Some people wake up gradually. Peacefully. Like their brains stretches, yawns, and gently eases itself into the day.

Mine tends to boot up like a browser restoring a session it absolutely should have closed properly and not clicking “Close anyway.”

Before I’ve even got out of bed, there’s already a to-do list forming, a half remembered worry floating about, something mildly embarrassing from years ago making a completely unnecessary comeback, and at least one song playing on loop in the background like my brain has hired its own DJ and forgotten to ask me first.

And that’s before I’ve even attempted anything.

Something simple, for example. Like making a cup of tea.

Now, in theory, making a cup of tea should be straightforward. Kettle on. Mug out. Tea bag in. Basic stuff. A task so small it should barely register.

Instead, somewhere between standing up and reaching the kitchen, my brain has opened another twelve tabs.

I need to reply to that email. Oops the best friend has send me multiple messages I still haven’t opened in almost a week.

What’s for dinner?

Did I sign that form? What kid was it for?

I must remember to buy more milk…as I pour the last of it in my cup.

Wasn’t there something important I needed to do today?

Also, for reasons no one can explain, part of my brain has decided now is the perfect time to loudly replay six words of a song I haven’t willingly listened to in years.

So now I’m in the kitchen, vaguely staring at the kettle, mentally planning three unrelated jobs, trying to remember whether I already fed the dog, and internally hosting what feels like a full staff meeting no one authorised. Which unsurprisingly could have also been an email.

This is, unfortunately, not rare.

At any given moment, my brain appears to be running a truly unnecessary number of tabs.

There’s the practical ones, obviously. The jobs, the reminders, the things I absolutely must not forget and almost certainly will. The shopping list. The appointments. The message I need to reply to. The thing I meant to sort yesterday. The thing I meant to sort last week, actually.

Then there are the less helpful tabs.

The one replaying something awkward I said in about 2009.

The one demanding to know what everyone is eating later.

The one that wants to research how to grow my own vegetables with the urgency of a medical emergency. Even though I am fully aware that I killed the cress my eldest grew at nursery.

The one quietly humming background anxiety for atmosphere.

The one that’s just there to remind me I’ve forgotten something, without ever being kind enough to specify what. Neville Longbottom I feel you my dude.

And then, of course, there’s always at least one tab playing music.

Never a full song. Never in a useful or enjoyable way. Just one line. Over and over again. Like my internal soundtrack has glitched and no one knows where the off switch is.

Maybe your brain does this too?

Maybe it’s not tea. Maybe it’s trying to send one email, fold one bit of washing, make one phone call, or walk into one room without immediately forgetting why you’re there. Maybe it starts as one small task and somehow turns into a mental pile up involving guilt, admin, random memories, half finished thoughts, and the sudden urge to reorganise your entire life while also laying down for a week.

That kind of chaos can be funny. It really can.

Sometimes I do laugh at myself. Because what else are you meant to do when your brain turns a two minute task into an obstacle course and starts throwing in bonus content from three different decades? There is humour in the absurdity of trying to make a cup of tea while simultaneously remembering an email, a shopping item, a life goal, and a lyric your mind has decided to tattoo onto the inside of your skull.

But it’s only funny up to a point.

Because underneath the chaos, it’s tiring.

That’s the part people don’t always see.

From the outside, it can look like absent mindedness. Or being a bit scatterbrained. Maybe even quirky, if we’re being generous. But from the inside, it often feels less like harmless chaos and more like trying to function while every dashboard light is on.

It’s tiring when your thoughts do not line up politely one at a time.

It’s tiring when everything feels like it arrives at once.

It’s tiring when even rest doesn’t really feel restful because sitting still and switching off are two very different things when your mind is still charging around unsupervised.

Sometimes the most exhausting part of the day isn’t what I’ve physically done. It’s what my brain has done with absolutely no invitation.

The constant scanning.

The remembering.

The trying not to forget.

The jumping between thoughts.

The emotional noise mixed in with the practical noise.

The strange frustration of knowing you are capable, but also feeling like your own mind has just made a basic task far more complicated than it needed to be.

And the awkward thing is, life doesn’t exactly pause to account for any of this.

There are still messages to answer, forms to fill in, jobs to remember, meals to think about, things to clean, people to look after, plans to keep track of, and the general invisible admin of being a functioning human. The world still expects you to be normal about all of it.

You’re still meant to show up.

Still meant to remember things.

Still meant to look vaguely organised and not like someone whose internal operating system is one notification away from collapse.

That, I think, is part of what makes it so draining. Not just the noise itself, but the fact that you’re trying to navigate everyday life while that noise is running constantly in the background. You’re not just doing the task. You’re doing the task plus all the other jobs that come with it.

For some of us, that noise has always been there.

For some, it’s ADHD. For others, it’s stress, anxiety, parenthood, mental load, over stimulation, or just the relentless pace of modern life. Often, it’s not one neat thing you can put in a tidy little box. It’s a cocktail. A really unhelpful cocktail, served in a cracked glass, with a random brussel sprout because they ran out of lemons and limes.

The details might differ, but I don’t think the feeling is rare.

I think a lot of us are walking around with far more mental traffic than we let on.

A lot of us are trying to hold it together while our brains bounce from one thought to the next like they’re speed running every possible subject before lunch.

A lot of us are laughing about it because laughter makes it easier, but quietly feeling wrung out by it too.

And I think there’s something comforting in realising that.

Not because it magically fixes anything. It doesn’t. My brain is still going to wake up tomorrow like a browser session I definitely did not save. The tabs will still be there. The song will still be playing. I will still walk into a room at some point and completely lose the plot.

But there is comfort in knowing it doesn’t make you lazy, broken, dramatic, or incapable.

It just means your brain is carrying a lot.

Maybe more than other people realise.

Maybe more than you even realise, until one tiny task becomes seventeen thoughts, two worries, a forgotten job, a made up future scenario, and the chorus of a song you didn’t ask for.

So if your brain also feels like it has 47 tabs open, and one of them is playing music, you’re not alone.

If your thoughts feel loud before the day has even properly begun, you’re not alone.

If you’ve ever stood in the kitchen trying to make a drink while mentally buffering through half your life, you are very much not alone.

And if this sounds like your brain too, drop me a comment, email or message. I’d love to know what’s playing in the background of your mind today.

And after all that, I had yet to switch the kettle on.