Some days just… happen. Nothing special, nothing heavy.

And then there are days like today, when everything seems to get thrown off balance.

My head has been loud all day. Not in a good, productive way. Not the “oh, I’m full of ideas” kind of loud. More like the exhausting kind. The kind where your thoughts won’t line up, everything spirals for no real reason, and your brain insists on replaying stories you never asked for.

What’s strange is that, generally speaking, my mind has been pretty calm lately. Since my sessions with Jessie, there’s been more space. More quiet. So when today’s mental chaos arrived, it caught me off guard.

From the outside, I probably look fine. I’d never say these thoughts out loud, they’re just between us, okay? I like to think I’m pretty good at hiding them. But inside? My head feels like it’s completely unravelling.

Suddenly, my thoughts were spinning stories that weren’t helpful, kind, or even remotely grounded:

• I don’t spend enough time with my boys.

• How am I going to grow the business next year and still be present for them?

• What if I can’t give my family what they need?

• What if I end up letting down the people I love the most?

   

Round and round they went, relentless, repetitive, heavy. The noise wouldn’t stop. No matter how much I tried to remind myself they were just thoughts, I couldn’t seem to quiet them.

And then came the second layer of noise: Does this mean something? Is my mind trying to warn me? Tell me something important?

Even as those questions popped up, another part of me knew better. I could practically hear Jessie’s voice in my head: “Sarah, you’re trying to give meaning to thoughts that don’t need it.”

Because I know these are just thoughts. I know they’re not facts. I know they’re not predictions. I know they’re not truths about who I am as a mother, a business owner, or a human.

And yet… knowing that doesn’t always make the noise stop.

I often picture it like this: a red scribble hovering above my head. A chaotic tangle of lines, looping and twisting into itself. The more I try to analyse it, fight it, or make sense of it, the louder and heavier it feels. Jessie actually drew this for me once, and now I keep that image in my mind, it’s become how I see the chaos.

Somewhere underneath that scribble is the blue dot - the calm, grounded place. The part of me that observes instead of panics. The part that knows this storm will pass.

Today, though, I couldn’t quite reach it. I kept telling myself: Just calm down. Listen to the blue dot. Stop engaging. But if I’m honest, I was still very much stuck inside my thoughts.

Then came the steady reminder, the one I keep practicing, even when it’s hard:

These thoughts aren’t telling me anything. They’re not instructions. They’re not warnings. They’re not prophecies. They’re simply mental noise passing through. And the moment I try to assign meaning to them, I pour fuel on the fire. That red scribble grows thicker, darker, and louder.

So instead, I’m trying something different. I’m letting the thoughts come and go. I’m not arguing with them, or pulling them apart, or trying to fix them. I’m just noticing them… and then (as best I can) choosing not to chase them. Some days that actually comes pretty easily. Other days, like today, it’s something I have to keep choosing, over and over again.

But here’s what I’m reminding myself:

A noisy mind doesn’t mean I’m failing.
A hard day doesn’t erase the progress I’ve made.
And thoughts, no matter how convincing, are still just thoughts.

Tomorrow, the noise may quiet again. Or it may not. Either way, I don’t need to solve it.

I just need to keep coming back to the blue dot.

Again. And again. And again. 🩵