Have you ever felt like your thoughts were running the show—dragging you down paths of doubt, fear, or overanalysis?

For years, my mind was like a runaway train, racing through worst-case scenarios, replaying past mistakes, and second-guessing every conversation. At night, instead of resting, I lay awake, reliving the day’s missteps and bracing for tomorrow’s stresses.

I believed this was just how my mind worked. I assumed I had no control over it.

But I was wrong.

I’ve been thinking a lot about repression lately. Freud had plenty to say about it—how anything we push into the subconscious doesn’t just disappear but lingers, waiting for its moment. We may not shine light on these parts of ourselves, but they live in us. Sometimes, they even live in our DNA.

Ever wonder why some habits feel impossible to change?

I think about water a lot. I look to it for lessons on how to be.

The Earth has been around much longer than we have. It holds a wisdom deeper than any human-made system, and lately, as so many of our systems seem to be unraveling, I’ve been paying more attention to the lessons nature has to offer.

One of the images from the Tao Te Ching that has always resonated with me is the ocean.

The rain falls, the streams flow, the rivers wind their way back home—all water eventually returns to the ocean. The land itself is shaped to guide the water back. And what does the ocean have to do to receive it?

Nothing. It just has to be.

I’ve always had a complicated relationship with discipline.

When it came to doing something for a paycheck or meeting someone else’s expectations, I’d push through. I’ve always been a hard worker. But discipline for my own growth? For something that was just for me? That felt impossible.

“Do you want to be a great musician?” Sure. “You know you need to practice, right?” Of course! I’d tell myself I was totally going to practice.

But honestly, to this day, I’m not even sure I know what “practicing” a musical instrument is supposed to look like. I’ve always been the kind of person who figures things out on the spot and hopes it works out.

And that’s how I approached most things—working out, eating healthy, nurturing relationships. They all felt like habits I should have, but I couldn’t muster the discipline to stick with them.

Why? Because discipline, to me, always felt like a drill sergeant—angry, unkind, and relentless.

One of the biggest things I’ve been working on in my healing journey is my need for control. It makes sense, right? As a gay choir director organizing multiple productions a year, control has been a huge part of my success—making sure every detail is in place, that the tuning is just right, that the vowels (and tablecloths) match.

But what works in your professional life doesn’t always work in your personal life. And sometimes, holding on too tightly can do more harm than good.

In 2016, I was constantly on edge. The news, the uncertainty, the sense that everything was unraveling—it all weighed on me. I’d wake up already bracing for the next crisis, the next move toward safety, the next thing to worry about. It felt endless.

I know I’m not the only one who has felt this way. Many of us are feeling similar, or maybe even worse, this time around. If that’s you, I want you to know—you’re not alone.