Apparently we have a new relationship term to worry about.
Fantastic.
Because dating wasn’t already confusing enough.
I recently came across the phrase “weaponized anxiety,” which immediately made me roll my eyes a little because the internet has reached the point where every mildly annoying thing another human does gets a diagnostic-sounding name.
But then I read about it.
And I was like:
Oh.
Ohhhhhhh.
Because unlike some of the nonsense relationship vocabulary floating around TikTok, this one describes a dynamic I absolutely recognize.
And here is the part I need everyone to understand before we go any further:
Bro. I have anxiety too.
I have anxiety. I have responsibilities. I have a job. I have a house. I have people who depend on me. I have approximately fourteen thousand things happening at any given moment.
Sometimes things make me anxious.
And then — this is going to sound completely bananas — I still have to do them.
That distinction suddenly feels incredibly important to me.
So What Is “Weaponized Anxiety?”
First, this is not a clinical diagnosis. It’s internet relationship language, and even the therapists quoted in Scary Mommy’s recent piece about the term disagree with the wording because “weaponized” can imply deliberate intent when the pattern may be unconscious.
The basic idea is that someone’s anxiety is real, but over time it starts functioning like a trump card in the relationship.
“I can’t call them. Phone calls give me anxiety.”
“I can’t handle the finances. It overwhelms me.”
“We can’t talk about this right now. You’re making me anxious.”
“I can’t go there.”
“I can’t deal with that.”
“I can’t make that decision.”
Individually, any one of those things could be completely reasonable.
The problem is what happens next.
Because if every single “I can’t” becomes “so you have to,” congratulations: we have identified the issue.
The therapists in that Scary Mommy story describe exactly this kind of pattern: genuine distress gradually becomes a reason the other partner takes over responsibilities, changes plans or stops uncomfortable conversations.
And that is the part that hit me.
Because Where Does Accommodation End And Caretaking Begin?
There is actual psychological research around something called family accommodation.
Basically, somebody you love is anxious, so you naturally try to make their life easier.
You reassure them.
You avoid the thing that makes them nervous.
You handle something for them.
You alter your routine.
Totally normal loving-person behavior.
Except research has found that when accommodation becomes a system, it can reinforce avoidance instead of helping someone learn that they can handle the feared situation. A 2025 study on family accommodation across the lifespan found it was common among both adults and children receiving intensive treatment for anxiety or OCD, and described reassurance, avoidance and changing routines as common forms of accommodation.
That does not mean supporting an anxious partner is bad.
It means there is a difference between support and building an entire household around making sure one adult never has to feel uncomfortable.
And suddenly one partner isn’t supporting another person with anxiety.
They’re running both people’s lives around it.
That feels very different.
And This Is Where My Last Marriage Is Messing With My Head
Here’s what I’m trying to figure out now that I’m dating again.
I don’t want to become cynical.
I don’t want somebody to tell me they’re anxious about something and have my immediate reaction be, Sure you are, buddy. Go make the phone call.
That’s shitty.
People deserve compassion.
I deserve compassion.
But I also never, ever want to end up in another relationship where another adult’s emotional state quietly becomes my full-time responsibility.
That’s the thing I keep coming back to.
I can absolutely love someone who has anxiety.
Of course I can.
I have anxiety.
What I don’t think I can do anymore is be with someone whose anxiety eventually means I have to become their scheduler, emotional regulator, conflict manager, problem solver, social secretary and emotional-support Golden Retriever.
I have already discovered that I am very capable of overfunctioning in a relationship.
Five stars.
Excellent skill.
Do not recommend.
So How Do You Spot This Early?
This is what I’ve been thinking about the most.
Because nobody walks into a first date and says:
“Hi, I’m Brad. I enjoy hiking, IPAs and slowly transferring every adult responsibility in my life onto my girlfriend.”
It happens gradually.
So I think the thing I’m watching now isn’t whether someone has anxiety.
It’s what they do with it.
For example:
Can this person be uncomfortable without making their discomfort everybody else’s emergency?
That feels huge.
Maybe making a phone call gives you anxiety.
