My Body Is Sitting Down. My Brain Is Still Doing Laps.

I can spend an entire day doing absolutely nothing and somehow still feel exhausted. Apparently nobody told my brain that sitting down means we're supposed to be resting.

There are days when everything is okay.

Actually okay.

Nobody is actively falling apart. Nothing terrible has happened. The house is standing. Everyone is alive. The dogs are fine. I might even wake up in a genuinely good mood and think:

Today's going to be a good day.

And then my brain wakes up.

Don't get too comfortable.

Excuse me?

Nothing is wrong.

Yeah, but something could be.

My body can sit down while my brain keeps running through everything I need to remember, fix, check, and do. 🌸

And there it is.

I don't have trouble being happy.

I have trouble trusting happiness enough to relax inside of it.

Because I've had plenty of good days turn bad for absolutely ridiculous reasons.

A dog jumps on me.

I walk into a room and see clothes randomly lying on the floor.

Someone says something with a slightly different tone.

Someone looks at me differently.

That's it.

Sometimes that's all it takes for my brain to go:

What's wrong?

Are they mad?

Did I do something?

Is something about to happen?

And the funny thing is, the moment usually passes.

The dog gets down.

The clothes are still on the floor living their best life.

Nobody was actually mad.

And I'm happy again.

But my brain?

She's still in the back taking notes.

My Brain Is a Funny Little Guy

I've tried to figure out exactly what my brain thinks it's protecting me from.

The answer?

Apparently everything.

Good days have turned into bad days before.

I've gotten excited about plans only for something to come up.

And relaxing?

HA.

Let's not even go there.

I'm not entirely convinced relaxing exists in my house—or my head.

I can purposely decide I'm doing absolutely nothing for the day.

I'll go into my room, put on a show, get comfortable and binge-watch episode after episode.

From the outside?

Girl is RESTING.

Inside my head?

I need to take the dogs out.

Wait. Did I feed them?

Did I switch the laundry?

Was there somebody I was supposed to call today?

What time is it?

I should probably get up.

Did somebody need something?

Oh! I forgot about—

Wait.

What was I thinking about?

And sometimes there are so many thoughts happening at the same time that I can't even explain one of them properly.

I know what I'm trying to say.

It's in there.

Somewhere.

But when I try to get it out?

Toddler.

“It's the thing because the other thing and then I was going to—but you know what I mean.”

No.

Nobody knows what I mean.

I barely know what I mean.

Anyone else like that?

Who knows.

I just know my brain is always go, go, go.

Mental Exhaustion: Sitting Down Isn't the Same as Resting

I think that's something I'm finally starting to understand.

My body can stop without my mind stopping.

I can lie in bed.

I can sit on the couch.

I can watch television for six hours.

I can scroll my phone.

I can technically accomplish absolutely nothing.

And still be mentally exhausted by the end of the day.

Because somewhere in the background, I'm keeping track of everything.

The house.

The dogs.

The laundry.

The phone calls.

What needs done today.

What needs done tomorrow.

What I forgot yesterday.

What someone asked me about three days ago.

And God forbid I actually forget something.

Which happens.

A LOT.

My memory has always been something I've struggled with, and the older I get, the harder it feels to keep everything straight.

But forgetting something from three days ago is one thing.

Forgetting something I was supposed to do five freaking minutes ago?

Oh, I'm pissed.

Not at anybody else.

At myself.

Are you freaking kidding me?

How did you forget that already?

And then my brain apparently decides the appropriate solution to forgetting things because it's overwhelmed...

is to try even harder to remember absolutely everything.

Excellent strategy.

No notes.

If I Don't Keep Track of Everything, Who Will?

That's the part underneath all of this that I don't always like admitting.

I feel responsible for remembering everything.

And I'm not only hard on myself about it.

I'm like this with other people too.

If I ask someone to do something, in my brain that means:

Please do this now.

Not tomorrow.

Not six hours from now.

Not after you've completed seventeen side quests and forgotten the original mission.

Now.

Because if I walk back through later and see that thing still sitting there?

Something inside me starts twitching.

Then eventually comes the sentence I'm sure has never caused resentment in a household before:

“Never mind. I'll just do it myself.”

And I do.

The problem is that every time I do that, my brain gets another little piece of evidence.

See?

Good thing you remembered.

If you weren't keeping track of everything, it wouldn't get done.

And around and around we go.

I remember everything because I feel responsible for everything.

I get overwhelmed trying to remember everything.

I forget something because I'm overwhelmed.

I get angry at myself for forgetting.

Then I convince myself I need to keep even better track of everything.

My body is sitting down.

Meanwhile my brain is on lap 47.

Even Help Doesn't Always Feel Like Rest

Here's the part where I have to call myself out.

Because I've had people take over.

I've had the opportunity to step back and let somebody else handle things.

And do you know what happened?

It drove me absolutely freaking insane.

Not because they did a terrible job.

Not because I wasn't grateful.

