I Just Want My Brain to Be Quiet for a Minute

Tonight I'm sitting in my office longer than I probably should.

The house is quiet in the way houses become quiet after a long day. Not silent exactly. Houses are never silent. There is always something if you really listen. A floor settling somewhere down the hall. The dryer making that same mysterious thump it's been making for years. The dog shifting positions and sighing dramatically, it's tough being a dog sometimes.

It's late enough that nobody needs anything from me.

At least not right now.

The emails can wait until tomorrow. The calendar can wait until tomorrow. The dishes that didn't quite make it into the dishwasher can wait until tomorrow too.

Outside, June has changed its mind again.

A few days ago I was convinced summer had finally arrived. The garden was planted, the tomatoes were in the ground, and the pepper plants were finally where they belonged. Everything looked hopeful in the way gardens always do at the beginning, before weather and rabbits and reality have had a chance to get involved.

The days were warm. The evenings stretched a little longer. It felt like we'd finally turned the corner.

Then the temperature dropped.

The air turned cool again.

And now, like every Wisconsin gardener this time of year, I've found myself checking the forecast and my zucchini plants more often than I'd like to admit. Not obsessively, well ok, maybe a bit obsessively. Enough though, that I've caught myself opening the weather app while waiting for coffee to brew or in between sessions. Aching to go check the soil.

Part of me keeps looking for reassurance.

The tomatoes will probably be fine.

The peppers will probably be fine.

The garden will most likely survive whatever weather it will be this year.

And sitting here tonight, I don't think I'm only talking about the garden.

I think the garden just happens to be the thing my brain attached itself to this week.

Because that's what sometimes happens.

It finds something to watch. Something to monitor. Something to try to stay ahead of. Something manageable enough to worry about.

And the longer I sit here writing, the more I realize that most of us don't think of this as anxiety.

We experience it as responsibility.

That's what makes it so hard to see.

If someone asked me whether I was anxious about the garden, I'd probably say no. Concerned, maybe. Paying attention.

Being proactive...trying to stay ahead of a problem before it becomes a bigger problem.

All very reasonable things.

But that's the thing about anxiety...too many of us learned that constantly monitoring life wasn't anxiety at all. It was adulthood.

It was what capable people do.

You remember the appointments.

You stay ahead of the deadlines.

You think about things now so they don't become emergencies later. Not just for yourself but for those around you.

You keep track of what needs tracking.

You stay prepared and aware.

From the outside, it looks responsible and will often get praised if not rewarded somehow (often with more work).

But living that way for years can be exhausting, especially when it becomes so automatic you no longer realize you're doing it.

Maybe you even stop noticing how much energy it takes because you've adapted to just doing it.

And maybe that's why so many women find themselves lying in bed completely exhausted while their minds are somehow still running.

Your body is done for the day.

Your eyes are heavy.

Your shoulders ache.

And then, as if someone flips a switch, your brain decides this would be an excellent time to revisit every unfinished corner of your life.

Not just the important things.

Everything.

The appointment next Thursday.

The email you forgot to answer.

The thing you need to remember tomorrow.

The gift you still need to order.

The conversation that didn't quite go the way you wanted it to.

The mildly awkward interaction from Tuesday that nobody else remembers but your brain has apparently decided deserves additional review.

I've always found that part fascinating.

All day long we're busy enough to keep moving. We're answering questions, solving problems, taking care of people, responding to messages, making decisions, handling responsibilities.

Then the moment there is finally a little bit of space, all the things we've been holding onto in the background seem to step forward all at once and ask for our attention.

It's almost as if the mind waits until the noise dies down before showing us everything it never got around to processing.

Eventually you fall asleep.

Or maybe "fall asleep" isn't quite the right phrase. Sometimes it feels more like your body finally wins an argument your brain has been trying to continue. You just crash, not even realizing you fell asleep til morning. Well lo and behold, you wake up still tired. So tired. And that used to be confusing to me. Because I slept, on paper, I should feel rested. I shouldn't feel like I just worked a full shift.

Why does your mind feel busy before your feet hit the floor?

Why does it feel like you're carrying something heavy before anything has actually happened?

For a long time I assumed the problem was the thoughts themselves. If I could just get my mind to be even a little less loud. Stop overthinking or get more organized. More disciplined. More efficient. If I could just be more. Then maybe I could get caught up and feel better. Maybe then I could rest.

Then maybe I could finally breathe.