Okay.
Do you say, “Phone calls make me anxious, so give me ten minutes and I’ll do it”?
Or do you hand me your phone?
Those are two very different relationships.
Another Red Flag: Anxiety Ends Every Difficult Conversation
This one might be even bigger for me.
Relationships require uncomfortable conversations.
There is no version where two adults build an entire life together and nobody ever gets upset.
So if every disagreement eventually turns into:
“This is too much.”
“You’re triggering me.”
“I can’t talk about this.”
“You’re making my anxiety worse.”
…what happens to the original problem?
Because taking a break from a hard conversation can be healthy.
Never returning to it isn’t.
“I need twenty minutes and then let’s finish this” is one thing.
“This conversation makes me anxious, therefore we aren’t having it” is something completely different.
That means anxiety has effectively been given veto power.
And I’m not building another life where one person’s feelings automatically outrank the other person’s needs.
I’m Also Watching What Happens When I Say No
I actually think this might be one of the best dating tests there is.
Not in some weird manipulative way.
Just… watch.
You don’t have to rescue somebody from every inconvenience.
You don’t have to immediately solve every problem.
You don’t have to smooth every uncomfortable moment.
And then you get to see what happens.
Do they figure it out?
Do they ask for reasonable support?
Do they tolerate being uncomfortable?
Or does their distress keep escalating until you finally give in and do whatever they wanted?
Because that tells you something.
Not necessarily that they’re malicious.
That’s important.
The person doing this may genuinely be anxious. They may not even realize they’ve trained everybody around them to eliminate discomfort for them.
But unconscious doesn’t automatically mean harmless.
The effect on the other person still counts.
Weaponized Incompetence Has The Same Problem
This is why the comparison to weaponized incompetence makes so much sense.
Cleveland Clinic describes weaponized incompetence as a pattern where someone avoids or refuses a task by claiming they don’t know how to do it — or doing it so poorly that someone else takes over. The important distinction isn’t whether someone struggles once. It’s whether the pattern keeps shifting responsibility to somebody else without any real effort to improve.
The part that matters isn’t:
“Are you good at this?”
It’s:
“Are you taking responsibility for becoming capable of handling your own life?”
And I think anxiety works the same way.
Your anxiety might explain why something is harder for you.
It doesn’t automatically make that thing somebody else’s job.
That sentence right there might be my entire dating philosophy now.
Here Is The Green Flag I Actually Want
I don’t need somebody who never struggles.
God, how exhausting would that guy be?
I don’t need somebody without baggage.
I certainly cannot demand that.
What I want is somebody who can say:
“This is hard for me, but it’s mine.”
That is hot.
Seriously.
“This conversation makes me anxious, but I want to finish it.”
Hot.
“I hate making appointments, so I’m doing it online.”
Hot.
“I need a minute to calm down, and then I’ll come back.”
EXTREMELY HOT.
“I screwed that up. I’m sorry. I’ll fix it.”
Sir.
Where have you been?
Because that is the difference I think I’m looking for.
Not perfect emotional regulation.
Ownership.
Anxiety Isn’t The Red Flag. Making Me Responsible For It Is.
That’s where I’ve landed.
I don’t think someone’s anxiety is a reason not to date them.
That would be incredibly hypocritical of me.
But I absolutely think I need to pay attention when someone’s coping strategy consistently requires me to become smaller, quieter, busier or more responsible.
If your anxiety means we occasionally change plans?
Sure.
If your anxiety means I can never make plans you don’t like?
No.
If you need reassurance sometimes?
Human.
If I become responsible for keeping you reassured at all times?
Absolutely not.
If you need a break during an argument?
Same.
If every disagreement ends because your anxiety outranks whatever I needed to say?
Nope.
I think that’s the line.
And after my last marriage, maybe this is the question I should have been asking all along:
Can you have feelings without making me responsible for fixing them?
Because I can love someone.
I can support someone.
I can be incredibly compassionate about somebody’s anxiety.
But I don’t want another adult to hand me their entire emotional life and call that intimacy.
I have my own shit to carry.
And, bro.
I have a job.
