From the outside, my life looked ridiculously “fine”.
I had a steady job, a relationship that looked cute on social media, weekend brunches, the usual. If you scrolled my feed, you’d probably think, “She’s doing okay.”

But my real life was happening in one place nobody else could see: inside my head.

Most nights I fell asleep with my phone in my hand, scrolling through people I barely knew. Perfect bodies. Perfect trips. Perfect couples laughing in perfect kitchens. Every swipe felt like a quiet punch in the chest. I kept thinking, “Why can’t I just be normal? Why can’t I stop overthinking? Why can’t I just be happy like them?”

I tried everything we’re told to try.
Positive quotes.
“Good vibes only.”
Forcing myself to “focus on the bright side.”

Spoiler: none of it worked.

The more I tried to control my thoughts, the louder they became. One tiny comment from someone at work could ruin my whole day because my brain would turn it into a movie:

“They said that → they must think this → I’m not good enough → I’ll never be enough.”

It wasn’t just a thought anymore. It was a whole universe of stories I had created about myself.

The worst night happened after a long, exhausting day at the office. I smiled through meetings, nodded at my boss, sent polite emails. But inside I was already breaking. On my way to the elevator, someone made a harmless joke about how “tired” I looked. Everyone laughed. I laughed too.

I walked straight to the restroom, locked the door, and finally saw myself in the mirror. Red eyes. Fake smile. Phone still in my hand. Instagram still open.

And I just broke.

I slid my back against the cold wall, sat on the floor next to the sink, and cried in complete silence. Neon blue light buzzed above me, and my screen was still showing those filtered happy lives. My thumb kept scrolling through strangers’ vacations while my own chest felt like it was collapsing.

In that moment, I remember thinking, “I hate my mind. I hate that I can’t switch it off. I just want to escape myself.”

A colleague walked in, saw my face, and instead of pretending she didn’t notice, she knelt down and asked very softly, “Hey… how long have you been fighting in there?”

I thought she meant the bathroom. But she meant my head.

A few days later, she dragged me (literally) to a tiny meditation class above a noisy café. I went only because I was too tired to argue. I was expecting some magic trick: breathe in, breathe out, boom — happiness unlocked.

Instead, the teacher just said, “You don’t need to control your thoughts. Just see them clearly.”

I almost rolled my eyes.
That’s it? Just watch the chaos?

But that night, when my usual 2 a.m. overthinking started, I did something different. I didn’t yell at myself to “stop”. I didn’t try to force my brain to be quiet.

I just watched.

I watched jealousy show up when I saw another engagement post.
I watched fear pop in: “You’re falling behind.”
I watched old memories crawl back, whispering, “You’re still not enough.”

And then I noticed something I had never seen before:
Every painful feeling came with a second layer.

The first layer was the raw feeling: sadness, fear, shame.
The second layer was my war with it:
“This is bad.”
“This shouldn’t be happening.”
“I’m broken for feeling this.”

That second layer hurt more than the first.

When I dropped the second layer — just for a few seconds — the feeling was still there, but it felt… lighter. Like a wave passing through instead of a storm trapping me.

I’m not going to lie to you. My life did NOT instantly transform into sunshine and lotus flowers. I still scroll too much. I still compare myself. I still have nights where my mind feels like a wild animal chewing on every insecurity I have.

But now, there is a tiny gap between me and the chaos.
I see the stories my mind tells.
I see how quickly it jumps from a single comment to “I am unlovable.”
I see how every time I try to fight it, it doubles down.

And slowly, breath by breath, I’m learning something wild:
I don’t have to escape my mind to find peace.
I can wake up inside it.

Peace for me right now is not the absence of thoughts.
It’s the moment I catch myself spiraling and say, “Oh. There you are again.”
No judgment. Just seeing.

That girl crying in the office bathroom is still me.
But now, if I saw her again in that mirror, I think I’d sit beside her, not to tell her to “calm down,” but to say, “You’re not crazy. You’re just tired of fighting.”

And honestly… aren’t so many of us tired of fighting ourselves? 😔

Have you ever felt like your own mind was the worst place to be?
If you were me on that bathroom floor, what would you tell yourself?
Tell me honestly in the comments.