When Fear Becomes an Allergy
A story about shrinking to stay safe, and the quiet courage of being seen again
“Fear is a memory, not a fact. And sometimes it’s just reacting to things that used to hurt.”
She didn’t expect the compliment.
Not from her new manager. Not on a Monday. Not while she was still halfway into her coat.
“You handled that meeting beautifully,” he said, smiling like he meant it.
Her body tensed.
She laughed, but it landed sideways.
Shrugged. Muttered something about luck.
And practically bolted to her desk.
It was just a thank you.
But her nervous system logged it as a threat.
Like an allergy flare-up.
Only this time, the allergen was praise.
She knew the pattern.
It started early.
When a teacher called her “the bright one” and her friends went cold.
When her mom said, “I’m so proud of you,” and her dad snapped, “Don’t spoil her.”
She learned young:
Praise comes with payback.
Visibility comes with punishment.
It’s safer to shrink than to shine.
Her fear didn’t show up in panic.
It showed up in polite withdrawal.
In being “easygoing” instead of honest.
In dodging every spotlight she secretly hoped to earn.
It wasn’t drama.
It was memory.
Later that day, her coworker messaged her:
“Hey, you kinda vanished after the meeting. You okay?”
She stared at the screen.
I’m fine.
Busy day.
All good.
She typed. Deleted. Stared.
Then closed the window.
Because fear doesn’t always scream.
Sometimes it just says: Don’t say anything. It’s safer.
It wasn’t just a reaction. It was an allergy.
Her nervous system had mistaken recognition for rejection.
Support for danger.
Connection for risk.
And like any allergy, it wasn’t about the thing itself.
It was about the old wounds it reminded her of.
That night, curled up in bed with her laptop and her excuses, she paused long enough to ask:
What am I protecting myself from?
And softer still:
Is that still true?
She didn’t have answers. But she had instincts.
She replied to her coworker.
“I weirdly panicked when someone complimented me. Old wiring. Working on it.”
They wrote back:
“Totally get it. I’m glad you told me.”
That’s when something shifted.
Not all at once. But enough.
Enough to feel the air loosen in her chest.
Enough to think…Maybe it’s safe to be seen after all.
Enough to start telling her nervous system,
This isn’t then. This is now.
What She Did First
She didn’t try to become fearless.
She just tried not to disappear.
Here’s where she started:
1. She wrote down compliments instead of deflecting them.
Every time someone said something kind, she logged it in her notes app; even if her body didn’t believe it.
She called it “Evidence I’m Not a Fraud.”
The first time she reread it without flinching, she cried.
2. She told one friend the truth.
Not the polished version. The real one.
“I kind of disappear when I get scared,” she said. “I’m working on staying.”
Her friend didn’t flinch. They said, “I’ve noticed. Thanks for trusting me.”
3. She let herself be seen in low-stakes places.
A comment on someone’s post.
A photo where she didn’t filter her expression.
A meeting where she didn’t apologize before speaking.
Tiny risks. But they stacked.
And her nervous system started noticing: Nothing bad happened.
Healing didn’t feel like bravery.
It felt like not deleting the message.
Like letting her shoulders drop one inch lower when someone said her name kindly.
Like not flinching when what she needed finally arrived.
Let’s Talk
Have you ever pulled away from something good; praise, help, connection; because your body didn’t believe it was safe?
Share your story in the comments. I’d love to hear what you’re learning to unlearn.
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