Storm Season: Why Stillness Feels More Dangerous Than the Storm

March is storm season.

You can feel it before it hits.

The air shifts.
Phones light up with weather alerts. People check the radar.

Walk into Kroger when a big storm is predicted.

Water gone. Batteries gone. Bread wiped out.

Texans prepare.

We assume impact. We get ready.

Preparation feels responsible. It feels proactive.
It feels smart.

Now look at your relationships.

How often do you do the same thing?

You anticipate.
You brace.
You assume something is coming.

Because if you expect it, you won’t be blindsided. At least that’s the logic.

Living in Radar Mode

Preparation protects you from real danger. Assumption often creates it.
In relationships, anticipation becomes scanning.

You monitor tone. You analyze silence. You look for shifts. You brace for impact.

Clear skies don’t relax you.
Clear skies make you suspicious. And when nothing happens?
You feel unsettled.
That’s not just emotional.
It’s neurological.

Your Central Nervous System Doesn’t Like Neutral

When your brain perceives threat — real or imagined — your central nervous system activates the fight-or-flight response.

Adrenaline increases. Cortisol rises.
Heart rate elevates. Focus narrows.

You feel alert. Engaged. Ready.

If you grew up around unpredictability, this state may have been normal.

Chronic early stress recalibrates baseline threat detection. The body becomes accustomed to heightened arousal.

Calm doesn’t feel safe.
Calm feels unfamiliar.
And unfamiliar feels dangerous. So when there is no storm? Your system may look for one. Or create one.

The Storm Chaser Effect

There are people who don’t run from storms. They chase them.
Because the rush feels powerful.
That same mechanism operates relationally.

Conflict spikes cortisol and adrenaline. It sharpens focus.
It creates urgency.
It makes you feel alive.

For some nervous systems, intensity feels more regulating than peace. So when things are calm?
They create something.

A comment.
A confrontation. A suspicion.
A test.

Not because they love chaos.
Because their system has learned to operate there.

Wanting vs. Liking: Why You Chase What You Don’t Enjoy

Here’s where it gets even more important.

Your brain has two separate pathways:

Wanting and Liking.

“Wanting” is driven largely by dopamine — it creates motivation and pursuit. “Liking” is the actual pleasure or satisfaction once something happens.

You can want something intensely… Even if you don’t actually enjoy it. That’s how addictive patterns work.

You may not like the arguments. You may not like the fallout. You may not like the tension.

But your brain may still want the stimulation.

The arousal.
The intensity.
The clarity drama brings.

Over time, your system can become conditioned to seek the rush — even when the experience itself is exhausting.

Understanding this explains the pattern. It does not excuse continuing it.

The People You Keep in the Room

Stillness removes distraction.
It also removes blame.
When it’s quiet, there’s nobody to point at. Unless you keep them there.

A parent.
An ex.
A betrayal.
A childhood dynamic.

You replay them.
You justify yourself because of them. You defend your reactions through them.

“They made me this way.”
“This is how I learned to survive.”

Maybe they shaped you.
But at some point, survival becomes a choice. You don’t just remember the past.
You rehearse it.
And then you recreate it.

Some Storms Happen. Some Storms You Start.

Real crises are unavoidable.

Emotional storms are often initiated.

After the apology.
After the reassurance. After things calm down.

Can you let it stay calm?

Or do you introduce tension?

Do you reopen what was resolved? Introduce doubt?
Light another match?

No one else started that second storm. That choice was yours.

Chaos Distracts. Stillness Reveals.

In chaos you feel:

• Engaged
• Alert
• Energized

In stillness you feel:

• Vulnerable
• Exposed
• Alone

Chaos keeps your nervous system activated.
Stillness asks you to regulate without stimulation.
Storm season will pass.

The storms that shaped you may not have been your choice. The environments you adapted to may not have been safe. But the patterns you continue are yours.

You may not control the storms that shaped you but you do control whether you keep recreating them.

When the sky clears and the room is quiet, Will you create thunder, or will you let it be still?