12/15/2025
Calm feels dangerous when your nervous system grew up on alarms. If your history taught you that love arrives with whiplash, that peace is just the pause before impact, then stillness wonât feel safe. It reads as threat. So you stir the water. You pick the fight, overload your schedule, sabotage the quiet, and call it âmomentum.â It isnât momentum. Itâs your biology hunting for what it knows.
Chaos is efficient. It keeps you busy enough to avoid intimacy, success, and the slow, clean honesty of a regulated life. It gives you something to manage so you donât have to feel whatâs underneath. And because youâre competent, you look heroic doing it. People even praise you for âhandling so much.â They donât see the cost. You barely do either.
Hereâs the tell: when things finally start working, do you create a new emergency? When love feels steady, do you poke it until it bleeds? When money stabilizes, do you âinvestâ in a mess you knew better than to touch? That isnât fate. Thatâs familiarity.
You wonât outthink this pattern. You have to retrain it. Start small. Let one part of your life be easy on purpose. Notice the pull to complicate it. Donât. Breathe through the itch. Ten seconds. Then thirty. Then two minutes. Teach your body that quiet isnât the enemy. Teach your mind that the absence of crisis isnât the absence of life.
Let things work.
Let calm stay long enough to change you.