When the Body Keeps Score - and the Mind Holds the Pen

A month after wrapping up a 12-month contract, a commercial, and two indie films - I had nothing but time on my hands. This free time to think opened the door to the unexpectd realization that:

•  I don’t stop thinking; and

•  my mind controls me.

I’ve suffered - deeply and repeatedly - from situations that never happened and conversations that never took place. You might argue they weren’t real experiences. But my body would disagree. It lived them. It carries the weight and scars.

I was sitting beachside in the Dominican Republic. Sapphire sky overhead, sun warming my skin, journal open, pen in hand. The waves lapped gently against the shore. It was perfect. I wouldn’t have changed a thing. And yet… I sat there with anxious thoughts, a tight chest, forced breaths - spinning through thoughts that overwhelmed me.

My body was registering each thought like a command: prepare for loss, brace for disappointment, anticipate grief; my nervous system screamed: red alert!

Even though I had everything I needed - everything in order - no pressure to find the next thing - I still sat there wondering:

•  Would the next thing land? how quickly?

•  Would it work out?

•  Was I actually as good as I thought? as I had been perviously celebrated for?

•  Or was I an imposter?

I spiralled. Days lost to fear. My mind relentlessly architecting worst-case scenarios.

We kid ourselves that the mind and body are separate. That they’re neatly divided into parts. But they’re not. They feed each other constantly - symbiotic, inseparable. Cause and effect.

I hadn’t always been this way. So when was the shift?

•  When did my creative, curious, fun-loving thoughts turn to chronic fear-based?

•  When did confidence give way to insecurity?

•  When did life stop feeling like an adventure and start feeling like a death trap?

I’ve done great things. Achieved major milestones. Brought my dreams to life. And yet, I’ve been too stressed to relish most of it.

Wins began falling flat. I told myself they weren’t that special. That the next one had to be better and come quickly.“I’ll be happy when…” became my mantra. I took over as the bully in my story - belittling myself for not hitting the impossible bar.

What a waste - to be in a beautiful place and still feel trapped. To have everything and yet feel chronically stressed - missing the moments that have the potential to bring joy.

My mind had become the narrator - and I, the character, reacting to scenes it scripted. Situations that never happened. Rejections that never came. All the while, my body braced for impact.

I was at the mercy of a mind shaped by old beliefs (stories). A mind that whispered: You’re not enough. You’ll always be unwanted. You will never amount to anything. 

Over and over. Day by day. Regardless of the hard facts that surrounded me, and all of the evidence that showed the opposite was true.

I can’t timestamp the moment I stopped believing in my best. But I know this: the voice in my head was writing me out of my own story.  Thought by thought.

What a powerful realization.

Studies using fMRI scans have shown that the brain often responds to imagined experiences as if they were real. One such study published in Neuron found that the fusiform gyrus - an area of the brain - responsible for visual processing - activates similarly whether we’re seeing something or simply picturing it. And a 2024 study in Healthcare confirms that the body responds physiologically to the beliefs we hold - even if those beliefs are false.

So when we pivot from a good day to overwhelm - from feeling in control to feeling at the mercy of life - it’s not just in our heads. It registers in our bodies.

•  Tight chest

•  Sore back

•  Sudden aches

•  Insomnia

•  Migraines

•  Fatigue

The body can’t contain it anymore. Something has to give - so it does.

And here’s the scary part: the mind doesn’t know when to stop. It doesn’t want to chill out. It doesn't want to stop doing the thing it does - thinking. And it doesn’t want to forget.

What happened back then? That’s the anchor. It's the map it knows. The rest of the map is uncertain - and uncertainty is what the mind resists most. So it scans and analyzes everything: tone, word, micro-expression, decision. It braces for survival. Your body literally braces itself.

It starts small - one stressful conversation. Then it stacks. Moment by moment. Until what lasted seconds becomes what you fixate on for hours. Days. Weeks. Until muscle memory kicks in and you’re stuck in a state that feels exhausting, overwhelming, hopeless - even impossible.

So many of us find ourselves there. Sometimes acutely. Sometimes we wake up and realize we’ve been living like this for years.

No one wakes up and says, “Sweet - another day! I think I’ll choose stress and anxiety!”  

It’s not a conscious decision.

The American Psychological Association reports that chronic stress leads to long-term health effects: cardiovascular strain, immune suppression, digestive issues. These symptoms compound over time. Headaches become migraines. Sleeplessness becomes insomnia. Emotional distress becomes illness.

If my mind won’t turn off - and it’s been directing the show - then I’m not living, I’m performing. And the role I’ve been cast in? One I never auditioned for.

That means I have to train my mind. Like a dog. Teach it how to walk, how to sit, how to stay. How to wait for commands instead of chasing every distraction.

We were taught math, science, social studies, PE, language arts - but we weren’t taught how to declutter our minds. How to separate thoughts from emotions. How to rest. That wasn’t part of the curriculum. So we follow whatever thought shows up - down whatever rabbit hole it leads.

One of the best releases I’ve found? Motion.

•  Move - even when you don’t want to.

•  Massage - especially suboccipital massage which targets the muscles at the base of the skull, where the neck meets the head. That area holds deep tension and can trigger emotional release. I went for one, and mid-neck rub, I went from composed (if not a bit guarded) to sobbing uncontrollably (quietly, of course - I was slightly embarrassed by the impromptu cry).

I remember apologizing to my masseuse, horrified that I couldn’t control it. She told me to let the tears fall. The neck stores emotion. And mine was stuffed full.

That release? It was real.

Box breathing doesn’t do much for me. But yelling how I feel? I choke up almost immediately.

It’s not just noise - it’s a full-body purge. My throat, lungs, mouth, chest, diaphragm, even my brain - they all effort together in one synchronized act of release. It’s like the body and mind finally sync, harmonizing a release they couldn’t achieve alone.

Yelling clears the throat, yes - but it also clears what’s stored there: the unsaid, the swallowed, the silenced. Emotion that’s been held hostage in the body finally finds its exit. The vagus nerve gets stimulated. The diaphragm stretches. The vocal cords unclench. The nervous system recalibrates.

It’s not about being dramatic. It’s about being honest.  

It’s an emotional detox - raw, primal, and deeply healing.

That’s been my experience. And I wanted to share it. Because if any of this helps you navigate life a little easier, a little more richly - then I need to share it.

But more than that, I needed to name it.

Because a month after wrapping up that contract, I didn’t just realize that I don’t stop thinking, or that my mind controls me.

I realized that I had been living in a story I didn’t write.

And now? I’m rewriting it.

Not by force. But by presence.

By noticing when my body tenses.  

By catching the script before it runs too far.  

By moving - sometimes gently, sometimes fiercely - toward release.  

By choosing to believe that I am not the sum of my fears, but the author of my experience.

If you’ve ever felt trapped in your own mind, if you’ve ever sat in paradise and still felt panic - you’re not broken.

You’re ready to reclaim the pen.

Does this resonate with you?  Leave a comment below - I’d love to hear your thoughts, your story, or even just one line that feels true.