We all inherit things we didn’t choose.
A way of reacting. A fear that doesn’t make sense. A story that seems to replay itself in every generation.
You can feel it sometimes — in the way your temper mirrors your father’s, or how your mother’s anxiety hums quietly in your own chest.

We call it personality.
But what if it’s code?

We call it “survival.” We call it “doing our best.”
But let’s be honest—sometimes “doing our best” just means “barely holding it together with duct tape and caffeine.”
We’ve got people out here calling burnout “purpose” and anxiety “just part of the grind.” That’s not freedom—that’s a hostage situation with good branding.

Suspicion grows best in the dark.

When we’re hurt, when trust is fractured, when trauma has left its fingerprint on our souls, the temptation is to retreat. To circle the wagons. To pull back from people because people were the problem.

Isolation doesn’t just keep us “safe.” It breeds suspicion.

Suspicion whispers, “You can’t trust them. They’re out to get you. Better watch your back.” And soon, suspicion metastasizes into paranoia. Paranoia convinces us we’re discerning when, in fact, we’re simply afraid.

But the Bible tells a different story.