Imagine Explaining Modern Fear to a Caveman

“You see, Krog, people today feel panic when they… don’t know what they’re doing with their life.”

Meet Krog

Krog squints.

“Lost in forest?”

“No. Sitting on sofa.”

“Surrounded by wolves?”

“No. Surrounded by snacks.”

“Stabbed?”

“No.”

“Poisoned?”

“No.”

Krog pauses.

“Then… why panic?”

“Well… because they worry they’re wasting their potential.”

Krog stares.

“Potential bite?”

“No.”

“Potential steal mate?”

“No.”

“Potential burn village?”

“No.”

“Then why heart beat fast?”

“…Because they think they’re falling behind.”

Krog nods slowly.

“Your people haunted by invisible ghosts.”

And that’s kind of it, really.

We didn’t evolve for inboxes, performance reviews, or the low-level existential hum that follows us around most days.

We evolved for:

Find food.
Avoid predators.
Stay close to tribe.

Our nervous systems learned to deal with immediate, physical threats.

Modern life, on the other hand, is mostly made of conceptual ones.

What does that message mean?
Did I say the wrong thing?
Am I doing enough?
Is this all there is?
Am I behind?

Nothing is actually chasing you. But your body often reacts as if something is.

Not in a dramatic way.
Not as a personal failing.
Just as a very old system doing its best in a very new environment.

For most of human history, fear meant:

“If I get this wrong, I might die.”

Now it more often sounds like:

“If I get this wrong, I might be judged.”
“I might disappoint someone.”
“I might lose status.”
“I might not belong.”

Different language. Similar nervous system reaction.

Because once upon a time, not belonging really did put your survival at risk.

So when you imagine sending a difficult message, admitting you’re unhappy, or questioning the life you’ve built…

Your body doesn’t hear nuance.

It hears:
“Careful. You could be on your own.”

Cue tight chest.
Shallow breathing.
Racing thoughts.
The urge to avoid, fix, overthink, or disappear.

All very understandable.

Where things start to hurt more than they need to is when we turn on ourselves for having these reactions.

“This is ridiculous.”
“Other people have it worse.”
“Why can’t I just deal with this?”

So, on top of fear, we add a layer of shame.

Not only am I scared.
I’m ashamed that I’m scared.

That second layer is optional. Unpleasant, but optional.

Your nervous system isn’t trying to sabotage you. It isn’t broken. It isn’t being dramatic. It’s responding to perceived threat in the only way it knows how.

We tend to think of bravery as something bold and obvious.

Running into burning buildings.
Standing up on tables.
Grand, cinematic gestures.

Modern bravery is usually quieter.

It looks more like:

• Having a conversation you’ve been rehearsing in your head for months.

• Saying no without over-explaining.

• Admitting you’re not as fulfilled as you thought you’d be by now.

• Letting go of a version of yourself that no longer fits.

• Choosing honesty over harmony.

None of these make great movie scenes. But they ask you to move toward discomfort without a clear guarantee of safety. Which, to an ancient nervous system, is a big ask.

A small shift that can help:

Instead of:
“What’s wrong with me?”

Try:
“My body thinks something important is at stake.”

Then get curious.

Is there an actual physical danger here?

Or is this about uncertainty, belonging, identity, or change?

If it’s the second (which it usually is), you don’t need to eliminate the feeling or solve your whole life in that moment.

Sometimes it’s enough to quietly remind yourself:

“I’m here.”
“I’m breathing.”
“I can feel my feet on the floor.”
“This is uncomfortable, but I’m not in immediate danger.”

Not as a mantra. Not as positive thinking. More as orientation. Letting the system know where you actually are.

Most of what we call modern fear isn’t a sign that something is terribly wrong. It’s a sign that you’re a human with a very old nervous system trying to navigate a very abstract world.

So, if you find yourself getting scared by things that look “small” on paper…You’re not alone in that. You’re not defective. You’re responding exactly as a human would.

And learning how to meet that with a bit more understanding, rather than constant self-criticism, quietly changes everything.

 Bio:

Russ Bignell is a personal development coach based in Yorkshire, UK, working with clients both locally and internationally. He helps professionals reconnect with themselves, build emotional clarity, and create lives that feel meaningful. His work focuses on mindset, nervous system regulation, emotional resilience, burnout prevention and personal development.