My Brain Has No Off Switch, My Heart Has No Filter, and Apparently I Have Some Explaining to Do
I’ve been wrestling with something lately, and I’m finally going to put it out there. Some people will understand. Others will probably decide I’ve officially lost my mind. And honestly, that ship may have sailed years ago. 😂
People often think they have me figured out. But the truth is, I’m a whole lot more complicated than what you see on the surface. There’s a side of me that very few people truly understand, and sometimes I don’t even understand it myself.
My brain NEVER shuts off.
I’m talking 24 hours a day, seven days a week. No commercial breaks. No intermission. Not even a lousy bathroom break.
Some of the heaviest-hitting medications known to mankind can’t convince this brain of mine to go to sleep. Apparently, my thoughts have unionized and refuse to clock out.
And I hate it.
I analyze everything. I replay conversations. I revisit the past, worry about the future, and occasionally create seventeen scenarios that haven’t even happened yet. I can turn one tiny thought into a full-blown documentary, complete with commentary, bonus footage, and a sequel nobody asked for.
And lately, some of those thoughts have gotten heavy. Really heavy.
I think about dying. A lot.
There. I said it.
Maybe it’s because I lost my dad when he was the same age I am now. Maybe it’s because cancer has touched my life so many times that the word itself feels like a shadow following me around.
Or maybe it’s because I love my children so fiercely that the thought of missing even one moment of their lives absolutely terrifies me.
Especially Nate.
And of course, my other four. Before somebody starts keeping score, relax. I have enough love and anxiety to go around for everybody.
But somewhere in the middle of all this overthinking, fear, and emotional chaos, my brain has become completely consumed with something else.
LOVE.
Not romantic love. Not the kind you see in movies where somebody runs through an airport and security apparently takes the day off.
I’m talking about a love so pure, so unexpected, and so overwhelming that I genuinely don’t know what to do with it.
Recently, two people came into our lives.
And somehow, without asking permission, without years of history, without any grand announcement, they found their way into a very deep place in my heart.
I love these two people.
There. Another confession.
And before anyone gets weird, no, I’m not a fan girl. I’m not trying to become somebody’s new best friend by force. And I certainly don’t want anyone checking their bushes for me. Good Lord, I have enough going on without adding a restraining order to my résumé.
But here’s what I can’t seem to explain.
It’s the way they look at my son.
I’ve seen people be kind to Nate. I’ve seen people enjoy him, appreciate him, and show him affection.
But this is different.
When I look into their eyes, I see something I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed quite this way before.
I see love.
Real love.
Not pity. Not obligation. Not a performance for the world to see.
I see two people who seem to recognize something in Nate that I have always known was there.
A little piece of heaven.
An innocence and purity that this world has a funny way of trying to steal from people.
And somehow, these two people see it. They don’t just see Nate. They seem to feel him. His spirit. His goodness. His light.
Maybe they see him as the angel from heaven I’ve always believed him to be.
And maybe being around that kind of purity gives them something the rest of this crazy world can’t.
Whatever it is, I see it.
And it moves me in ways I can’t even begin to describe.
Now, here’s where my ridiculously complicated brain gets itself into another pickle.
How do you show people you genuinely love them without making it weird?
Because apparently, just saying “I love you” doesn’t feel like enough to me.
I’m a loving person. At least I try to be.
I try to be kind to everyone I meet. And if I haven’t been kind to you, well, there may be a reason. I’m not applying for sainthood, and I do have a functioning backbone. 😂
I give compliments when I mean them. I try to do the right thing. I show up for people. I care deeply.
Do I screw up? Absolutely.
Do I occasionally put my foot in my mouth? Honey, I’ve practically built a vacation home there.
I’m human.
But when someone touches my heart through the way they love my child, something happens inside me that I can’t quite put into words.
Because loving Nate isn’t just loving Nate.
It’s loving a piece of me that lives outside my body.
It’s seeing the beauty in someone the world doesn’t always take the time to understand.
It’s recognizing his worth without needing an explanation.
It’s giving him the kind of love that asks for absolutely nothing in return.
And for a mother who spends far too much time worrying about the day she might not be here to protect him, that kind of love is everything.
Maybe that’s why this has hit me so hard.
Maybe underneath all my overthinking, all my fear of death, all my sleepless nights and my constant need to analyze every little thing, there’s a mother desperately wanting to know that her child will always be seen, valued, and loved.
Not just tolerated.
Not just included.
Loved.
And when I see that kind of love coming from someone else, I don’t just feel grateful.
I feel connected to them.
Deeply.
And I want them to know that what they’ve given my son has given something to me, too.
Something I didn’t even realize I needed.
Peace.
Hope.
A little less fear.
And maybe the reminder that love doesn’t always need decades of history to be real.
Sometimes people enter your life and touch a place in your soul that others have walked past for years.
So maybe this is my way of saying what I’ve been struggling so hard to express.
To those two people, I hope you know that I see you, too.
I see the way you look at my son.
I see the tenderness. The sincerity. The love.
And I hope you understand that you have touched my heart in a way that words will probably never do justice.
I’m not looking for anything from you. I don’t need a grand gesture, a declaration, or a matching friendship bracelet. Although, knowing me, I’d probably make them. 😂
I just want you to know that the love you give my son has made me love you in return.
Not because of who you are to the world.
But because of who you are to him.
And that, my friends, is something money can’t buy, fame can’t manufacture, and no amount of pretending can ever duplicate.
Maybe I don’t need to figure out how to give that love away.
Maybe I just need to keep showing it, in the little ways, without overthinking it to death.
Which, considering the circus currently operating inside my skull, is asking an awful lot.
But I’m trying.
Because for all the noise in my head, all the fears in my heart, and all the things I still haven’t figured out about this life, I know one thing for certain.
Love is not always something you can explain. Sometimes it’s something you recognize in another person’s eyes.
And when those eyes are looking at your child with the same love and wonder you see in him every single day?
Well, that kind of love changes you.
And if that makes me crazy, then so be it.
I’ve been called worse.
Love, Holly ❤️
P.S. If you’ve made it through this entire tour of my brain, congratulations. You’re now entitled to a complimentary aspirin and possibly a support group. Welcome to Holly’s head. It’s exhausting in here.
