The clock reads 2:37 AM, its red digits cutting through the darkness. Exhaustion settles in, yet the mind stays awake. Eyes flutter shut, searching for stillness, as thoughts refuse to quiet.
A comment from days ago resurfaces—uninvited, unshaken. Its edges are still sharp, its weight still pressing. It plays on repeat, as crisp and stinging as the moment it first left someone else’s lips.
Now, it loops endlessly in the silence. Unfinished conversations, unanswered texts, the email that took too long to send—things once brushed aside now feel heavier. Sleep drifts further away.
Overthinking creeps in like a slow-building storm. The air grows heavy, charged with static, as though rain is imminent. Thoughts surge, louder and more pressing. Small moments twist, stretch, and take on new weight. Peace unravels, bit by bit.
A quote resurfaces: “The storms in my mind ruin the gardens of my soul.” The mind turns on itself, spinning reason into endless What ifs? What now? Does this even matter?
The weight is exhausting. For years, only two options felt possible:
- Push the thoughts away. Shake them off. Keep moving.
- Drown them out. Stay busy. Fill every moment with noise, work, distractions.
Still, silence creeps in, slipping through the cracks when things slow. The mind resists, but a few things help.
Give It a Name.
Uncertainty looms largest when it stays undefined. Naming it—This is anxiety. This is doubt. This is regret.—shrinks it down to something manageable.
Stop Wrestling With It.
Pushing thoughts away only makes them louder. Sitting with them, acknowledging them without chasing them, takes away their power. At first, it’s uncomfortable. Over time, the discomfort fades.
Let the Storm Do Its Work.
Not every storm destroys. Some uproot what no longer belongs. Others carve new paths where there once were none. When the noise settles, what remains might be what truly mattered all along.
In the stillness of sleepless hours, the storm itself isn’t the most exhausting part. It’s the resistance. The harder the mind pushes back, the louder the thoughts become. Staring at the ceiling, replaying moments that shouldn’t matter but somehow do. The more the mind tries to quiet itself, the more restless it gets. The more sleep is chased, the further it drifts. At some point, exhaustion wins.
The thoughts don’t disappear, but they lose their urgency. Their edges blur. Their weight shifts. It doesn’t happen all at once. It happens in moments—between tossing and turning, between one deep breath and the next.
The storm passes, not because it was fought, but because the struggle stops. And in that quiet, sleep finally comes.
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