I know there probably isn't one definition of "normal." But when your brain rarely gets quiet, your emotions can change several times in an hour, and simply functioning can leave you exhausted, it's hard not to wonder what life feels like for people who don't experience the world this intensely.

Sometimes I wonder what it feels like to be normal.

I know. "Normal" is a loaded word. There probably isn't an actual normal, and if there is, I'm not sure who got to decide what it looks like. Everyone has problems. Everyone gets anxious sometimes. Everyone gets sad, overwhelmed, angry, exhausted, or stuck in their own head. I understand all of that.

But I still wonder.

What does it feel like to wake up and have a brain that isn't already thinking about seventeen different things before your feet touch the floor? What does it feel like to have one thought at a time instead of feeling like there are ten conversations happening inside your head and somehow you're responsible for listening to all of them?

What does it feel like to go through an entire day without feeling mentally exhausted by your own mind?

Because sometimes that's what gets me the most.

I'm tired of thinking.

Not because I don't want to think. Obviously, thinking is kind of necessary. I'd just occasionally like my brain to clock out for lunch.

Instead, it feels like it's working overtime without permission.

I can think about something that happened yesterday, something that might happen six months from now, something someone said three years ago, something I need to do tomorrow, whether someone is upset with me, what I should have said differently, what I need at the grocery store, whether I've completely ruined my life, and what I'm going to wear later—all before I've finished brushing my teeth.

It's impressive, really.

Completely exhausting. But impressive.

I Don't Want to Stop Feeling. I Just Want a Break From Feeling Everything.

Living with mental health conditions has made me very aware of my emotions. Sometimes painfully aware.

I've spent years learning about myself. I've been in therapy. I've learned coping skills and emotional regulation techniques. I've done DBT. I can recognize patterns in myself that I couldn't recognize years ago.

Awareness has helped me tremendously.

But awareness doesn't magically make the intensity disappear.

That's something I think people misunderstand about mental health recovery. Learning why your brain responds a certain way doesn't necessarily mean your brain immediately stops responding that way.

Sometimes I can literally recognize what's happening while it's happening.

Okay, I'm getting overwhelmed.

My emotions are escalating.

I'm overthinking this.

I need to regulate.

Great.

My brain has identified the problem.

Could someone please tell the rest of my nervous system?

Because knowing and feeling are two very different things.

There are days when my emotions feel like a roller coaster, except we're not talking about a week of ups and downs. Sometimes we're not even talking about a day.

We're talking about an hour.

In one hour, I can feel completely fine, irritated, excited, anxious, calm, overwhelmed, happy, frustrated, and fine again.

Ten rides for the price of one.

Apparently my brain purchased the unlimited wristband.

And when you've lived like this for a long time, you start wondering what emotional steadiness actually feels like.

Not numbness.

Not happiness every second.

Just... steadiness.

I'd like to visit sometime.

What Does a Quiet Brain Feel Like?

This might be the thing I'm most curious about.

I want to know what quiet feels like.

I don't mean sitting in a silent room. Honestly, sometimes silence makes my brain louder.

I mean internal quiet.

What does it feel like to lie in bed and simply... go to sleep?

No replaying conversations. No thinking about tomorrow. No random memory from 2007 showing up at 2:13 a.m. like it had an appointment.

Just sleep.

I've struggled with sleep for so long that an uninterrupted night sounds almost fictional to me. I know plenty of people without mental health diagnoses struggle with insomnia too, which is exactly why I hesitate to call any of this "normal" versus "not normal."

But when you're already emotionally and mentally exhausted and then your brain refuses to shut down at night, everything becomes harder.

The next day begins before you've recovered from the last one.

Then you do it again.

That's the part people don't always see.

They see you functioning.

They don't necessarily see how much energy functioning required.

Maybe I Don't Need More Breaks Because I'm Weak. Maybe My Brain Is Just Tired.

I've wondered whether people who don't struggle with their mental health need as many breaks as I do.

I don't know the answer.

Maybe they do.

Maybe everyone is secretly sitting in their car for ten minutes before going into the grocery store and nobody is talking about it.

But I know I need breaks.

Sometimes I need to step away from noise. Sometimes I need to be alone. Sometimes I need music. Sometimes I need to walk. Sometimes I need to stop talking and let whatever is happening inside of me settle before I can continue with my day.

And I've had to learn that taking a break doesn't necessarily mean I'm avoiding life.

Sometimes taking the break is what allows me to return to it.

There's a difference between giving up and regulating yourself.

That distinction has taken me a long time to understand.

Music Has Become One of the Ways I Regulate Myself

There is almost always music playing when I'm driving.

Music does something to my body that words sometimes can't.

Certain songs calm me down. Some energize me. Some make me happy. Some make me sad. And then there are songs that somehow manage to make me happy, nostalgic, heartbroken, and ready to completely reinvent my life within three and a half minutes.

Those are dangerous.

Especially when I'm already emotionally heightened, I'm careful about what I listen to.

A song can come on while I'm driving and I'll immediately know:

Nope.

Skip.

Not today.

I might love that song, but I know what it does to me emotionally, and I know I don't need to go wherever it's about to take me.

That might sound silly to someone who doesn't experience music that way, but for me it's part of emotional regulation.

