I’ve Got a Noisy Classroom in My Head

A personal tour of the mental classroom I didn’t sign up to teach

I was minding my own business the other day—feeling calm, checking things off my list—when suddenly it was like a classroom full of unruly children burst into my mind.

They didn’t knock. They didn’t ask permission. They just stormed in with fear, doubt, worry, and way too much energy.

“What if everything falls apart?”
“You forgot something. Again.”
“They probably think you are an idiot.”
“She is so much better at this than I am.”
“Did you really just say that out loud?”
“You are such a doofus!”

Just pure mental mayhem.

And it struck me—again—how much my thoughts can act like mischievous kids who just want attention. Not because they’re wise or right. Not because something’s wrong. Just because… that’s what thoughts seem to do sometimes.

The Clamoring Isn’t the Problem

When this kind of mental chaos shows up, I’ve noticed that the thoughts seem to get louder the more attention I give them.

They can be pretty dramatic.
What-If Wendy jumps up and down yelling, “What if you’ve made a huge mistake and don’t even know it yet?”
Doomy Dan is scribbling wild worst-case scenarios on the whiteboard.
Not-Good-Enough Ned whispers, “Everyone else seems to have figured this out... what’s wrong with you?”
And People-Pleasing Penny nervously suggests, “Maybe just apologize again, just in case they misunderstood.”

For most of my life, it really seemed like I needed to do something about all of it. I’d get caught up trying to manage the noise or make it stop.

But more and more, I’ve seen that the thoughts themselves aren’t the issue. It’s just that sometimes they get noisy—and I don’t have to take their volume as a sign of truth.

They Wander Off When I Don’t Feed Them

Here’s something I’ve found over and over again:
If I don’t feed those thoughts with attention—if I don’t argue with them, follow them, or try to make them go away—they tend to wander off on their own.

It’s like they forget why they showed up in the first place.

Sometimes I picture them just slowly drifting toward the door like bored kids realizing recess is over and no one’s playing with them anymore. And then... quiet. Not because I made it quiet—just because I didn’t join the noise.

There’s something so effortless about that. I don’t have to manage anything. The mind seems to have its own reset button.

I’m Not the Chaos—I’m the One Who Notices It

The peace I was feeling before the thought-storm? It never really went anywhere. It just got a bit covered up.

I’ve seen that I’m not the voice of What-If Wendy. I’m not the panic of Doomy Dan. I’m not even the one trying to quiet the room.

I’m the one who notices it all.

And that noticing doesn’t need to be loud or clever or in control. It’s already calm. It’s already okay.

I used to think peace was something I had to work for. Now I’m starting to see it’s something that’s always been here—and it’s not disturbed by a noisy mental classroom, no matter how wild it gets.

Once I’m In It, It’s Harder to See

Sometimes, when my mind starts sounding like a cafeteria full of kids with extra sugar, I still get caught up in the noise. I forget it's just thought. I get pulled into the drama and start reacting as if it’s all real and urgent and personal.

And once I’m in it, I’ve found it’s a lot harder to climb out than it is to stay out in the first place.

It’s like being swept into the middle of the classroom, right in the middle of the paper airplane war. The chaos feels louder, faster, more convincing. In those moments, the calm I know is there seems temporarily out of reach.

But eventually—sometimes with a sigh or a laugh—I notice what’s going on.

And when I do, I don’t try to fix the thoughts or silence the noise. I just do my best to gently turn my attention elsewhere. Something simple. Something neutral. Sometimes I don’t even know what I’m turning toward—I just know I’m stepping away from the shouting match.

And sure enough, at some point I realize… I’m standing outside the classroom again. Back in the quiet. Not because I wrestled my way there—just because I stopped participating in the noise.

That shift never stops feeling kind of magical.

Recognizing the Regulars Without Getting Pulled In

I’ve found that I have a few regular characters who seem to show up more than the others.

There’s Perfectionist Pete, who always thinks I could’ve done it better.
Judgy James, who has an opinion about absolutely everything and everyone.
And Rehash Ralph, who replays every conversation I’ve had just in case I said something weird, wrong, or not quite perfect.

Giving them names has helped me spot them earlier and take them a little less seriously. It reminds me they’re not personal or profound—just familiar thought-patterns showing up for another round of mental theater.

You might have your own characters. You probably already know their voices.

And if not, no pressure. This is just something I’ve been seeing more clearly lately.

The thoughts come. The thoughts go. Sometimes they’re quiet, sometimes they’re loud. But underneath all of it, there’s a kind of steady quiet—unmoved and undisturbed. And more and more, I’m noticing… that’s where I’m coming from.

It’s comforting to know that I don’t have to control the chaos to rediscover the calm. I just have to stop thinking it’s all me.

And when I do, even just for a moment—I usually find I’m already outside the classroom again.