When My Mind Won’t Stop: Understanding the Cycles of Mental Overload

There are times when my mind becomes so loud, so relentless, that I can barely tolerate being in my own body. It feels like pressure building in my brain — a tension that grows for days or even weeks. My thoughts spiral, looping around the same problem or situation, louder and more chaotic with each passing day. I can’t focus. I can’t sleep. I’m exhausted. But I can’t stop thinking either.

Van Gogh portrait of a man in a psychiatric unit

Eventually, something gives. There’s a sudden release — like my mind finally lets go — and I gain clarity on the very thing I couldn’t stop obsessing over. The noise quiets, and I slowly return to a state of equilibrium. For a while, things feel normal again.

These episodes don’t happen randomly. They tend to arise around the things I care most deeply about: people I love, passions I’m pursuing, or situations where I feel powerless. When someone I love misunderstands me or won’t see my perspective, my brain goes into overdrive trying to “solve” it — trying to figure out how to be heard, seen, or validated. But instead of solving the problem, my mind traps me in a cycle of noise, urgency, and discomfort.

The Neuroscience Behind It

These cycles are more than emotional — they’re neurological.

The part of the brain called the Default Mode Network (DMN) becomes overactive during these episodes. The DMN is responsible for self-referential thinking — it’s where we reflect, analyze, and imagine. When overstimulated, it fuels rumination and obsessive mental chatter. In this state, the prefrontal cortex, which governs focus and regulation, starts to shut down. At the same time, the amygdala — our fear center — activates, flooding the body with stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline.

This leads to a fight-or-flight response inside my mind, even when the threat isn’t physical. It’s just me, alone with my thoughts, trying to fix something I can't control.

How Substances Played a Role

Looking back, I see now how these states of mental dysregulation were closely tied to my substance use. The chaos inside my brain was unbearable, and substances offered what felt like instant relief. They silenced the chatter, eased the pressure, and numbed the pain of feeling so unseen and powerless.

But that relief came at a cost.

Substances never solved the deeper issue — they just muted the symptoms while the root patterns grew stronger. I spent extended periods of my life caught in these cycles, using anything I could to survive them.

The Truth I’ve Learned

Now, healing and doing the deep work, I can see these obsessive loops for what they are: a sign that my nervous system is dysregulated, that I’m holding on too tightly, and that I’ve lost connection with the present moment.

These episodes still happen — I won’t pretend they don’t. But today, I understand that:

• I cannot control people.

• I cannot force someone to see me clearly.

• I cannot make anyone understand my perspective.

  
  

All I can do is let go. And letting go is one of the most powerful things I’ve ever done for my mind.

What Helps Me Now

Taking care of my brain is a full-time job. It requires boundaries, rest, movement, emotional honesty, and regulation practices that reconnect me to my body. I’ve learned to intervene early — when the first signs of looping begin — rather than waiting for the storm to reach full force.

Meditation, breathwork, journaling, nature, and nourishing relationships help me reset. Therapy and coaching provide perspective. And sometimes, I just need to step away from the problem completely and give myself permission to not have the answer.

The Gift of an Overactive Mind

Living with an intense, overactive brain isn’t all bad. It means I can think deeply, love fiercely, and care passionately. It gives me drive, vision, and creativity. But it also means I have to take responsibility for how I care for my mental health.

I share this because I know I’m not the only one who experiences these mental loops. If your brain ever feels like a storm you can’t get out of, you’re not broken — you’re human. But your healing begins when you learn how your mind works, what it needs, and how to come home to yourself again and again.

You’re not alone.

With heart,

Abigail