When My Dishwasher Broke Down, So Did I

It wasn’t just the dishwasher that stopped working. It was me, frozen in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the blinking F56 error like it was a personal attack. It was just a machine. A six-month-old appliance still under warranty. But in that moment, it felt like everything had failed at once; the dishwasher, the kitchen, and my ability to cope.
You’d think I’d be fine. I've lived without a dishwasher. For years, I washed everything by hand, and I managed just fine. But I’ve gotten used to the convenience. I’ve adapted to the convenience; the robotic arms scrubbing away while I sip tea and pretend adulthood isn’t as exhausting as it is.

More than that, our current kitchen barely has room to turn around, let alone stack a pile of dirty dishes and make space to wash them. So when it broke down, my nervous system did what it does best, catastrophise.

At first, I reacted with stress. Tense muscles and snappy words. A racing mind spiraling into panic mode. “What if the warranty doesn’t cover it?” “What if it can’t be repaired soon?” “Do I have to call someone?”

But then something shifted.

In the middle of my frustration, I paused. I noticed how tightly I was holding onto the idea that this shouldn’t be happening. That it was unfair, that it was too much. I saw how quickly my nervous system launched into emergency mode, even though the real emergency was… a stack of dishes.
Because let’s be honest, it was just a dishwasher. Not a medical emergency. Not a natural disaster. Just a broken appliance with an unnecessary attitude.

But in that moment, it felt like too much. I was already full of noise, pressure, unspoken expectations, and the slow-burning fatigue of keeping life running while also managing health sensitivities, sensory overload, and all the “invisible” stuff that doesn’t show up on to-do lists but still drains your battery.

And then I realised something I’d known intellectually but hadn’t fully felt until that moment. It’s not the dishwasher that’s the problem. It’s how I react to it.

The truth is, I can’t always control what breaks. But I can learn to witness my own stress responses, those automatic flares of panic or defeat and gently question them. I can learn to stay with discomfort long enough to discover the truth. That my reactions shape my experience far more than the situation itself.

Eventually, the company will send someone. Eventually, the machine will get fixed, or replaced. In the meantime, I’m learning (again), that how I react shapes everything. Not just my mood, but my whole experience of life.

• The machine broke, but I don’t have to.
• Not every setback is a crisis.
• Not every inconvenience is a personal attack.

Sometimes, things just stop working. And sometimes, that’s my cue to pause, breathe, maybe cry a little, and then carry on, with slightly pruney fingers and a little more humility.

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