Do you ever wish you could take your head off—or is it just me?

Do you ever wish you could take your head off—or is it just me?

I was exhausted the other night. After several nights of not enough sleep, I went to bed early, hoping for deep, restful zzz’s. I called the four-leggers, Clyde and Stella, into the bedroom, and we all crashed hard.

The next thing I know, I’m shooting out of bed at 6 a.m., yanked out of REM sleep by a dream where I really needed to pee, but all the public restrooms were gross. (We’ve all been there, right?) I made it to the bathroom just in time, but when I stumbled into the kitchen, I felt anything but refreshed—foggy, dizzy (thanks, cancer meds), and more drained than when I went to sleep.

Desperate for answers, I checked my sleep app. It said I’d spent nine hours in bed and had FOUR HOURS and THIRTY-SIX MINUTES of REM sleep. Seriously? No wonder I woke up feeling like I’d run a marathon in my dreams.

As I sat with my large cup of coffee, I started thinking about how relentless my brain is. How many tabs do you think are open in your mind right now? Five? Ten? For me, it’s one endless string of chatter—unfinished to-do lists, worries, “what-ifs,” and random ideas I file away in the mental warehouse for later. Some days, it’s like there’s a whole team of editors in my brain replaying awkward seventh-grade moments or that not so appropriate thing I said at a party that one time.

It’s exhausting. And there are days when I wish I could just pop my head off, set it on a shelf, and walk around without all the noise inside it. Wouldn’t that be peaceful? Just leave behind the swirling thoughts and worries for a little while and wander through the day in blissful silence.

I swear men already have this superpower. Not to generalize, but they seem to have a knack for compartmentalizing—putting their thoughts into neat little boxes, sealing the lids, and leaving them untouched for hours, maybe days. Or, let’s be honest, weeks. Meanwhile, women’s brains refuse to take a break, constantly buzzing with everything we should be doing or haven’t done yet.

For women, finding peace takes effort. It means stepping back from the chaos, allowing ourselves to tune out the noise, and giving ourselves permission to just be. It’s not selfish; it’s essential. To keep giving, we need to be whole—and sometimes that means stopping long enough to remember how to care for ourselves.

For me, that peace shows up in small, sacred moments. Most days, it’s the hum of good music as my hands shape clay, and my mind finally quiets. Other days, it’s going for a hike,, and letting the mountains and vast scenery remind me that the world is bigger than my worries.

It’s not easy to reclaim this time, and guilt often tries to sneak in. But I’m learning that when we give ourselves space to rest and heal, we emerge stronger, refreshed, and more grounded. The world can wait—it always does. And when we’re ready, we return with the strength and calm we need to face whatever comes next.

So maybe I can’t physically pop my head off (although wouldn’t that be nice?), but I can find ways to quiet the noise. And if you’re reading this, I hope you give yourself that same gift. Take a deep breath. Close the tabs in your mind. Take care of you. The world will still be there when you’re ready—but you’ll be stronger for it.