Have you ever stopped to think about how much time we spend trying to get rid of something we don’t like about ourselves? For me, it was anxiety. For you it might be overthinking. The need for control. The inability to relax. People pleasing, perfectionism, or the way you shut down when things get hard. Whatever it is, we usually come at it with the same question. How do I make it stop? And listen, I get it. When something is interfering with your relationships, your sleep, or your ability to feel comfortable in your own skin, of course you want relief. Who wouldn’t? But here’s what I’ve come to understand, through my own life and through the work I do with my clients. Sometimes we’re so focused on getting rid of something that we never stop to ask what might be contributing to it in the first place. That’s what I want to make sense of this week. A label is not a why I was about 30 when I was diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder. It felt like an Acela train running through my chest 24/7. My heart raced, my mind wouldn’t shut off, and I constantly felt like something bad was about to happen. Let me be very clear about something before I go any further. There is absolutely a place for diagnosis. There is a place for medication, for mental health support, and for other forms of treatment. For many people those things are incredibly helpful, and sometimes essential. They helped me too. But here’s where I think the conversation stops too soon. We had identified what I was experiencing. Nobody had explored why. People were very quick to tell me what was wrong with me. Nobody could explain the root cause. And those are two very different things. A diagnosis describes a collection of symptoms. It can guide treatment. But it doesn’t tell the whole story of how those symptoms developed, or what might be keeping them going. Anxious about being anxious At the time, I wasn’t interested in understanding anxiety. I just wanted it gone. I had no room for it in my body. If you’ve ever lived with anxiety that feels like it’s running your life, you know how debilitating it can be. And one of the most frustrating parts is that you can know there’s nothing to be anxious about and still feel incredibly anxious. Which makes you even more frustrated with yourself. So now you’re not just anxious. You’re anxious about being anxious, and you’re judging yourself for it. It’s an awful loop. One of the biggest takeaways from my own healing is self-compassion, which to me is the exact opposite of self-judgment. Because in that loop, we are judging ourselves for something we can’t seem to control. The question I stopped asking For a long time, I treated my anxiety as something wrong with me. Something to fix, kick to the curb, kill off. I hated that part of myself. But as I began to understand trauma and the nervous system, and the ways our experiences shape us, I started asking very different questions. Not “why am I anxious?” in that angry, judgmental voice. Instead: What have I learned about the world? What did I learn about safety, or security? What did I learn about uncertainty, or about predictability and the lack of it? What might my nervous system have learned to anticipate long before I had the language to understand it? That is where things shifted for me. When I looked at my anxiety through the lens of experiences from decades earlier, it started to make sense. Of course I wanted to know what was coming. Of course uncertainty felt uncomfortable. Of course I learned to stay one step ahead of everything, because there was a time in my life when I didn’t feel like I had any control at all. It was a learned, brilliant adaptation. Understanding that history did not magically eliminate my anxiety. But it changed my relationship with it. I was no longer fighting something I didn’t understand. I was beginning to understand myself. And that is a very different place to heal from. A symptom can also be a signal Not always. Not every symptom is rooted in trauma. Biological, medical, genetic, environmental and psychological factors can all play a part. I know that. But sometimes the responses we struggle with today developed in an environment where they served a purpose. Think about hypervigilance. Constantly on alert. Scanning faces, listening for changes in someone’s tone, anticipating what happens next. As an adult, it can look like overthinking conversations, not being able to relax, always feeling on edge. Now imagine growing up where someone’s mood could change without warning. Noticing the smallest shift may have helped you prepare for what was coming. Being watchful was useful. Your nervous system learned: pay attention, stay alert, don’t get caught off guard. Years later, it can still run the show, even when your circumstances have changed. So instead of “why can’t I relax?”, we might ask: what did I experience that made being on alert feel so necessary? And the answer might sound like: of course I notice every little change in someone’s mood. Of course my body responds before I have a chance to think. Perfectionism isn’t simply a personality trait For some people, perfectionism developed as a way to avoid criticism, rejection or disappointment. Maybe mistakes weren’t safe in your house. Maybe love felt conditional. Maybe being the responsible one, the accomplished one, the one who never caused problems was how you stayed connected. Fast forward 20 or 30 years, and you can’t turn off the internal pressure. Nothing feels good enough. You replay mistakes. You can’t celebrate a win because you’re already focused on what’s next. What if it began as a coping strategy, a way of holding on to safety, approval and belonging? Just because something once helped you doesn’t mean it has to keep running your life. Understanding why it developed can help you start making different choices. Making sense is not the same as making it OK When I say our symptoms make sense, I’m not saying they’re always healthy. I’m not saying we should ignore them. Sometimes they need medical attention. Sometimes the patterns we’ve built are hurting us or the people around us. Understanding why something developed doesn’t mean accepting its consequences. It gives us more information. And that matters, because if we only focus on eliminating a symptom, we may never address what keeps it going. Sometimes those conditions are still present. You might be trying to manage anxiety while living somewhere that still feels unpredictable or unsafe. Or trying to stop people pleasing while part of you still believes that disappointing someone means losing them. Insight alone doesn’t create change. But it shows you where change needs to begin. Three questions to try Not because they’ll magically make a symptom disappear, but because they’ll help you relate to it differently. 1. What am I experiencing? Without judgment. Not “I’m being ridiculous” or “I should be over this by now.” Just: I’m feeling anxious. I’m having a hard time relaxing. I need to control this situation. I’m shutting down. Name it without turning it into a character flaw. 2. What might this be responding to? This is where curiosity comes in. Is something happening in my life right now? Does this remind me of something I’ve lived before? Is a belief about myself shaping my response? Sometimes the answer is physical, medical or about your current circumstances. We’re not hunting for a trauma story behind every symptom. We’re staying curious. 3. What do I need right now? Even if a response started years ago, you live in the present. Maybe you need support, or a boundary. Maybe you need to challenge an old belief, learn a new way of responding, or reach out for professional help. Two simple words How much time do we spend fighting ourselves? Criticizing our anxiety, judging our reactions, telling ourselves we should know better. Maybe we do know better. But knowing better and being able to respond differently are not the same thing. Our responses are shaped by experience, by repetition, by what worked in the past, and sometimes by what our nervous system came to expect. So instead of asking “what is wrong with me?”, try asking “what makes this make sense?” And sometimes, for the first time, you can look at a response you’ve spent years trying to get rid of and say: of course. Of course I learned to do that. Not because it’s the only way you can respond, and not because it’s serving you now, but because there’s a story behind it, and that story deserves to be understood. Here’s the question I want you to sit with this week: What if the thing you’ve been trying hardest to change about yourself is something you just don’t fully understand yet? Sometimes healing doesn’t begin with another way to fix yourself. It begins with a different question. And maybe that question leads to two very simple words: of course. Keep getting curious about yourself. Understanding changes everything. With you, Stacey Go deeper: my conversation with filmmaker Ton Mazzone about his documentary Traumality: Understand your own patterns. Start with my free HURRT Assessment, or join my free Calm Code Open House. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit flipyourmindset.substack.com/subscribe