Untangling Thoughts A Journey of Rewiring

Sometimes I feel like my brain is a tangled ball of yarn, all knots and frayed ends. It’s not exactly a new feeling. There were years when it felt less like a tangled ball and more like an actual bonfire—consuming everything in its path. The Jacobs Pavilion show last month…it was good, I think. But afterwards, the quiet wasn't just quiet. It was echoing with all the things I *didn’t* say, all the ways I held back. Writing that post, though – even just for those twenty-seven people who saw it—it felt like a small act of untangling.

There's something genuinely incredible about the idea that our brains aren’t fixed. We’re often told stories about how we are what we become, how certain things are “just part of you.” But the science I’ve been reading lately suggests otherwise. It turns out the physical structure of your brain can actually change – not overnight, obviously, but over time - in response to what you do and how you think. They call it something technical like "neural plasticity," but all I know is it means there's a possibility to rewire those tangled threads.

I remember feeling so stuck for a long time. The constant self-criticism was… suffocating. Like being trapped inside your own head with someone who never stopped pointing out every single flaw, every mistake, every perceived inadequacy. It took years of trying to just *cope*, to numb it all down with distractions, but the underlying feeling always remained. A low hum of unhappiness that seemed impossible to escape.

Learning about practices like mindfulness and compassion – really putting them into practice—it’s shifted something subtle. Not a dramatic overnight transformation; more like slowly adjusting the focus on a blurry photograph until details start to sharpen. It's about learning to notice those negative thoughts, those self-critical voices, without automatically believing everything they say.

It isn't easy. The first few times I tried meditating, my mind raced – lists of things to do, worries about what people thought, random song lyrics popping in and out. But now, sometimes, there are moments— brief flashes — when the thoughts just… quiet down. It’s not emptiness, exactly; it's more like a space where you can simply *observe* without being swept away by the current.

There was a group I briefly joined – an informal gathering that someone at school started. Initially, I was hesitant to share anything personal. The whole thing felt incredibly vulnerable. But slowly, I realized everyone else was struggling with something too. Hearing their stories— seeing myself reflected in their experiences — it chipped away at the isolation. It’s a strangely comforting feeling, knowing you're not entirely alone in your messiness.

I found that some of the activities we did in those group sessions seemed to directly affect how I felt. One exercise involved actively wishing good things for others—simple things like "May they feel safe," or “May they have an easy day.” It sounds almost silly, but afterwards, there was this lightness inside me. A surprising sense of calm that lingered even after the session ended. The way brain scans show activity changing in areas related to empathy and self-awareness... it suddenly seemed less mystical, more like cause and effect.

It's a process, definitely. There are days when the tangled yarn feels tighter than ever, when the bonfire threatens to flare up again. But now I have tools— small but significant ways to approach those moments with kindness instead of judgment. Twenty-seven readers were enough to spark something. Perhaps that’s the point: even tiny shifts can ripple outwards, creating a space for healing and maybe, just maybe, untangling a little more of that tangled ball.