I Don’t Have to Respond to Every Thought I Have

I used to think every thought I had deserved my full attention.

Like it was knocking politely, clipboard in hand, saying,
Hi, yes, important message, you’ll want to sit down for this.

Spoiler:
Most of them were not important.
They were just loud.

A random worry would show up and I’d immediately lean in.
Analyze it.
Expand it.
Invite its friends.

By the end, I wasn’t just anxious — I was hosting a conference.

What surprised me was how convincing my thoughts sounded.

They spoke with urgency.
With authority.
With the tone of someone who knew what they were talking about.

You should be doing more.
This isn’t enough.
You’re behind again.
This feeling means something is wrong.

And I believed them — not because they were true, but because they were familiar.

I assumed if a thought showed up, it must be relevant.
If it felt intense, it must be important.
If it scared me, I should probably listen closely.

At no point did I stop to consider that maybe my brain was just… noise-generating.

You know.
Like brains do.

The shift didn’t happen because I learned to think positively.
Or because I mastered my mindset.
Or because I suddenly became calm and enlightened.

It happened when I realized I was allowed to not engage.

I didn’t have to argue with every thought.
I didn’t have to fix it.
I didn’t have to figure out what it “meant.”

I could just… not answer.

A worried thought could pass through without me opening a Google Doc.
A self-critical thought could show up without me putting it on trial.
A dramatic inner monologue could run its course without me starring in it.

This felt almost illegal at first.

Like ignoring a ringing phone.
Like leaving a message unread.
Like being irresponsible with my own mind.

But nothing bad happened.

The world didn’t collapse.
I didn’t fall apart.
Life didn’t punish me for not engaging.

The thoughts just… moved on.

Not all of them.
Some still linger.
Some still try to pull me in.

But I no longer assume that every mental alarm is an emergency.

Some thoughts are just habits.
Some are echoes.
Some are leftover stress with nowhere to go.

And I don’t owe them my energy.

That realization didn’t make me fearless.
It made me quieter.

And quieter, it turns out, feels a lot like relief.