I have so many things I want to share but I can’t seem to articulate them clearly. The words aren’t coming with ease. Putting them together to make sentences is a challenge. My message gets muddled.
My brain is foggy. Like there’s a block right at the bridge of my nose and my third eye. Sensation builds along the left side of my neck. Pressure builds in my sinuses and at the base of the skull on both sides.
I have this big bold vision for the work I want to share, and I feel like there’s this wall between me and it. It’s actually more like a vinyl shower curtain. I can see the fuzzy outlines of what’s behind the curtain, but I can’t quite bring it into sharp focus.
I feel like my head is disconnected from my body.
This is how it is today. And yesterday. And for the past few weeks.
Brain fog and scattered thoughts and feeling cut off from my words and ideas, which are all right there and yet also just out of reach.
What can I do about it?
I do the things I know how to do, the things that usually work. Exercise. Rest. Moving more slowly. Moving more quickly. Energy work. Yoga.
Today they don’t help.
Resistance is futile. Instead of lamenting the message I want to share that remains muddled, or being a victim of my foggy brain, I can get curious:
What’s the message for me to receive here?
Maybe this is my nervous system’s way of setting a boundary, refusing to let me escape into the safe confines of my mind, where I often take refuge in intellectual pursuits and abstract ideas. A gift, to keep me out of looping thoughts.
As much I hate the looping thoughts of anxiety, they are also a source of comfort. They are the wellspring of my creativity, the source of ideas.
So this becomes an existential crisis.
Who am I without my looping thoughts? How can I create if I don’t have these mental fixations?
What will I hook into as fuel for my work?
I don’t have answers for these questions, but I allow them to be there.
Today my head is locking me out, and the message seems clear:
Stay in your body. Take refuge in your heart.
I know I’d be foolish to resist.
And something tells me I might find a more nourishing wellspring of creativity there, if only I allow myself to venture in.