consider Alex, who developed a fear of public speaking after a particularly humiliating presentation. Now, before any presentation, he engages in intense threat monitoring. He checks his voice for tremors, his hands for sweat, and his mind for "blank" moments. His body, sensing this hyper-vigilance and internal "danger" signal, immediately activates the fight-flight response: his heart pounds, his palms sweat, and his throat tightens. These physical symptoms, which are merely a natural response to perceived threat, are then interpreted by Alex as confirmation that he is about to fail or have a panic attack. This reinforces his fear, exacerbates his symptoms, and keeps him firmly stuck in the cycle of fear and avoidance. The very act of monitoring for discomfort becomes the catalyst for that discomfort.

The Double-Edged Sword: When Coping Makes It Worse

In our quest to avoid discomfort, we often deploy an arsenal of coping skills. And while coping skills are generally good and necessary, they can also become a double-edged sword. When driven by problematic metacognitive beliefs – such as "I must control my feelings," "certain feelings are dangerous and must be eliminated," or "I am weak if I feel this way" – the layering of these coping strategies can actually exacerbates our difficulties.

The issue isn't always with the coping skill itself, but with the function it serves and the belief that drives it. If the underlying belief is that an uncomfortable feeling is intolerable and must be immediately suppressed or escaped, then even seemingly benign strategies can become problematic. For example:

• Excessive Distraction: While healthy distraction can be useful, if it becomes an absolute avoidance of internal experience, it reinforces the idea that the feeling is too dangerous to face. The moment the distraction ends, the feeling often returns with amplified intensity, proving to the individual that they need to distract themselves even more. 

• Reassurance Seeking: Constantly asking friends, family, or doctors for reassurance (e.g., "Am I okay? Is this normal? Will I get through this?") may provide temporary relief. However, it undermines self-efficacy, prevents direct experience of tolerating distress, and reinforces the idea that one cannot cope without external validation, thus fueling uncertainty and dependence.

• Thought Suppression: Actively trying to push away or "not think" about something invariably leads to it becoming more prominent in our minds – the famous "white bear" phenomenon (Wegner et al., 1987). This active struggle against thoughts and feelings only consumes mental energy and makes the unwanted internal experience more persistent.

• Over-analysis/Problem-solving (when unhelpful): As seen with rumination, endlessly dissecting a feeling or situation without moving towards acceptance or action keeps the individual trapped in the problem space, reinforcing a sense of helplessness and perpetuating the distress.[1]

• Avoidance Behaviors: These are perhaps the most common and pernicious. Avoiding situations, people, or internal experiences (like memories or sensations) that might trigger discomfort provides immediate relief but leads to a narrowing of one's life, prevents new learning about tolerating distress, and reinforces the belief that the feared situation/feeling is indeed dangerous. You cannot life a life “on avoidance”.  It’s like driving with your eyes closed. You won’t see the truck, but you’ll still end up in an accident.

The layering of these strategies creates a web of behaviors, all designed to control or eliminate feelings, but which ultimately communicate to the brain: "This feeling is a threat, and I cannot tolerate it." This intensifies the original discomfort and the associated fight-flight-freeze response. The belief that certain feelings are "bad" or "unacceptable" drives the cycle. We judge our feelings, then judge ourselves for having them, then judge ourselves for not being able to make them go away. This creates layers of distress, making the initial uncomfortable feeling just one part of a much larger, self-created problem.

Vignette: Maria experiences social anxiety. She thinks, "My anxiety means I'm awkward and people will judge me; I must hide it." To cope, she adopts several layered strategies. Before social events, she engages in "active waiting," dreading the start. During, she relies on "impatience," wishing the event would end. She meticulously plans conversations to avoid awkward silences (over-analysis), and if she feels a blush coming on, she might excuse herself to the restroom to "compose herself" (avoidance) or quickly text a friend for distraction. If she stumbles over a word, "active resentment" flares – "I shouldn't be feeling this way, it's so embarrassing!" Each reaction, though intended to "cope" or "fix," actually reinforces the idea that her anxiety is a catastrophic threat that must be controlled at all costs.

Conclusion

The phrase, "But I don't want to be feeling this way!" encapsulates a profoundly human struggle. We yearn for comfort, for peace, for control over our inner landscape. Yet, as we've explored, our very attempts to achieve this control can paradoxically plunge us deeper into the discomfort we wish to escape. Cognitive Attentional Syndrome through its components of worry, rumination, threat monitoring, and unhelpful coping, creates a self-sustaining loop of distress. Our "active engagement" categories – active waiting, active resentment, impatience, and bracing for impact – vividly illustrate the intense internal effort we invest in this counterproductive struggle.

These processes are rooted in our primal need for protection, triggering the fight-flight-freeze response when we perceive internal states as threats. And when we layer on coping strategies driven by our beliefs about the unacceptability of certain feelings, we inadvertently strengthen the very chains that bind us.

The concept of CAS helps us recognize the intricate mental mechanisms at play. It can help us shift from  "What's wrong with me for feeling this way?" to "How am I accidentally keeping myself stuck in this feeling?" Awareness of our metacognitive patterns and the active ways we engage with our discomfort, is the first step out of the quicksand. The path to emotional freedom lies in learning to observe our feelings, tolerate them, and ultimately, liberate ourselves from the relentless struggle to make them disappear. And now, if you have the time, start with intentionality practice.

References

• Borkovec, T. D., Robinson, E., Pruzinsky, T., & DePree, J. A. (1983). Preliminary exploration of generalized anxiety disorder and worry: Some parallels with obsessive-compulsive disorder. Behaviour Research and Therapy, 21(6), 651-657.

• Flavell, J. H. (1979). Metacognition and cognitive monitoring: A new area of cognitive-developmental inquiry. American Psychologist, 34(10), 906-911.

• LeDoux, J. E. (1996). The emotional brain: The mysterious underpinnings of emotional life. Simon & Schuster.

• Nolen-Hoeksema, S. (1991). Responses to depression and their effects on the duration of depressive episodes. Journal of Abnormal Psychology, 100(4), 569-582.

• Wegner, D. M., Schneider, D. J., Carter, S. R., & White, T. L. (1987). Paradoxical effects of thought suppression. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 53(1), 5-13.

• Wells, A. (2009). Metacognitive therapy for anxiety and depression. Guilford Press.

• Wells, A., & Matthews, G. (1994). Attention and emotion: A clinical perspective. Erlbaum.

Notes:

1. If you want to understand what hides under the "paralysis by analysis", this post can help quite a bit.