Learning Not to Attach A Narrative
Anxiety doesn’t always arrive loudly.
Sometimes it slips in quietly, disguised as a sense of impending doom—a heavy feeling in the chest, a tightness in the body, a certainty that something is wrong even when nothing is happening.
There is no clear threat.
No obvious cause.
Just the feeling.
This is often the most unsettling part of anxiety: the way it demands an explanation. The mind rushes in, searching for a reason, scanning the past and the future for clues. What did I miss? What’s about to happen? What does this mean?
But anxiety is not intuition.
It is not prophecy.
It is not a message that needs decoding.
It is a nervous system reacting as if danger is present, even when it isn’t.
The Urge to Create a Story
When anxiety shows up as irrational fear, the brain tries to make sense of it by attaching a narrative. It wants a reason that matches the intensity of the feeling. This is how spirals begin.
A sensation becomes a thought.
A thought becomes a story.
A story becomes certainty.
Before we realize it, we are no longer responding to the present moment—we are reacting to a future that exists only in our imagination.
Choosing Not to Attach a Narrative
One of the most powerful skills I’ve learned is this:
I can notice anxiety without explaining it.
I can say, This is anxiety.
Not This is danger.
I can feel fear without searching for meaning.
I can experience discomfort without turning it into a warning.
A feeling is not a fact.
A thought is not a prediction.
When I resist the urge to explain the fear, it often softens on its own. Anxiety feeds on attention and interpretation. When I observe it without engaging, it loses momentum.
Meeting the Feeling Instead of Fighting It
This doesn’t mean forcing calm or pushing fear away. It means meeting the sensation with neutrality.
Breathing slowly.
Grounding in what I can see, hear, and touch.
Reminding myself that my body is trying to protect me—even if it’s overreacting.
I tell myself:
I am safe enough in this moment.
And I let that be enough.
Letting the Wave Pass
Anxiety rises and falls like a wave. The more we fight it or chase explanations, the longer it stays. When we stop feeding it stories, it passes more quickly.
Impending doom is a feeling, not a verdict.
Irrational fear is a signal, not a truth.
I don’t need to solve it.
I don’t need to understand it.
I only need to stay present while it moves through me.
And it always does.
Crow and Flame 