Fossilized Beliefs

I am having some really intense relational anxiety the past few days. I’m trying to sit with it and not immediately take medication just to make it stop, because I know relying on medicine every time I feel overwhelmed isn’t going to help me build any tolerance for discomfort or emotional pain. I know the goal isn’t to never need help, but to slowly learn that emotions can move through me without completely destroying me.

It’s hard though.

The feeling of wanting to break down and cry sits in the back of my throat constantly, but it’s like something won’t let it out. Like the emotion is there, pressing against the surface, but my body won’t fully release it.

I can’t really write about the specifics of why I’m having relational anxiety right now. It’s complicated and layered and difficult to untangle. But I do plan to bring it into therapy and hope that somewhere inside of talking about it, I can start finding insight into what the actual root of it is and how to manage it in ways that don’t leave me drowning in fear and emotional pain.

If I had to guess, a lot of it probably traces back to self-worth.

At my core, I think that I genuinely believes I am bad. That I am not worthy of other people’s kindness. That I’m too much, too complicated, too emotionally overwhelming to really be wanted in someone’s life. And when relational uncertainty shows up, those beliefs don’t just whisper. They take over everything.

The frustrating part is that logically understanding this doesn’t make it disappear.

I can recognize these beliefs as wounds. I can trace where some of them came from. I can intellectually understand that trauma, attachment, shame and past experiences shape the way people relate to themselves and others. But insight alone doesn’t seem to reach the deeper part where these beliefs actually live.

They feel embedded in me.

Like a fossil formed slowly over time through pressure, repetition and survival. And while it may not have taken thousands of years to create, it feels ancient inside of me. Solidified. Hardened. Difficult to excavate without feeling like I’m breaking pieces of myself apart in the process.

I think that’s what makes relational anxiety so painful sometimes. It’s rarely just about the present moment. The present moment touches something much older.