Embrace The Unseen

Recently, I came across the term cognitive distortions, and for the first time, I felt like I had language for the way my mind works.

For the longest time, I thought I was just really self-aware. Hyperaware, if anything. I thought replaying conversations meant I was emotionally intelligent. I thought anticipating every possible outcome meant that I was prepared. And I thought overanalyzing people’s tone, body language, or noticeable patterns was simply me paying attention.

But really, a lot of it was anxiety, fear, and insecurity. A nervous system constantly trying to protect itself from rejection, embarrassment, abandonment, or emotional pain before it could happen.

And when you live like that long enough, your thoughts stop feeling like thoughts. They start feeling like facts.

There have been countless times where I’ve convinced myself someone was upset with me based on almost nothing. Whenever I’m around friends, I’ll start making up ideas that they genuinely don’t want me around or enjoy my company. It’s usually triggered by the smallest things — an eye roll, a delayed response, a shift in tone. My brain immediately fills in the blanks and creates a narrative before reality even has the chance to exist on its own.

Every single time I leave a social situation, I replay every moment that occurred. Thinking things like:

Did I talk too much? Did I sound awkward? Did I overshare? Do they secretly think I’m weird?

The worst part of it all is that the thoughts feel so believable when you’re stuck inside them.

That’s what cognitive distortions are. They’re patterns of thinking that twist perception in ways that often feel incredibly real emotionally. They usually attach themselves to our deepest fears and insecurities, which is why they can feel so convincing.

For me, one of the biggest distortions has always been catastrophizing.

If something feels uncertain emotionally, my mind immediately jumps to the worst possible outcome. If a friendship feels distant, my brain assumes the relationship is ending. If someone acts differently, I convince myself that I did something wrong.

I’ve recently mourned the loss of a friendship even though it’s technically still intact. We’re still friends, but we haven’t really talked in a long time. We never text each other, and when there is communication, it’s usually initiated by me. She never checks in. Never really asks how my life has been.

We used to be incredibly close, but now it feels different. I’m not sure if it’s because of distance, life changes, or because she genuinely doesn’t care about me anymore. In my mind, I assume the latter. I’ve convinced myself the friendship is already over, even though no one has actually said that out loud.

So now I tread lightly around this person. I don’t want my feelings hurt more than they already are. I still love her and probably always will, but maybe we’ve just changed. I honestly don’t know. I’ve gone back and forth with these thoughts in my head for a very long time.

And the hardest part? She probably has no clue there’s even something wrong.

People around me keep convincing me that it’s not the way I see it. That she does care, and honestly, when we are together, she often shows it. But somehow my mind overpowers those moments. It dismisses the good and clings to the fear instead.

This happens in other areas of my life too. My mind spirals into thoughts like:

What if I never figure my life out? What if I stay stuck forever? What if this feeling never leaves?

And when you’re already mentally exhausted, those thoughts multiply fast.

I also think loneliness can make cognitive distortions even louder. When you spend a lot of time alone, like I do, your mind has more room to spiral unchecked. There’s less outside grounding. Less interruption. More time to sit with thoughts until they start echoing.

Recently, I experienced a real friendship breakup, and I noticed just how quickly my brain turned loneliness into self-blame. Instead of simply accepting that relationships and people change sometimes, my mind immediately latched onto finding reasons why I wasn’t enough. What I could’ve done differently. What was wrong with me.

That’s the difficult thing about distorted thinking — it often disguises itself as self-reflection.

But there’s a difference between healthy reflection and mentally tearing yourself apart trying to find explanations for pain.

Another distortion I struggle with is emotional reasoning — believing something must be true simply because I feel it deeply.

If I feel annoying, I assume I am.

If I feel left behind, I assume everyone else is ahead.

If I feel emotionally overwhelmed, I convince myself I’m incapable of handling life well.

But feelings aren’t always facts. Sometimes feelings are fear, exhaustion, burnout, grief, overstimulation, or old wounds resurfacing.

And I think learning that has been one of the biggest parts of healing for me.

Not eliminating the thoughts completely — because honestly, I still struggle with them all the time — but learning to pause before immediately believing every thought my mind throws at me.

Learning to ask:

Is this actually happening, or is my anxiety trying to protect me from something? Am I reacting to reality, or to fear? Would I speak to someone I love this way?

I also think cognitive distortions become especially strong when your nervous system has been in survival mode for a long time. Your brain starts scanning constantly for danger, rejection, discomfort, or signs that something is about to go wrong. You become hypervigilant emotionally. Even peace can feel unfamiliar.

It’s exhausting constantly interpreting yourself through fear. Constantly questioning your worth. Constantly trying to predict pain before it arrives.

But one thing I’m slowly realizing is that not every thought deserves trust simply because it’s loud. Sometimes our minds are trying to protect us using old survival patterns that no longer fit who we are now.

Healing, for me, is learning that I don’t have to automatically believe every story my mind creates about me.

What thoughts about yourself have you been treating like facts, simply because you’ve felt them for a long time?

