A Symphony of Unheard Things

Some The Loud Noises days, my head's not quiet.

It's not still. It's not peaceful.

It's loud.

Not the type of loud you can put your finger on—like music or traffic or a noisy road. It's the type of loud that rings out from inside. A maelstrom, constant buzzing of what-ifs and should-haves and do-better and not-enough and don't-trust and hold-back. It's thoughts screaming over one another, running in circles, overwhelming the softer voice beneath that just wants peace.

When my head becomes like this, I begin to push things away.

Things that love me.

Possibilities that can transform me.

Moments that are willing to catch me.

Even happiness—especially happiness. Because happiness requires presence, and presence requires stillness, and stillness is not safe when your head is this loud.

So I withdraw. Or I snap. Or I work like a maniac. Or I escape into my own head, where I'm in control, even if I'm also painfully alone. I say, "I just need some space." And that's not a lie. But what I actually need is quiet. A clearing. A breathing room. The sort that gives the noise room to land so I can recall who I am beyond it.

It’s hard to explain this kind of mental noise to someone who hasn’t lived in it. It’s not always about anxiety. Sometimes, it’s hyper-awareness. A hundred tabs open in your brain. Constant self-editing. Emotional debris floating from old wounds that haven’t fully healed. It’s loud because it hasn’t been heard.

And I’m learning—slowly—that pushing things away doesn’t actually make the noise go. It just makes the room emptier. Lonelier.

So now, I sit with the noise. Not from it. Not shaming it. Just sitting. And breathing. And sometimes, whispering over it: You are not the whole story.

I still push things away on some days. But increasingly, I'm reaching. Reaching for quiet. For softness. For someone who says, "You don't have to explain, just let me sit with you."

If you’ve been there too—if your head’s been loud, and your heart’s been tired—just know: you’re not broken. You’re processing. You’re surviving. You’re trying to feel safe.

Let that be enough for today.

SheHasFaults | But she’s learning to stay, even when it’s loud inside.