Why Peace Made Me Panic

By Rebecca Townsend, with Andy beside me

How I learned to receive what I didn’t know I needed.

______________________

I always thought I wanted a safe love.

Until I found it—and realized I didn’t know how to receive it.

Not at first. Not consistently. Not without wondering what I was doing wrong
when it didn’t feel intense or all-consuming.

Because when your nervous system is wired for intensity -
when your childhood home was full of loud voices, quick tempers,
and feelings that never found soft landing -
when your body became fluent in tension before it ever learned ease -
love without conflict doesn’t feel comforting.
It feels unfamiliar.
Unsettling.
Hard to trust.

I was loved.
But I wasn’t always seen.
There was affection in my home.
But not attunement.

And when you grow up shaping yourself around what other people feel,
you can lose touch with what you need.
You learn to perform closeness.
To overfunction.
To anticipate and absorb -
not to receive.

So when Andy came into my life - steady, present, kind -
I wanted to feel safe with him.
I wanted to exhale.

But my body wasn’t sure how.

I found myself bracing.
Picking apart small things. Creating conflicts that my nervous system could resonate with.
Searching for signs of disconnection that weren’t even there.
Not because I didn’t love him.
But because my nervous system didn’t recognize steady love
as something to relax into.

Andy didn’t know any of this at the time.
How could he?
I barely did.

We both brought our stories to the table -
his marked by suppression and privacy,
mine marked by sensitivity and survival. Both wounded by chaotic endings to first marriages.

And while we didn’t always speak the same emotional language,we kept coming back to the conversation.

Slowly. Clumsily. But still coming back. Sometimes more grace-filled than others.

Because sometimes the work of love isn’t about dramatic change.
It’s about staying soft when your instinct is to shut down.
It’s about noticing when you start scanning the room for a threat that isn’t there.
It’s about learning to trust peace even if you didn’t grow up with it.

If this resonates, here’s a place to begin:

• What kind of love did your nervous system grow up expecting?
  

• How do you respond when love feels calm… but unfamiliar?
  

• Can you let ease be earned—not by struggle, but by your worthiness to receive it?
  
  

You're not broken if safety feels strange.
You're healing something ancient.
And you're allowed to take your time.