Every time I try to make a play, a red flag hits the field. No matter what I do—easy or complicated—out comes the flag on my play. I’ve been conditioned since birth: be a good girl and all is well. With that came hypervigilance, overthinking, mistrust, and fear. I was taught there was always a price to pay. Nothing came for free; there was always a catch. Even a simple request for a hug was met with a suspicious “Why?” Nothing was simple or freely given. That hug became a reward, held hostage behind requirements I could never actually meet.
So yes, every time I do anything, the fear creeps in. What’s going to happen now that I’m done or have what I need? I second‑guess every decision—every decision. I even have a sign over my mirror that says, “Wait, let me overthink this first.” Accurate. I scan the landscape waiting for the tackle that’s bound to hit me. By the time I accomplish something or receive a kindness, my mind goes straight to, “What is this going to cost me?” and I brace for impact. I build my whole strategy around the assumption that there’s a warning I haven’t spotted yet. People call them red flags. I call them the tools I built when I didn’t have the luxury of feeling safe.
The medical term is hypervigilance. To me, it’s just survival. Always scanning the room, always checking over my shoulder, always waiting for the inevitable: a slap to the head, a kick to the butt, awful names hurled my way. I was always in trouble, no matter how hard I tried. Hypervigilance became my early‑warning system. I could tell from the look in my parents’ eyes when I was about to get nailed. The bad part? I never outgrew it. To this day, whenever something goes sideways, I wait for that dreaded slap, kick, punch—anything to acknowledge that I existed but wasn’t deserving.
Even now, if a man so much as moves quickly in my direction, I duck and brace for pain. I’ve had countless relationship fails because my date gets angry or offended by my reaction. I KNOW, logically, that the chance of him hitting me is microscopic. But my muscle memory and conditioning disagree. In public, I watch strangers’ arms for any movement that might be harmful and physically turn away. Crowds? Pure chaos mode. Panic attacks so severe I feel like I’m dying. It’s frightening for the people I’m with—seeing my deer‑in‑the‑headlights look. I’ll grab the first available arm and cling to it. I would’ve laughed at the person’s shock when a complete stranger grabs them with both hands… but I was too petrified to laugh.
A lifetime of conditioning has left me with scrambled views on humanity—more than I can unpack here. Maybe I’ll revisit some of my annoying little “quirks” in another post.
Until next time, always vigilant and still ducking,
K.
I'm Still Here. Somehow... 