Beneath the Chatter – Searching for quiet in a busy mind

It has been a year of heightened stress, which has increased the amount of chatter in my mind. Thoughts compete for attention—responsibilities, worries, decisions, and the endless stream of “what ifs” that seem to appear when life feels uncertain. Even during quiet moments, my mind often struggles to find stillness.

When my mind gets like this, I turn to the coping skills I’ve learned over the years. I go outside, walk among the trees, tend to my flowers, or take a mindful walk along a trail or by a river. Nature helps me slow down and reconnect with the present. The rhythm of my steps, birds singing, and the breeze on my skin all help calm me.

Yet even then, complete calm can be elusive. The mental chatter softens, but it rarely disappears entirely. It’s as though part of me remains on alert, anticipating what might come next. As I reflect, the chatter has been a constant companion, sometimes a soft whisper and at times a raging stream.

I have sought that sense of calmness that others seem to possess. I have attended Pentecostal churches with a strong flair for the Holy Spirit, hands raised, moving in rhythm to the music. It is an experience, but something always seems to be missing. I often looked around and questioned what I was seeing because it felt performative, at least for some. So I returned to what has always spoken to my soul—nature. Nature brings us back to our roots and offers a spiritual connection to ourselves and to whatever higher power we may believe in

I once attended an EMDR training that included a small breakout session to practice the skill. I had the same thoughts as I sat in that church pew and found myself pretending to come to a zero just to end the experience. The person doing the EMDR with me did not seem to notice, but I had to laugh internally when another participant leaned over in his calm manner and asked if I had stayed in the cognitive—that familiar place of analyzing rather than experiencing. It was the first time I had met him, and I highly doubt he remembers the moment, but I have since attended several of his trainings.

A few years later, I attended another EMDR training and later saw an EMDR therapist. It was the same story—EMDR never seemed to work for me. I’ve accepted that and moved on. Now, I notice that clients who also haven’t had success with EMDR often find their way to me.

As I reflect on these experiences, I realize I feel most connected to myself when I am in nature. Whether I am staring out at the horizon in the mountains of Arizona, solo camping at Garden of the Gods in Illinois, or sitting beside a stream listening to the gurgling water, there is something about being alone in nature that allows me to hear beneath my thoughts.

Today, I tried breathwork.

This experience was different.

Someone I met at a training—one led by the same person who once called me out for staying in my head—invited me to a breathwork session.

I went in feeling a bit skeptical, but I also knew that meditation practices have scientific support.

We sat in a circle to get ready. When I started to feel skeptical, I used my “stop, pause, accept” skill—an Acceptance and Commitment Therapy practice I rely on. I settled onto the mat, and as the breathwork began, the music seemed to move through me. At first, I saw shades of gray and felt closed off, with my mind still busy. I took another breath and reminded myself to simply experience, not think. My body relaxed, and I saw flashes of purple and other images that felt as though they spoke to a deeper part of me. For two hours, I simply experienced, and the chatter in my mind stopped. There were no words, just images.

Afterward, I left feeling more relaxed and open than I can ever remember.

Wanting to understand more, I did a little research and found that many people report seeing purple during breathwork and meditation, often associating it with deep relaxation and expanded awareness. Deep breathing with music activates the parasympathetic nervous system, slows the heart rate, and can shift the brain from high-stress beta waves to calmer alpha or theta states.

I could go deeper into the science, but that would take us away from the spiritual side. This is the part that connects us to our humanity, the part of us that wants to be heard and helps us connect more deeply with ourselves and others. It is the sense of self that says: breathe, feel, experience.

For most of my life, I have searched for quiet—not the absence of sound, but the absence of the endless conversation in my mind. I have found glimpses of it in forests, on trails, beside rivers, and beneath desert skies. But during those two hours of breathwork, I experienced something different. The chatter stopped. There were no words to analyze, no problems to solve, and no questions to answer. There was only breath, experience, and a sense of connection to something deeper than thought.

Perhaps that is what I have been searching for all along—not a way to think differently, but a way to experience life more fully.

Author’s Note: As with all posts on this site, this reflection was written by me. Grammarly was used during the editing process to assist with grammar and readability. The photograph accompanying this post was taken by me while exploring the mountains of Arizona.