Whether someone speeds up behind me and changes lanes to pass me or turns around in the aisle at the grocery store, I think I need to make myself small and stay out of their way. I assume they’re making these decisions because of me and that they’re “mad” at me for existing in their space. Logically, this doesn’t make any sense.

I’ve gotten better at reminding myself that most of the time, people are just living their lives, lost in their own thoughts, and not focused on me at all. But sometimes, that feeling still lingers, like a shadow I can’t quite shake. Anxiety and hyper-awareness make it easy to feel like I’m at the center of every situation when in reality, I’m just another person going about my day, just like everyone else.

This has also affected my relationship over the years. After ten years together, my tendency to overanalyze and assume the worst has, at times, created unnecessary tension. I used to think that silence meant my partner was upset with me, which led me to fill in the gaps with my own worries. But in reality, my partner is just a Gemini—sometimes talkative, sometimes lost in thought, and rarely as focused on my every move as I assume. Over time, I’ve had to learn that silence doesn’t mean anger—it’s just silence. Not every pause needs an explanation, and not every unspoken word is a sign of something wrong. Being an observer, I think part of me wants to believe that if I’m paying attention to others, they’re paying attention to me too. But in reality, people are often wrapped up in their own worlds, just like I am in mine. Learning to separate my anxiety from reality, communicate better, and trust that my partner’s actions aren’t always a reflection of me has been an ongoing process, but one that has ultimately strengthened our relationship.

This pattern of thinking has also impacted my friendships. I’ve often assumed that a delayed text or a canceled plan meant someone was upset with me, rather than just busy or overwhelmed with their own life. I’ve spent too much time overanalyzing conversations, searching for hidden meanings that weren’t really there. But I’m working on reminding myself that friendships, like all relationships, have ebbs and flows. People have their own lives, struggles, and priorities, and their actions are not always a reflection of how they feel about me. Learning to trust my friendships and not take every action (or inaction) personally has been a challenge, but it’s also been freeing.

With a mix of medication and therapy, I’ve been able to manage these feelings. Do they still happen? Yes. Can I manage them better? Yes. The difference now is that I have the tools to remind myself that not everything is about me, and I don’t have to carry the weight of every situation on my shoulders. If someone’s mad, I can remind myself that it’s THEIR decision to be mad, and that’s for THEM to carry. It can feel selfish, but this is how we start forming boundaries, right?

The truth is, people’s actions are usually about them—not me. The driver speeding past me? Maybe they’re late for work or just really impatient. The person turning around in the aisle? Maybe they forgot something or realized they were in the wrong spot. It has nothing to do with me, and honestly, that’s kind of freeing.

I remind myself of this daily. Not everything is about me. And maybe, just maybe, that’s a good thing.