Finding Peace When Your Thoughts Spiral
There’s a kind of battle that doesn’t show up on the outside. It doesn’t leave bruises or scars, but it can feel just as heavy, sometimes even heavier. It’s the battle in the mind — the racing thoughts, the constant questions, the endless loop of what ifs that never seem to quiet down.
For me, this battle often looks like OCD, magical thinking, and health anxiety. That means my mind has a way of getting stuck on fears that feel impossible to shake. One thought can turn into a spiral that steals my peace and leaves me exhausted.
Maybe you know what that feels like. Maybe your thoughts sometimes spin in directions you don’t want them to, and no matter how hard you try to reason with yourself, your heart still races. You know the fear doesn’t make sense, but it still feels real. You want peace, but your mind won’t let go.
It’s a lonely kind of struggle — one that few people see, and fewer really understand.
The Hidden Weight
On the outside, I might look like I’m functioning just fine. I can smile, talk, get through the day. But on the inside, I’m often carrying a storm.
Health anxiety, for example, can make a simple skin spot or a slightly higher blood pressure reading feel like a catastrophe. My mind jumps to the worst-case scenario before I can even stop it. OCD often adds another layer, whispering that if I don’t think the right thought, pray the right prayer, or do things in a certain way, something bad might happen.
It’s exhausting. And it’s not the kind of exhaustion a nap can fix.
Sometimes, I catch myself wondering: Why can’t I just be normal? Why can’t I stop thinking like this? And then the shame creeps in — as if the very fact that I struggle makes me weak.
But I’ve been learning something: struggling doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.
Naming the Fear
One of the hardest things about living with OCD or health anxiety is that the fear feels so real. It’s not like an imaginary story I can laugh off — it comes with real physical symptoms. My chest tightens, my heart races, my whole body responds as if the danger were standing right in front of me.
For years, I tried to push those fears down, to hide them or deny them. But I’ve slowly realized that the more I hide, the more power they have. Naming them out loud — saying, “This is my OCD speaking,” or “This is health anxiety, not reality” — takes some of that power away.
It doesn’t always make the fear disappear, but it reminds me: This isn’t who I am. This is something I live with, but it’s not my identity.
Finding Gentle Ways Forward
I wish I could say I’ve found the perfect cure, but that’s not the truth. What I have found are gentle ways forward. Little practices that help me breathe, slow down, and remember that fear doesn’t get the final word.
🌿 Journaling. Writing down my thoughts often helps me sort out the lies from the truth. On paper, the fears lose some of their grip.
🌿 Prayer. Sometimes my prayers are eloquent, but most of the time they’re simple whispers: “Lord, help me. I can’t do this alone.” I’ve come to believe that God isn’t asking for perfect words — just honesty.
🌿 Slowing down. Anxiety pushes me to rush, to panic, to overanalyze. Choosing to slow down — to breathe deeply, to notice the birds outside my window, to sip a cup of tea without hurrying — reminds me that I don’t have to live in constant urgency.
🌿 Movement. Gentle exercise, like a walk or a routine on YouTube, often helps release the tension building up inside. It’s not about punishing my body but giving it a way to let go.
None of these things erase OCD or anxiety, but they give me footholds. They remind me that I’m not powerless, that I can make space for peace even in the middle of the storm.
The Voice of Grace
The hardest part of all this hasn’t just been the anxiety itself — it’s been the self-criticism that comes with it. The voice in my head that says: You should be stronger. You should have more faith. You should be over this by now.
But then I remember Jesus’ words in Matthew 11: “Come to me, all you who labor and are heavily burdened, and I will give you rest.”
He doesn’t say, “Come to me once you have it all together.” He doesn’t say, “Fix yourself, then I’ll help.” He says simply, “Come.”
That voice of grace is slowly teaching me that I don’t have to earn rest. I don’t have to prove my worth. I don’t have to conquer anxiety before God will meet me. I can come to Him weary, messy, and overwhelmed — and He welcomes me.
You’re Not Alone
If you’re reading this and you know the battle of spiraling thoughts, I want you to hear this: you are not alone.
Your struggle doesn’t make you weak. Your weariness doesn’t make you a failure. Your anxiety doesn’t make you unworthy of love or peace.
It’s okay to admit that life feels heavy. It’s okay to name the fears. It’s okay to reach for help, whether that’s through prayer, community, or a counselor who can walk alongside you.
You don’t have to fight the battle in silence.
Choosing Hope
I can’t say I’ve mastered peace. But I can say this: every day is a new chance to choose hope over despair, faith over fear, rest over striving.
Some days, I still spiral. Some days, I still cry. Some days, I still feel the crushing weight of what ifs. But even then, I’m learning to pause, to breathe, to say, “This isn’t the end of my story.”
And it’s not the end of yours either.
Peace may not come all at once, but it comes in moments — in the gentle whisper of God’s presence, in the steady rhythm of your breath, in the reminder that even here, in the mess and the struggle, you are loved.
So if your thoughts are spiraling today, hold onto this: you don’t have to carry it all. You don’t have to fix everything right now. You are seen. You are not alone. And there is hope.
I’m not a mental health professional. I’m simply sharing my own journey with OCD and health anxiety, in the hope that it encourages someone else. If you’re struggling, please don’t hesitate to reach out to a trusted doctor or counselor for support.
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