Why Do We Constantly "Brace For Impact"?

Hey again. Gonna dive straight into it. Lately, I’ve been stuck in this weird in-between space. It’s not panic, but it’s definitely not peace either. It’s this constant, low vibration of uneasiness, like my body’s bracing for something — but no one told me what. Sometimes I wake up already expecting something to go wrong, like the floor might drop out from beneath me at any second. So, I stay tense, waiting for whatever’s coming.

That’s what anticipatory dread feels like. It's not a fear of something specific — it’s fear of possibility. It’s overthinking before anything even happens. Rehearsing conversations in my head, scanning for threats, assuming the worst so maybe I won’t be caught off guard. And honestly, it’s exhausting. But I know I’m not the only one who feels this way.

I want to talk about why so many of us live in a constant state of bracing. What it’s doing to us. And how I’m (very slowly) trying to undo it. Not with some fake, toxic positivity or "perfect" routines — but with honesty. With asking myself what I actually need, instead of worrying about what’s coming next.

And while we’re here, I’ve got something else to own. I’ve had people tell me for as long as I can remember that I come off as a lot. That I steamroll, dominate conversations, take up too much space, overshadow others without meaning to. And, honestly, hearing that used to make me feel defensive, like I’m not trying to be that way. But the more I sit with it, the more I realize, yeah... I do that shit for real.

It’s never been about ego or control. It’s about protection. It’s me going full-force before anyone else gets the chance to shut me down. Somewhere along the way, I learned that if I’m the loudest, the most prepared, the first one to speak — maybe no one will notice how anxious I really am.

It’s like... if I can outrun the threat, maybe I can outrun the rejection too. But here’s the thing — that defense mechanism? It’s not protecting me anymore. It’s just keeping me tired. It’s poisoning relationships. It’s keeping me from being soft, which is what I want so badly. I want to let that version of me exist, but I’m so used to keeping that armor up.

Because when you’ve spent years experiencing rejection, betrayal, failure — you start to anticipate it. It’s hard to slow down, hard to trust that maybe things will be okay, even if I don’t have my guard up.

And that’s what I’m trying to unlearn. That being softer isn’t the same as being unsafe. That making space for others doesn’t mean there won’t be enough for me. That I don’t have to perform to be worth listening to.

So, no, I don’t want to steamroll people. I want to stop assuming I have to fight to be seen. I want to breathe before I respond. I want to ask questions instead of filling the silence. I want to be open to connection, not constantly bracing for conflict. And maybe that’s part of healing too — learning how to let go of the "armor".

The truth is, we’ve all got walls, don’t we? Walls that we’ve built over time for protection, whether we realize It or not. We think they’re keeping us safe, but all they’re really doing is holding us hostage in our own lives. I’ve been trying to figure out how to take mine down. Slowly. Because I know that letting the walls fall doesn’t mean I’m weak or vulnerable to attack — it just means I’m giving myself the chance to really experience life without constantly preparing for the worst.

And I think that’s where we get stuck — we get so good at surviving that we don’t even realize we’re in survival mode anymore. We call it being driven, or strong-willed, or high-achieving — but it’s just anxiety in a disguise. It looks like being the one who always has the answer, who always takes the lead, who always fills the silence. On the outside, it looks like confidence. But on the inside? It’s this constant buzzing, a brain that won’t shut up, scanning for a threat that isn’t even there yet, and may never even be there at all.

It’s wanting to be gentler, but not knowing how. It’s being exhausted by your own intensity, but still feeling like you have to keep it up. It’s fearing that if you slow down, everything will fall apart — including you.

If that hits home for you, I see you. I am you. And I’m working through it too.

I’m still anticipating the next hit, the next hard moment, the next reason to brace. And I’m still planning my escape route, just in case. But I want peace to feel attainable — like I deserve it. Like I don’t have to work for it or manipulate the situation to get it. I want calm to feel safe, not suspicious. I want connection without performance.

But I also know it doesn’t come from wishing. It comes from unlearning. From intentionally reminding myself that I’m allowed to exist in the now, not just in preparation for the “what if.”

So, I’ve been trying some things. Not to fix myself — but to find myself again, underneath all the defense. I’ve been practicing actually listening. Not just forcing my turn to talk or scanning for the right thing to say, but really hearing people. Letting them take up space, too. Trusting that I don’t have to over-explain or prove myself to feel safe in the room. I don’t need to be so big that people have no choice but to see me.

I’ve been reminding myself that not every space is a war. There are spaces where I don’t have to defend or perform. Some rooms are really safe — I just have to stop dragging old fears into new places.

When I start anticipating rejection or bracing for a hit that hasn’t even come, I’m learning to slow down. To breathe. To ground myself. To remind myself that I’m here. And here is okay. Because the truth is: we’re allowed to exist without tension. We’re allowed to take up space without guilt. We’re allowed to feel safe without a backup plan.

So, my Blanket Statement™ for this one is:

You don’t have to brace for impact in spaces that were built to hold you.

I didn't come up with that. I saw it on an Instagram post. But it has really stuck with me recently.

Let that sink in. Let yourself believe it. And if it’s been a while since you felt safe being fully yourself — I hope you’ll start by giving yourself that space first.