I've learned that regulating myself isn't always about forcing myself to calm down. Sometimes it's about recognizing what is affecting me and changing the environment before I become overwhelmed.

And sometimes that means telling Spotify, Absolutely the fuck not. Next.

Sometimes Grounding Looks Like Oracle Cards

When my thoughts become especially tangled, I have another grounding practice that probably won't be found in every mental health workbook.

I pull oracle cards.

I love the imagery. I love having something physical in front of me that makes me stop and focus. To me, there's also something comforting about thinking of it as the universe giving me a little sign or something to consider.

I even sometimes use oracle cards during therapy.

We'll be talking about something and I'll become stuck in my thoughts, and my therapist may have me pull cards. The card isn't magically solving the problem or predicting my future. That's not what I'm using it for.

It's the pause.

I have to stop.

Look at the image.

Notice what stands out to me.

Think about why it stands out.

Suddenly, instead of ten thoughts fighting for attention, I'm focusing on one thing.

And sometimes that gives me enough space to look at the original thought differently.

For me, that's grounding.

Grounding doesn't have to look identical for everyone. One person might use breathing exercises. Someone else might name five things they can see. Someone might walk barefoot through grass, listen to music, hold something cold, journal, create art, or focus on an object in the room.

Mine sometimes happens to involve pretty cards and the universe.

Whatever works.

So... Is There Actually Such a Thing as Normal?

Probably not.

And I know comparing my internal world to what I imagine is happening inside someone else's brain isn't exactly fair.

I can't see their thoughts.

Someone who looks calm may be struggling privately. Someone who sleeps eight hours might have something completely different they're carrying. Mental health isn't divided neatly into "normal people" and "mentally ill people."

But knowing that doesn't completely erase the question for me.

I still wonder what it would feel like to have less noise.

Less intensity.

Less anxiety.

Fewer emotional roller coasters.

To wake up rested.

To trust my own emotions without analyzing them from seventeen different angles.

To simply experience a moment without simultaneously observing myself experiencing the moment.

I don't think what I'm actually wishing for is normalcy.

I think I'm wishing for ease.

And there's a difference.

Maybe I don't want somebody else's brain.

Maybe I just want mine to stop fighting so hard sometimes.

I don't want to lose the parts of myself that feel deeply. That intensity is also connected to the way I love, create, write, connect with people, and experience the world.

I just don't want every feeling turned up to maximum volume.

I'm learning how to turn the volume down.

Music helps.

Therapy helps.

DBT skills help.

Grounding helps.

Oracle cards help.

Taking breaks helps.

Sometimes simply recognizing, My brain is doing a lot right now, helps.

None of those things make me "normal."

They're helping me learn how to live inside the brain I actually have instead of constantly wishing I could trade it for somebody else's.

And maybe that's a better goal anyway.

Not becoming normal.

Just finding a little more quiet inside the noise.

If Your Brain Feels Loud Too

If you're reading this because you also feel mentally exhausted, you don't have to copy someone else's coping strategy exactly. The goal of emotional regulation isn't finding the "correct" grounding technique. It's discovering what safely brings your attention back to the present.

Pay attention to what changes your internal state. Maybe it's music. Maybe it's movement. Maybe it's being outside. Maybe it's sensory input, journaling, art, breathing exercises, talking with someone you trust, or something entirely different.

And if constant racing thoughts, anxiety, depression, emotional changes, or sleep problems are interfering with your everyday life, it's worth talking with a qualified mental health professional. Coping tools can be incredibly useful, but they don't have to replace professional support.

Most importantly, stop measuring your internal experience against the version of other people you can see from the outside.

We're comparing our behind-the-scenes footage to everyone else's highlight reel far more often than we realize.

Maybe "normal" was never the destination.

Maybe feeling a little more at home inside ourselves is.

~Tj🩷

Frequently Asked Questions

Is there actually a "normal" way to feel emotionally?

There isn't one universal emotional baseline that everyone experiences. Personality, stress, sleep, environment, physical health, life experiences, and mental health conditions can all affect emotions. A more useful question may be whether your emotions are causing significant distress or making everyday life difficult.

Why do I feel mentally exhausted from thinking all the time?

Persistent worry, rumination, racing thoughts, emotional monitoring, poor sleep, and chronic stress can all feel mentally draining. If it's frequent or interfering with your life, discussing it with a mental health professional can help identify what's contributing to it.

Can music help with emotional regulation?

For many people, yes. Music can influence mood, arousal, attention, and emotional processing. The important part is noticing your own response—sometimes the song you love isn't the song you need in that particular moment.

What is grounding?

Grounding generally refers to techniques that redirect attention toward the present moment when thoughts or emotions become overwhelming. Common examples include sensory exercises, controlled breathing, movement, noticing your surroundings, or focusing closely on an object.

Can something personal like oracle cards be used for grounding?

A personally meaningful object or activity can serve as a focus for grounding if it safely helps bring your attention back to the present. In my case, oracle cards give me imagery to focus on and reflect upon. I view them as a personal and spiritual practice—not a substitute for mental health treatment.

Why do I need more breaks than other people seem to?

There isn't a universal number of breaks a person "should" need. Stress, sleep, workload, sensory demands, emotional regulation and mental health can all affect how quickly someone becomes depleted. Needing time to regulate isn't automatically evidence that you're doing life incorrectly.