How do you work with a racing mind

Some days, my mind feels like a crowded room where everyone’s talking over each other. Thoughts pile on like laundry I swore I’d fold yesterday. I’ll be mid-conversation or halfway through dinner, and suddenly I’m spiraling through the future, the past, the what-ifs, the should-haves, and the completely random. It’s exhausting. It’s loud. And it’s real.

So how do I work with it?

I don’t have it all figured out. Some days I do better than others. But here’s my truth:

I don’t fight it anymore.

I used to get mad at myself. “Why can’t you just relax? Why can’t you shut it off like other people do?” But I’ve learned the more I resist my racing thoughts, the louder they get. So now, when my mind starts running, I try to notice instead of battle. I say, “Okay. I see you. What’s going on?” Like checking in on a friend who’s freaking out.

I write it down. Messy, unfiltered.

No grammar checks. No censoring. Just brain to page. Sometimes it’s a list of things I’m worried about. Sometimes it’s a paragraph that starts with “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” and ends with “...I just need a nap.” But it helps. It’s like giving my mind permission to spill without judgment.

I move my body.

Not for the ‘endorphins’ (though they help). I do it to reconnect with what’s real — my feet on the ground, air in my lungs, muscles waking up. Walking. Stretching. Cleaning the kitchen while blasting music. Anything to remind myself I exist outside my head.

I breathe. But not always “mindfully.”

Let’s be real — breathing exercises feel stupid sometimes when you’re anxious. But I’ve found simple helps. In for 4, out for 6. No apps. No fancy techniques. Just me, trying not to pass out while reminding myself: “You’re safe. You’re here. You’re okay.”

I lower the volume.

Nature sounds. Rain. Ocean waves. My own YouTube channel Pure Nature Tones started as therapy for myself. I needed something softer than the noise in my head. If I can’t silence my thoughts, I try to outnumber them with calm.

I accept that some nights will be hard.

There are nights I stare at the ceiling and think of every embarrassing thing I’ve ever said. Nights where the “what ifs” become movies I can’t stop playing. On those nights, I remind myself: “This will pass. It always does.” And eventually… it does.

If you have a racing mind too, I see you. It’s not weakness. It’s not failure. It’s just a sign you care deeply, feel deeply, maybe overthink deeply. But you’re not broken. And you’re not alone.