Not even because they necessarily did anything wrong.

They just didn't do it...

the way I do it.

And logically, I know that's ridiculous.

Nobody is going to do everything exactly like me because they aren't me.

My brain understands this.

My brain can even be very mature about it:

Be grateful. They helped you.

Absolutely.

Thank you.

I appreciate you.

That was wonderful.

I'll fix it later.

😂

So technically the task left my hands.

But it never actually left my brain.

Instead of:

I need to do that.

It becomes:

Remember to check that later.

Which means even when someone takes something off my plate, sometimes I quietly put it right back on.

What If Someone Thinks My House Is Gross?

Cleaning is probably one of the biggest examples of how my brain works.

I take a lot of pride in keeping my house clean.

I genuinely like having a clean home.

But I also feel like I have to clean it every day.

Whether it needs it or not.

Because here come the thoughts:

What if someone comes over?

What if they think it's gross?

What if it smells like dog?

And considering there are dogs living here, apparently my brain considers the possibility that my house might occasionally smell like one a five-alarm emergency.

So, I've developed a foolproof system:

Clean every day and nobody can ever think that.

Problem solved!

Except...

What happens on the day I don't feel like cleaning?

What happens if I'm tired?

What happens if the laundry stays where it is?

What happens if someone walks into my house and discovers shocking evidence that human beings and animals actually live here?

That's where I start realizing there is a difference between:

I take pride in my home.

and

I don't feel like I'm allowed to stop maintaining it.

I don't want to stop caring.

I don't want to stop keeping my home clean.

I don't want to stop taking care of my family or the things I'm responsible for.

I just want caring about everything to stop requiring me to think about everything, all the time.

Maybe My Brain Isn't Looking for Silence

For a long time, I think I've assumed I needed to figure out how to “turn my brain off.”

People say things like that.

Just relax.

Don't worry about it.

It can wait.

Okay.

Could somebody please forward those instructions directly to my brain?

Because apparently, she wasn't included in the group chat.

But maybe silence isn't really what I'm looking for.

Maybe my brain doesn't need to stop thinking completely.

Maybe it needs to believe everything won't fall apart if it stops paying attention for five minutes.

That the laundry can sit.

That someone else can remember.

That something can be done differently than I would've done it and still be done.

That I can forget something without treating myself like I've committed an unforgivable crime.

That a good day doesn't need to be inspected for signs of an incoming bad one.

That I don't always need to be on standby.

And that brings me to something I didn't realize until I really thought about it.

I Actually Know What Rest Feels Like

The beach.

That's it.

If you ask me what real rest looks like—not Pinterest rest, not bubble baths, not binge-watching Netflix while mentally reorganizing my entire life—

the beach.

Sitting there listening to the waves crash against each other.

There's something about it that feels peaceful.

Grounding.

Almost illuminating.

And it's one of the only times I can remember my brain actually being...

quiet.

Maybe it's because the waves don't need anything from me.

I don't have to remember when the next one is coming.

I don't have to make sure they're doing their job.

I don't have to remind the ocean to do something I asked it to do six hours ago.

I don't have to wonder if the beach smells like dog.

And I definitely don't have to redo the ocean because somebody didn't do it the way I would've done it.

The waves just keep coming.

And for once, there is nothing for me to manage.

Nothing to remember.

Nothing to fix.

Nothing to anticipate.

Nothing to check.

The ocean just exists.

And for a little while...

so do I.

Maybe That's What Rest Really Is

Maybe rest isn't sitting still.

I've done plenty of that while my brain ran a marathon.

Maybe rest isn't doing nothing, either.

Because apparently I am perfectly capable of doing nothing while simultaneously thinking about everything.

Maybe rest is that rare moment when I don't feel responsible for what happens next.

And I don't know how to bring the ocean home with me.

I don't know how to make my brain stop doing laps every time my body sits down.

I'm probably still going to clean my house.

I'm probably still going to get irritated when someone doesn't do something when I ask.

I'm definitely still going to walk into rooms and forget why the hell I'm there.

And I'm probably going to continue occasionally explaining my thoughts like a toddler who just discovered nouns.

I'm working on it.

But maybe the goal isn't becoming someone who doesn't care.

Maybe it's learning that I don't have to be mentally on duty every second just because I care deeply.

Maybe everything doesn't need my attention at the exact same time.

Maybe something can wait.

Maybe somebody else can handle it.

Maybe a good moment can simply be a good moment without me asking what's coming to ruin it.

And maybe every once in a while, I can let myself exist without accomplishing, remembering, checking, fixing or preparing for the next thing.

Just for five minutes.

My body can sit down.

Maybe someday...

my brain will learn how to sit beside me. 🌊🌸

Beautifully Overwhelmed is for the people whose bodies are exhausted because their brains never seem to clock out. You don't have to solve everything tonight. Maybe just let one thing wait until tomorrow.

And if all else fails? Apparently we need a beach. 😂🌊☕️