For as long as I can remember, I’ve had a constant internal monologue. Like around 30-50% of people1, I experience a consistent stream of words in my mind. My thoughts never seem to stop. It’s a blessing and a curse, which is what I’m sure the others like me would say, too—a rich thought life comes with the overwhelm of never quite being able to turn it down.
Since being diagnosed with anxiety (and suspecting undiagnosed neurodivergence), I’ve developed healthy coping methods that tend to somewhat settle the never-ending thoughts. But I’ve realized I protect my peace through purposeful, everyday practices that also refill my creative well. As I became more intentional with my lifestyle in this way, I noticed my mind becoming quieter, calmer.
Whether or not you relate to the perpetual internal monologue, I think most of us resonate with some level of longing for more peace in a world that rarely is.
Along with these practices, I started thinking of my mind as a place, even a sanctuary. How does it make me feel? What color do I associate with it? How is it decorated? How could I redecorate it?
Speaking of places, I’ve been learning how much influence the physical locations I find myself in on a daily basis have on my mental health and my thoughts. Of course, you won’t realistically be able to escape every single uncalm place in your life. But once you have refuges you can escape to, your mind can mirror that sense of safety, too.
My bedroom was the perfect place to start—it’s always been a work-in-progress, but shifting toward making it the coziest, most comforting place I can return to was the best move.
While there’s plenty that can lead to overstimulation (including natural, good things!), one of the main culprits in my life has been multitasking. Turns out, multitasking is a myth. I’ve noticed that regularly multitasking makes me feel more scattered . . . and neurologically, I’ve learned it does do much more harm than good, especially when media or screens are involved.2
Giving myself permission to live an offline life (deleting apps, limiting screentime, posting less, etc.) was one of the first steps to living a de-stimulated life. And that led to the constant stream of thoughts quieting.
If you know me, you probably already know how I feel about journaling. I’m a huge fan of stream-of-consciousness journaling (more on that in just a few paragraphs) and prompt-based journaling.
While I write entries based on prompts significantly less than any other kind of writing, I find that starting with a specific question or topic can help me grasp and untangle strings of thoughts that have already been knotted up in my mind for a while.
(In case you’re interested in giving journaling with prompts a try, here are 20 journaling prompts for springtime. I’ll be posting other thematic collections in the near future, too!)
This is something I value deeply yet still find difficult. For me, staying present in ordinary moments means paying attention (especially to the people around me), being mindful, listening, and being willing to slow down. There is so much beauty, but I need to stop for a minute—to blink and take it in without letting something else pull me down a spiraling staircase of thoughts. Like everything I’ve learned here, it still takes discipline.
Finally, there’s a practice that often defines how I process emotions throughout my days. I try to start my mornings quietly and intentionally, and for me, that means beginning with a journal and a pen.
The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron—a book I reference here at Stellify often—introduces a practice called “morning pages,” stream-of-consciousness writing for three pages, every day. The goal is declutter your mental space and move those thoughts outside of your head.
More dramatically than anything else on my list, morning pages have made such a difference in how I think and how my mind feels . . . it’s so much lighter and quieter. Now, the noise has a place to land.
I’d love to know what brings you a sense of quiet. Which of these practices do you resonate with the most?
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