Am I in Trouble?

(Probably Not, But Tell That to My Brain)

I hate getting in trouble.

Viscerally.

The fear of doing something “wrong,” of getting caught, of someone being mad at me? It’s so baked in, I don’t even question it most days.

It’s just this background hum, like a low-grade static buzzing under the surface: Am I doing this right? Did I miss a step?

Is someone going to yell at me?

And I don’t even mean Big Trouble.

I’m not out here committing crimes. I mean the little stuff. Forgetting to send an email. Misreading an instruction. Saying something slightly too honest in a meeting and immediately feeling that flash of was that okay?

Where does that come from?

Childhood, maybe. Probably. I mean, doesn’t everything? I was a good kid. Like, capital-G Good.

The kind of Good that came from fear, not peace.

The type of Good that’s trying to stay invisible and perfect, so no one has a reason to raise their voice, withdraw love, or change the rules on you.

But also—ADHD? Let’s talk about that. Because I’ve read things (okay, fine, many things) that say ADHD brains often carry this deep fear of getting in trouble. Of being “too much,” or “not enough,” or “not doing it right.” We miss things. We try so hard. We get scolded anyway. We develop a kind of hypervigilance that’s less about rebellion and more about constantly trying to avoid the next landmine.

So is it childhood?

Is it neurodivergence?

Is it capitalism?

Sure.

But maybe also—it’s a habit. Like, an emotional habit.

A muscle I’ve been clenching for years.

What if I unclenched?

What if, instead of fear, I approached things with curiosity?

What happens if I mess this up?

Not in a catastrophic, end-of-the-world way, but in a learning way. What if “getting caught” isn’t a threat but a nudge? What if I could play more?

I keep circling back to this question: Why is fear of getting in trouble one of my core motivators? And what would happen if it weren’t?

Would I fall apart? Would I become lazy or reckless? I don’t think so. I might become more myself.

Less tense.

More honest.

More open to trying things and not immediately panicking about whether I’m allowed to.

Is it bad that fear motivates me? I don’t know. I’m not trying to label it good or bad.

It just is.

But maybe it’s time to notice it.

Hold it gently.

Ask it a few questions.

Because what if the part of me that’s afraid of getting in trouble isn’t a weakness, but just a younger version of me who’s still trying to stay safe?

And what if I’m safe now?

That’s the question.

That’s where the healing starts.