There’s a moment we all hit—a point where the noise in our own head gets so intense that we start believing it’s who we are. Every doubtful whisper, every replayed mistake, every imagined disaster becomes this giant monologue dictating how we feel, how we act, how we show up. And somewhere along the way, we start thinking the only way to be okay is to “fix” every thought that passes through. But that’s not how the mind works. And honestly, that’s not how peace works either.
You don’t have to control your thoughts. You just have to stop letting them run the entire show.
Thoughts are like weather: constantly shifting, rarely predictable, often dramatic, and completely incapable of staying still. Some days your head is a clear sky. Other days it’s a tornado. And neither state says anything about your worth or your direction. It just means you’re human. Your brain is doing what brains do—throwing ideas, fears, jokes, memories, and anxieties at you like one of those T-shirt cannons at a basketball game.
The trick is realizing you don’t need to catch everything it fires.
Most of our mental stress isn’t from the thought itself—it’s from the meaning we attach to it. A worry pops up, and instead of letting it float by, we wrestle with it. We analyze it. We catastrophize it. We give it power simply because it appeared. But a thought is just a thought until you give it a throne. And when you stop handing it the crown, something shifts. You start remembering that you’re not the storm—you’re the sky holding it.
You can let a thought pass without arguing with it.
You can feel anxious without assuming danger.
You can hear the old “you’re not enough” tape and not treat it like truth.
This isn’t suppression. It’s awareness. It’s the quiet confidence of knowing that not every internal voice deserves a microphone. Some can stay in the back row where they belong.
And once you stop trying to control every thought, something unexpected happens: the mind softens. The volume lowers. The grip loosens. You create just enough space between you and the noise to breathe again. You start walking through your day with a little more steadiness. You begin to trust that a passing thought doesn’t have the power to ruin the moment unless you hand it that authority.
Maybe that’s the real win—not forcing yourself to think “better,” but giving yourself permission to stop being bullied by whatever pops into your head.
You don’t need to be the perfect thinker. You just need to be the one in charge of the remote.
Kenrick Vaz 