But the older I get, the less convinced I am that the thoughts are actually the problem.

I think they're often a clue, information.

Because what if your brain isn't refusing to slow down?

What if it's trying very hard to keep you safe?

What if all that monitoring and remembering and planning isn't happening because your mind is broken, but because somewhere along the way of life your nervous system learned that paying attention is what keeps things okay? And that's been sitting with me lately. Especially when I look at the women I know.

They carry households and careers and relationships and friendships and aging parents and growing children and volunteer commitments and work deadlines and all the invisible responsibilities nobody else seems to notice. Not because they want to do it all. Not because they are trying to. Not because they have something to prove. But because at some point it just became who they are...the one who notices and remembers and follows up with everyone, who catches the problem before it becomes a problem (if they are listened to).

And after enough years of being that person, it becomes difficult to tell the difference between what is actually yours to carry and what you've simply gotten used to carrying.

I think that's why so many women end up exhausted in ways that are difficult to explain.

From the outside, life may look completely manageable. Nothing is actively falling apart. Nothing looks to be in crisis. There's nothing major anyone can really point to to say "oh well of course you're overwhelmed".

It's remembering the birthday gift while answering the email while mentally planning dinner while trying not to forget the appointment you need to schedule next week and remind the people who need to be reminded in a timeframe that's helpful for them to be reminded.

And after a while, your mind becomes less like a mind and more like a storage unit.

Everybody's schedules live there. Everybody's needs. Everybody's preferences. Everybody's responsibilities.

The form that needs to be signed. The thing your partner asked you to remind them about. The task nobody explicitly assigned to you but somehow became yours anyway.

None of these things feel particularly heavy by themselves.

But then again, a single grocery bag doesn't feel heavy either.

It's carrying twenty of them at once that leaves marks on your hands and your muscles mysteriously aching.

When I look around, I don't see women who aren't strong enough.

I see women who have become so accustomed to carrying extraordinary amounts of responsibility that they've stopped noticing how heavy it is. And wonder why they are weak. Because you've gotten good at carrying all the things and somehow people think that makes it light. But it isn't. It's heavy and it's costing you something. So, that question Why won't my brain stop thinking? When I listen closely, what I hear underneath that question is something else.

Something softer...and sadder.

I hear:

I wish I didn't have to carry so much.

Not I wish I thought less.

I wish I didn't have to carry so much.

And those are very different things. One is about thoughts. The other is about burden. And burden changes the conversation.

Because if your mind is carrying an entire household, a demanding job, emotional labor, family responsibilities, and years of believing you're responsible for making sure everything runs smoothly, then of course it's busy.

Of course it's scanning. Of course it's keeping track. Of course it's struggling to rest.

That's what burden does.

It creates vigilance.

Not because you're broken. But because you're trying to protect what matters.

Lately I've found myself wondering if what so many exhausted women are actually craving isn't silence.

It's relief.

Relief from feeling responsible for everything.

Because maybe your brain isn't actually asking for a completed to-do list (but wouldn't that be nice?).

Maybe it's asking for proof that you don't have to do everything you think you do.

Maybe it's asking for permission to leave the email unanswered til tomorrow or for a few days. Permission to let someone else remember or let it just be forgotten. Maybe even permission to disappoint someone or to optimize every single moment of your life. Permission to be a human. Not a system. A human.

So I don't know that what we want is silence exactly.

But...Safety.

Because a nervous system that feels safe doesn't have to monitor everything all the time. It doesn't have to keep dozens of background tabs open. It doesn't have to remain alert waiting for the next demand.

It can soften.

Maybe not forever.

Maybe not completely.

But enough to exhale and loosen its grip.

Tonight, as I finish writing this, the air outside is still cool.

The garden will either be fine or it won't.

Tomorrow will arrive whether I spend the next three hours worrying about it or not.

The list still exists.

It always will.

But sitting here in the quiet of my office, with the dryer still thumping somewhere down the hall, I can feel my shoulders drop a little.

And my jaw loosen.

Not because everything is handled.

Not because I've finally gotten ahead (pah!).

But because for a few minutes I've stopped demanding those things from myself.

And honestly, that feels a lot closer to rest than crossing off one more task ever has.

If any of this felt familiar and if you're curious, I made a short quiz to help you figure out why.

It takes two minutes and it might give you language and understanding for what you are going through and why you are feeling the way you do.

→ Why Am I So Tired?

You don't have to figure it all out tonight.

— Julia