“Don’t believe everything you think.” — Unknown

Recently, I came across the term cognitive distortions, and for the first time, I felt like I had language for the way my mind works.

For the longest time, I thought I was just really self-aware. Hyperaware, if anything. I thought replaying conversations meant I was emotionally intelligent. I thought anticipating every possible outcome meant that I was prepared. And I thought overanalyzing people’s tone, body language, or noticeable patterns was simply me paying attention.

But really, a lot of it was anxiety, fear, and insecurity. A nervous system constantly trying to protect itself from rejection, embarrassment, abandonment, or emotional pain before it could happen.

And when you live like that long enough, your thoughts stop feeling like thoughts. They start feeling like facts.

There have been countless times where I’ve convinced myself someone was upset with me based on almost nothing. Whenever I’m around friends, I’ll start making up ideas that they genuinely don’t want me around or enjoy my company. It’s usually triggered by the smallest things — an eye roll, a delayed response, a shift in tone. My brain immediately fills in the blanks and creates a narrative before reality even has the chance to exist on its own.

Every single time I leave a social situation, I replay every moment that occurred. Thinking things like:

Did I talk too much? Did I sound awkward? Did I overshare? Do they secretly think I’m weird?

The worst part of it all is that the thoughts feel so believable when you’re stuck inside them.

That’s what cognitive distortions are. They’re patterns of thinking that twist perception in ways that often feel incredibly real emotionally. They usually attach themselves to our deepest fears and insecurities, which is why they can feel so convincing.

For me, one of the biggest distortions has always been catastrophizing.

If something feels uncertain emotionally, my mind immediately jumps to the worst possible outcome. If a friendship feels distant, my brain assumes the relationship is ending. If someone acts differently, I convince myself that I did something wrong.

I’ve recently mourned the loss of a friendship even though it’s technically still intact. We’re still friends, but we haven’t really talked in a long time. We never text each other, and when there is communication, it’s usually initiated by me. She never checks in. Never really asks how my life has been.

We used to be incredibly close, but now it feels different. I’m not sure if it’s because of distance, life changes, or because she genuinely doesn’t care about me anymore. In my mind, I assume the latter. I’ve convinced myself the friendship is already over, even though no one has actually said that out loud.

So now I tread lightly around this person. I don’t want my feelings hurt more than they already are. I still love her and probably always will, but maybe we’ve just changed. I honestly don’t know. I’ve gone back and forth with these thoughts in my head for a very long time.

And the hardest part? She probably has no clue there’s even something wrong.

People around me keep convincing me that it’s not the way I see it. That she does care, and honestly, when we are together, she often shows it. But somehow my mind overpowers those moments. It dismisses the good and clings to the fear instead.

This happens in other areas of my life too. My mind spirals into thoughts like:

What if I never figure my life out? What if I stay stuck forever? What if this feeling never leaves?

And when you’re already mentally exhausted, those thoughts multiply fast.

I also think loneliness can make cognitive distortions even louder. When you spend a lot of time alone, like I do, your mind has more room to spiral unchecked. There’s less outside grounding. Less interruption. More time to sit with thoughts until they start echoing.

Recently, I experienced a real friendship breakup, and I noticed just how quickly my brain turned loneliness into self-blame. Instead of simply accepting that relationships and people change sometimes, my mind immediately latched onto finding reasons why I wasn’t enough. What I could’ve done differently. What was wrong with me.

That’s the difficult thing about distorted thinking — it often disguises itself as self-reflection.

But there’s a difference between healthy reflection and mentally tearing yourself apart trying to find explanations for pain.

Another distortion I struggle with is emotional reasoning — believing something must be true simply because I feel it deeply.

If I feel annoying, I assume I am.

If I feel left behind, I assume everyone else is ahead.

If I feel emotionally overwhelmed, I convince myself I’m incapable of handling life well.

But feelings aren’t always facts. Sometimes feelings are fear, exhaustion, burnout, grief, overstimulation, or old wounds resurfacing.

And I think learning that has been one of the biggest parts of healing for me.

Not eliminating the thoughts completely — because honestly, I still struggle with them all the time — but learning to pause before immediately believing every thought my mind throws at me.

Learning to ask:

Is this actually happening, or is my anxiety trying to protect me from something? Am I reacting to reality, or to fear? Would I speak to someone I love this way?

I also think cognitive distortions become especially strong when your nervous system has been in survival mode for a long time. Your brain starts scanning constantly for danger, rejection, discomfort, or signs that something is about to go wrong. You become hypervigilant emotionally. Even peace can feel unfamiliar.

It’s exhausting constantly interpreting yourself through fear. Constantly questioning your worth. Constantly trying to predict pain before it arrives.

But one thing I’m slowly realizing is that not every thought deserves trust simply because it’s loud. Sometimes our minds are trying to protect us using old survival patterns that no longer fit who we are now.

Healing, for me, is learning that I don’t have to automatically believe every story my mind creates about me.

What thoughts about yourself have you been treating like facts, simply because you’ve felt them for a long time?

“Don’t believe everything you think.” — Unknown