The Fear of Never Being Understood
The Struggle to Hold Onto My Own Thoughts
In this essay, I will attempt to fix my brain. Fixing my brain seems impossible, but I think I can do it. Or at least, I want to try.
Some people move through life with minds like neatly organized bookshelves, every thought slotted into place, easy to find. Mine? Mine is a tangled mess—like those cheap bus headphones in Brazil that come pre-knotted, impossible to untangle. I think that’s me. I came out tangled. My mom once told me my umbilical cord was wrapped around my neck when I was born. So, literally tangled.
Before I try to fix my brain, I should probably explain how it works. I don’t have thoughts; I have avalanches. Never just one at a time. Conversations feel like chasing after a train that won’t slow down long enough for me to board. The other day, I wanted to record a quick voice note for therapy—just a short thing to bring up in my next session. That note turned into a 45-minute monologue, twisting and branching into a thousand different directions. I can’t finish a thought before another one hijacks my attention. Things that take other people a few minutes take me forever because I keep getting lost along the way.
Even writing this, I keep stopping to reread what I wrote so I don’t lose track. That’s why I love writing—it leaves breadcrumbs. It’s one of the few places where I can retrace my steps, gather my scattered thoughts, and feel like I have control.
Speaking, though, is different. It’s terrifying. I feel self-conscious, especially in big groups. I’ll be mid-sentence, and suddenly, I’ll look at someone and say, "Wait, what was I talking about?" For a long time, I blamed it on English not being my first language. But then I realized—it happens in Portuguese. It happens in Spanish. It’s not the language; it’s me.
I worry that my messiness makes me sound less eloquent, less intelligent. No one has ever told me that, but I am terrified of it anyway.
Grad school helped. In class presentations, I knew my professors and classmates well enough to feel safe. That familiarity made it easier. But in the professional world? I don’t know.
Is this fixable? Will I ever be able to keep track of my thoughts? Sometimes, they feel like leaves caught in the wind—light, fleeting, gone before I can catch them.
Right now, for example, I’m only thinking about what I should write next. I can’t brainstorm. My brain runs on battery-saving mode. It’s like that one marketing professor with 1,000 tabs open during a lecture, frantically clicking around, trying to find where the music is coming from. Except, in my brain, the music is coming from every direction. Which thought deserves my attention? What if I focus on one and forget the other forever? What if the thought I forget was the one that could have saved me?
When I’m not trying to remember what I was saying, I’m staring blankly at whatever’s in front of me, completely dissociating—no words, no vibes, just nothing. My brain has two settings, and they both suck.
Does everyone experience this? How do people keep track of their thoughts? How do you finish a sentence without forgetting the one before it? What do I sound like? Do I sound dumb?
One of my biggest insecurities is how I sound. I used to think it was my accent, but now I realize it’s something deeper. I’ve come to embrace my accent—it’s part of my culture, my identity. But now that I’m in the professional world, as a so-called real adult (I can’t believe I’m turning 30 this year!!), I feel like a little girl who doesn’t know what she’s talking about. And yet, at the same time, I know I’m an accomplished woman who has proven her resilience and competence time and time again. How do I reconcile those two realities?
I want to speak to people. I want to speak truth. I want to speak healing. I want to speak wisdom. But what if I just sound like an idiot trying to do all that?
People have nightmares about public speaking, but I daydream about the day I can stand in front of a room, give a presentation on something I’m passionate about, and not be afraid that I sound like I have no business being there. That I’m not qualified enough. That I look like a girl playing pretend.
Is this imposter syndrome? Or is it both? Am I insecure about my brain and the way it works, or am I insecure about people thinking I don’t belong? Maybe I am both.
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I'm sure someone has suggested you might have ADHD and that meditation can help. But really, meditation can help. When I'm choked up with thoughts, calming my brain works. If you were accepting suggestions, I'd start with a 5 minute guided meditation. I know this gets thrown around a lot and that you might say you can't meditate but it's a solid strategy. Thanks for writing this.
Hi Barbara,
Your ability to articulate what it feels like to navigate a mind that moves this fast is incredible. The image of tangled headphones and the challenge of catching thoughts before they disappear is so vividly expressed. It’s interesting how writing gives structure to what feels chaotic in speech, right?
Maybe it’s not about fixing your brain, but embracing the way it works. Because, clearly, there’s brilliance in it :)
Dom