How Anxious Self-Talk Keeps You Stuck: What “Should,” “Always,” and “Never” Are Really Saying

Some words feel small, but they carry a heavy emotional punch.

Words like should, always, never, everything, and nothing often shape our thoughts without us realizing it. They often go unnoticed, tucked into our thoughts like background commentary. But these aren’t harmless habits of speech. They’re shortcuts our anxious brains use to feel safe and in control.

Words like always and never aren’t describing what’s happening, they’re describing how often or how certainly we think it will happen.

They offer a false sense of certainty:
“It will always be this hard.”
“You’ll never get it right.”

In a nervous system wired to avoid danger, these adverbs can feel oddly comforting. They reduce ambiguity. They make things black and white. They create the illusion of predictability, even if it’s predictably bad.

But here’s the problem: when we rely on these words to make sense of our lives, we start to shrink ourselves down to fit the story they tell.

If it’s always been this way, why bother trying?
If it never works out, why speak up or take a risk?
If I should be better by now, what’s wrong with me?

These patterns of language become more than just mental chatter, they become the rules we unconsciously live by. They become anxious self-talk, a running script of doubt and pressure that keeps us stuck.

And I know this not just from my work, but from my own life.

When “Never” Almost Cost Me the View

I’ve been going to Yosemite since I was a child. It’s one of those places that lives in your bones, the scent of pine, the thunder of waterfalls, the awe that hits you when the granite peaks catch the light just right.

And for as long as I can remember, I’ve known about the Mist Trail.

It’s famous, and for good reason. The trail winds up the side of a mountain, with steep stone steps cut into wet rock, mist from Vernal Falls drenching the path, and sharp drop-offs that test your nerves with every turn.

And for just as long, I told myself a story about that trail.

“I’ll never be able to do that.”
“I’m not someone who handles heights well.”
“I always panic in situations like that.”
“I should just stick to easier hikes.”

I passed up chances to go with friends. I stayed behind when others forged ahead. Once, I even made it to the base of the stairs, just close enough to feel the mist on my cheeks, and turned back.

The truth? I wasn’t afraid of disproving the story.

I was afraid of proving it.

I was afraid I’d panic in front of people who made it look easy.
Afraid I’d freeze halfway up.
Afraid I’d be the one who couldn’t do it, again.

Most of all, I was afraid of the shame that might come from turning around while everyone else kept climbing.

What I didn’t realize then was how much weight those anxious words, never, always, should, were quietly carrying.

Not just fear.

But judgment.

And the belief that if something felt hard for me, it meant something was wrong with me.

When the Language Shifted, So Did I

But this time was different.

I didn’t feel braver. Or stronger. Or somehow magically ready.

What felt different was the way I heard myself.

As I approached the trailhead, I noticed the familiar thoughts begin to surface:
“You should probably just skip it.”
“You always freeze up.”
“You’re never going to make it all the way.”

But instead of letting those words take over, I paused.

I took a breath.

And I asked myself, What if those thoughts aren’t the truth? What if they’re just old patterns trying to protect me?

I didn’t try to be fearless. I just decided to walk alongside the fear this time, without giving it the mic.

Instead of never, I tried not yet.
Instead of “I always panic,” I reminded myself, “Sometimes it’s hard, and I’ve handled hard things before.”
Instead of “I should be able to do this easily,” I gently said, “It’s okay that this feels big for me.”

And step by careful step, breath by shaky breath, I kept going.

I took breaks when I needed to.
I let myself go slowly.
I didn’t push the fear away, but I didn’t let it decide for me either.

And eventually, legs shaking, heart pounding, I made it to the top.

The view was breathtaking.

But what truly moved me was this quiet realization:
The only thing that had ever truly been in my way was the anxious self-talk I believed about myself.

The Words That Build the Cage

That hike taught me something I come back to often in my work, and in my own life:

Anxiety doesn’t just speak through fear. It speaks through anxious self-talk.

The words we use with ourselves, quietly, repeatedly, become the emotional framework we live inside.

Words like never, always, should, nothing, and everything don’t just describe what’s happening.

They declare what’s possible.

And when anxiety is running the show, they create the illusion of certainty, but that certainty almost always sounds like limitation.

“You’ll never be good at this.”
“You always mess it up.”
“You should be over this by now.”
“Everything is falling apart.”
“Nothing ever works out.”

This is the voice of anxious self-talk: the brain’s attempt to limit the unknown and avoid shame, but it can end up boxing us in.

Here’s the good news: once you start spotting these words, you can begin to loosen their grip.

You can meet them with curiosity instead of obedience.

You can shift them gently.

And in doing so, you can start to build a more flexible, spacious, and compassionate relationship with your thoughts.

Final Thoughts: You Are Not Your Words

That day on the Mist Trail, what changed wasn’t my fear, it was my relationship to it.

I didn’t erase my anxiety. I didn’t suddenly become someone who loves heights and slippery stairs.

But I stopped letting anxious self-talk, words like never, always, and should, narrate my story.

And that made all the difference.

Because when we begin to notice the language of anxiety, we create the tiniest crack in the old stories, just enough light to come in.

Just enough room for a new possibility.

Just enough space to move forward, even with shaky legs and a racing heart.

So if you recognize yourself in this post, if your inner world is filled with shoulds and nevers and not enoughs, please know this:

You are not alone.
You are not behind.
You are not broken.

You’re a human being with a beautifully protective mind that sometimes gets loud when it’s trying to keep you safe.

Start by noticing the words.

Gently challenge the absolutes.

Speak to yourself the way you would a beloved friend.

Because the goal isn’t to get rid of your anxious mind.

The goal is to build a kinder, wiser relationship with it.

And that, more than anything, is what allows us to keep climbing.

This site is for informational purposes only. It is not intended to diagnose or treat mental health or medical conditions, nor should it be used to do so.

Want support quieting the anxious self-talk?

I offer anxiety therapy for adults who feel stuck in overthinking, self-doubt, and inner criticism. If you’re ready to explore a gentler, more empowered relationship with yourself, click here to contact me.

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