When It's Quiet, I Assume Something Is Wrong

There’s this moment at the end of the day — once the dishes are done, the kids are in bed, the house is dark — where I should feel at peace.

But instead, I feel… itchy.
Not physically, but emotionally.
Like my brain’s crawling out of its skin a little, waiting for something to go wrong.
Or for me to remember the thing I forgot.
Or for a wave of doom to roll in and ruin the quiet I should be enjoying.

This isn’t new. And I don’t think I’m alone in it.

Some of us don’t trust stillness

Maybe you grew up in a home where calm always came before a storm.
Maybe you’ve spent years in crisis mode — physically, emotionally, mentally.
Maybe your brain is just really good at scanning for danger and not so great at recognizing safety.

Whatever the reason, the result is the same:
Stillness doesn’t feel like rest — it feels like a trap.
Like you're about to be blindsided by something.
Like you must’ve missed a step.

So you do what any smart, exhausted, overstimulated person would do:
You avoid the stillness.
You scroll, snack, pick a fight, clean out a drawer, open six tabs, fall down a rabbit hole — not because you’re “wasting time,” but because your body is trying to self-soothe. To create noise because silence feels unsafe.

The hum = nervous system backlog

That hum you feel when things get quiet?
That’s your nervous system asking, “Is it really safe to relax?”
It’s the leftovers from the day (or the week, or the decade).
Unprocessed thoughts. Unfelt feelings. Delayed spirals.
It’s the mental tabs you left open so you could function.

And once you slow down? They all try to reload at once.

So what do you do with that?

You don’t shame it. You don’t force it away.
You work with it. Gently. With curiosity instead of criticism.

Here are a few ways to start:

💬 1. Name it.

Say it out loud or in your head:

🧍‍♀️2. Give your body something to do.

Sometimes stillness needs to be physical, not mental.
Try:

• Holding a warm mug

• Using a weighted blanket or heating pad

• Rocking gently while sitting

• Doing light stretches, self-massage, or even humming

These are nervous system cues that signal safety. They tell your body, “We’re okay now.”

✏️ 3. Offload your brain.

If the mental noise is too loud, get it out:

• A brain dump in your notes app

• A “tomorrow list” so you don’t try to hold it overnight

• A 2-minute “vent voice note” (delete it right after if you want)

You don’t have to process everything — just let your brain stop holding it alone.

🫶 4. Reframe the discomfort.

Instead of thinking, “Why can’t I just relax?”, try:

Your body’s not failing you. It’s doing what it was trained to do.
You’re not broken — you’re adapting.

Let it be weird before it’s peaceful

This is the part no one really talks about:
Rest doesn’t always feel good at first.

For some of us, it feels like boredom. Or guilt. Or danger.
It feels like something’s wrong — because we’ve only ever rested when we’ve crashed.

But you don’t have to crash first.
You’re allowed to rest on purpose.
Even if the quiet feels loud.
Even if it takes practice.
Even if your brain doesn’t know how to be still yet.

That hum you feel? It’s not forever.
It’s just the sound of your system learning something new.

You’re safe now.
You’re allowed to stop running.
Let your body catch up.
Let your rest begin.

Talk soon,
Tara
CEO of Chaos & Co.