We all have one, don’t we? That familiar layer of self-consciousness, comparison, or blame we pull tight around ourselves when life feels raw.
It’s clever, in a way. Insecurity gives us something to do. It offers a known distraction from the present moment, a way to avoid feeling what’s here—especially when what’s here feels uncomfortable or painful.
The mind whispers: Stay small. Stay hidden. Wrap up in what you already know. Even if that blanket chafes and overheats, it feels safer than the unknown. The devil you know, right?
We’re quick to treat our insecurities as proof of some personal failing, piling shame on top of self-judgment. But what if insecurity isn’t evidence of brokenness at all? What if it’s just an old, automatic defense—one every human mind learns early?
Somewhere back in childhood, something felt too big, too new, or too unsafe. It might not have been a capital-T trauma, but to a small nervous system, it was overwhelming. So the mind stepped in, stitched together a belief, and wrapped you up tight. It promised: If you hold onto this story about yourself—if you stay vigilant, stay self-critical—you’ll be safe.
This is what minds do. They turn life’s roller coaster into a pretend tramline, trying to make the unpredictable seem steady. They create the illusion of control, permanence, and a separate self that must be protected at all costs.
And yet, the deeper truth—what you sense in the quiet spaces between thoughts—is that who you really are can’t be annihilated. Presence itself is never in danger.
Seeing this doesn’t require fixing anything. It’s not about erasing insecurity or earning worthiness. It’s about recognizing insecurity as one of the ego’s many old tricks. You can notice it, even appreciate the protection it once offered, and also see that it may be too hot, too heavy, or too confining now.
Maybe your insecurity blanket has simply outlived its purpose. Maybe you’ve outgrown it.
And maybe, when the next wave of self-doubt rises, you can gently loosen your grip. You can let the fresh air in, feel what’s here without the extra layer, and discover that even without the blanket—you’re already safe, already whole, already home.