We inherited a nervous system calibrated for lions, and we're using it to navigate awkward conversations and underwhelming careers.
Evolution never updated the software, it just repurposed it.
Your ancestors needed courage to keep their bodies alive, you need courage to keep your identity intact.
It's almost comic when you zoom out: the same species that once stared down hungry predators now breaks into a sweat trying to say "Something needs to change."
But it's not because we've become pathetic, it's because the monsters changed shape.
Old dangers could kill your body; the new ones threaten your belonging.
Your whole biology gears up for exile from the village that only exists now as a group chat.
Your body still thinks you'll die alone in the wilderness if you tell the truth - it's the residue of a limbic system designed for a world that no longer exists.
And this is where the real suffering begins.
Not in the fear - but in your shame about the fear.
A voice inside says, "How dare you be upset by this? Other people had it so much worse. Don't you know how small and feeble this makes you???"
Sure, maybe there were more kinetic threats in the past. But knowing that your life isn't collapsing doesn't stop your heart racing as if it is - it just makes you feel guilty for crying in the ancestral equivalent of a feather bed.
It's not just the fear that hurts.
It's the feeling that your fear is illegitimate.
That your emotions need to pass some mythical severity threshold before you're "allowed" to feel them.
This is The Shame Of Small Fears; the belief that because your life is comfortable, your panic must be ridiculous.
But your nervous system doesn't know that.
It only knows threat - and it reacts to a difficult conversation the same way it once reacted to a rustle in the dark.
Your biology is ancient, your circumstances are modern, and your feelings sit in the crossfire.
This is why modern bravery is both smaller and harder.
Smaller because the stakes are rarely life or death.
Harder because the threats are invisible.
You can't swing an axe at uncertainty. You can't outrun heartbreak.
So the new acts of courage are quieter.
Telling the truth.
Saying no.
Walking away from a career that looks great on paper but feels wrong in your chest.
Letting your friend down rather than letting yourself down.
Admitting you want more from your life than the version of you that other people are used to.
These aren't heroic in the old sense, but they are valiant in a new one.
Because the modern world rarely demands danger from you, but it constantly requests honesty. And honesty is terrifying.
There's no applause for doing the right thing.
No war medals for ending the wrong friendship.
No epic poems for learning to tell the truth gently.
But these are the decisions that actually shape your life.
Bravery now is knowing the world won't end if you speak up, yet your stomach still drops as if it might... and doing it anyway.
Your nervous system doesn't care whether the threat is a bear or a boundary, it reacts the same way.
So be gentle with yourself if you get scared by "normal" stuff. You're allowed to feel the way you feel.
And shaming yourself for your emotions only adds a second wound to the first.
(Also - absolutely DO NOT shame yourself for shaming yourself. Please be kind to yourself this week. I mean it.)
Wisdom on the mismatch between our ancient nervous systems and modern challenges, explored through Chris Williamson's reflections on the Modern Wisdom podcast.