What Hypervigilance Feels Like in a Grocery Store

Recorded by Tessa, 33, in the Notes app on her phone after she got back to her car

Most people think a grocery store is one of the most ordinary places in the world. You go in, you buy what you need, and you leave.

For me, it feels like stepping into a room where every part of my brain is trying to pay attention to everything at once.

I notice who walks in behind me. I notice who is standing too close to the entrance. I notice the man in aisle three talking too loudly on the phone, the child crying near the cereal section, the employee restocking shelves and dropping boxes hard enough to make me jump.

I tell myself I am just observant. I have called it that for years.

But observation does not feel like this.

This feels like my body has decided, before I even realize it, that there might be something to prepare for.

By the time I get a shopping cart, I am already tired.

I move through the store quickly, but not so quickly that it looks strange. I stay aware of where everyone is. I keep checking behind me. If someone turns into the same aisle I am in, I immediately become aware of how much space there is between us.

I always choose the cart that does not squeak because I do not want anyone looking at me. I avoid aisles that are too crowded. If there are too many people near the checkout, I leave and come back later, even if it means going home without what I needed.

The strange thing is that I usually look completely normal.

If you saw me in the store, you would probably think I was just shopping. Maybe a little quiet. Maybe in a hurry.

You would not know that every sound feels sharper than it should. You would not know that I have already planned three different ways to leave if I start feeling overwhelmed.

The freezer section is the worst.

The humming is loud. The lights are too bright. People always seem to stop in the middle of the aisle with their carts sideways, and suddenly there is nowhere to go.

That is usually when I start feeling trapped.

My heart beats faster. I become too aware of my breathing. I start thinking about how far away the exit is. I stop being able to focus on what I came there to buy because my entire mind is now focused on getting through it.

There are moments when I catch myself staring at something random for too long because I need something still to focus on. A row of soup cans. A price tag. The pattern on the floor.

I do this because it gives my mind one thing to hold onto instead of fifty.

Sometimes I leave with everything on my list.

Sometimes I leave halfway through because suddenly the idea of standing in one more line, making one more decision, hearing one more person say “excuse me” feels impossible.

Then I sit in my car with the engine off and wonder why something so simple feels so difficult.

For a long time, I thought there was something wrong with me. I thought I was weak, dramatic, too sensitive.

Then my therapist explained hypervigilance.

She explained that when you spend enough time in situations where you do not feel safe, your body learns to stay prepared all the time. It keeps scanning. It keeps watching. Even when there is no danger, part of you is still waiting for it.

Suddenly, so many things made sense.

Why I always sit facing the door in restaurants. Why I jump when people walk up behind me. Why I get exhausted after being in public, even when nothing bad happens.

The grocery store was never really the problem.

The problem was that my nervous system had never learned the difference between ordinary and unsafe.

Now, when I go shopping, I try to be kinder to myself. I go at quieter times. I wear headphones sometimes. I make a short list so I do not have to think as much while I am there. If I need to leave and come back another day, I let myself do that.

I am learning that there is a difference between being difficult and being overwhelmed.

I am learning that the part of me that notices everything is not broken.

It is tired.

And it has been trying to protect me for a very long time.