June 25, 2026 Healing

When Your Nervous System Won’t Stop Buzzing

There are days when your nervous system feels like it’s on a dimmer switch, gently humming in the background. And then there are the days when it feels like someone flipped everything too high.

When I say “my nervous system is buzzing,” for me, it usually feels like either anxiety or depression. I’m not sure that’s exactly how it would be described in a textbook, but those are the closest words I have. On some days, I feel so restless that I can’t land on anything to focus on. On other days, I feel so sluggish that I can’t get myself moving beyond the desire to scroll through social media until something better comes along.

The thoughts sound like: “I’m not doing enough… I should be… I’m wasting my time… I’m bored but can’t find something to do… I hate feeling like this, but don’t know what else to do…” Regardless of whether I’m wired or wiped out, I usually end up scrolling to pass the time or to “find connection” that isn’t really there.

I spend over 90% of my time alone, with brief forays into public life. When I’m alone, a buzzing nervous system makes it hard to focus. I replay conversations from the day, or I make up scenarios, often disastrous, just to give my mind something to chew on. Meanwhile, my body feels tense and chaotic. I also really struggle with simple self‑care, like eating enough or cooking anything beyond a snack, which then makes me more sluggish and contributes to weight gain, which just compounds the overall buzz inside my body.

This used to be even louder. My anxiety was so intense at one point that I used marijuana (in large amounts) just to counteract the cortisol spikes and get through a day. I’m now over three years sober and have many more tools to use. For example, just today I went and spent an hour sitting by the creek near my home in silence, just me and the birdsong. At first, I always feel like I “should be doing something productive,” but eventually, I find a little more space inside my being to simply sit and enjoy the place and space my soul is in.

Before these last few months, positive self‑talk was nearly impossible for me. Now I have more capacity to tell myself, “I love you. You’re doing great. You can do this. Everything is okay.” I’ve been away from an abusive situation for seven years now, and it took nearly 90% of that time just to get to a place where I can go out in public and not feel like I’m burdening other humans simply by being in the same space as them.

If any of this feels familiar in your own life, this blog is written just for you.

The Night I Realized Writing Could Hold It

One very specific season where journaling helped me the most was about three years after leaving the abuse and one year into my new marriage. My nervous system was a total wreck. Every move from another person felt like danger. I was wound so tight that the anxiety was crippling, not just as a mother or a wife, but simply as a human.

During that time, I slept very little. I would often get up in the middle of the night and pace in circles around the house for hours. My body was exhausted, but my brain refused to let go. One night, the pacing wasn’t helping at all, and I grabbed a notebook.

I let my thoughts come tumbling out in a rush. I wrote with a kind of fury and intensity that matched what was happening inside my body, as though the words could somehow move the energy out and away. And that is exactly what started to happen.

For most of that first session, I wasn’t even writing in a way that anyone else could read; the words just stumbled out. I wrote and wrote and wrote until the pen started moving slower and slower, and then it stopped. I felt the energy rush out and, for the first time in months, I fell into a deep sleep.

I kept doing this kind of fugue‑state, pour‑it‑all‑out writing for a while, maybe a few months. Slowly (so very, very slowly), it began to shift things in my waking life. I was still me, still healing, still tired. But I was a little less triggered by normal conversations and questions, like “What’s for dinner?” from my family. The world felt maybe 5% less sharp, and that was enough to keep going.

I’ve long since stopped that exact furious kind of journaling, but even now, when my thoughts get very loud, I still turn to my journal. I write in a more cohesive way these days, but the concept is the same: get it out of my head and onto the page so my body doesn’t have to hold what my mind is trying to process. Over the years, sleep has become more regular, almost normal. I don’t wake up for those impossible nights as often now. Most of the time, I sleep in peace.

What Journaling Is (and Is Not) Doing on Buzzing Days

I think it’s important to say this clearly: journaling is one tool among many tools. Just like a hammer or a screwdriver, it works beautifully for some things and not at all for others.

Sometimes journaling is exactly what I need. Sometimes talking helps more. Sometimes I need physical movement. Sometimes I need a connection. Sometimes, honestly, I fall back into old patterns like scrolling and not eating for months on end. Tools rotate. They get dull. They rest. They come back.

Journaling gives me a place to say the things that are screaming in my head without taking the emotional impact of those words out on the people I love, or even on strangers who happen to cross my path. The biggest lesson I’ve learned is not to rely on any one tool, journaling included. There are times when I think I want to journal, but once I sit down, the words won’t come, or they feel forced. When that happens, I put the journal down and turn to another tool.

The real work in those moments is not judging myself. Knowing that journaling can help, but doesn’t have to help in all situations, is what keeps it supportive instead of turning it into another standard I’m failing to meet. I’ve also had seasons when I’ve put my journal away for months to focus on learning something new, or because I’ve slipped back into old survival modes. When I come back out of those states, the journal is still there, waiting for me when it feels like a yes again.

Journaling is not what heals you. Healing comes from moving energy, building safety, and developing a new relationship with yourself over time. Journaling is simply one way to support that process, a container, a landing place, a way to listen more closely to what’s happening inside.

What It Actually Looks Like for Me on Buzzing Days

When I come back to my journal now, I like to make a ritual around it. It’s not always the same ritual, but there is usually some kind of intentional “entering” and “exiting” so my body knows what’s happening.

Today is a good example. I set my space by leaving my home on purpose and going to a place in nature where I’m surrounded by water, trees, and can ground. I sat with the feelings inside me without judging or even really naming them. I just let myself find a center of sorts. Then I took out my journal and wrote what I was feeling: peaceful, anxious, restless, powerful, whatever was true. Today I wrote about where I was sitting and how it felt. That was enough. It was more like marking the moment inside myself to solidify that it was happening and how it felt to choose it. When no more words came, I knew I was done.

A few nights ago, the ritual looked very different. My husband and I had an intense conversation before bed, and I couldn’t sleep. My nervous system was fully buzzing. Instead of staying in bed overthinking and building disaster scenarios, I got up. I went to my altar, lit a candle, chose incense that matched my feelings, and sat with what I was feeling for a few moments. Then I pulled out my journal and began writing.

This time it wasn’t fugue writing; it was more cohesive. I wrote until some kind of conclusion or “ah‑ha” rose up. When it did, I sat and meditated on that realization for a little while, just breathing with it, until I felt my body begin to relax. Then I closed the ritual: I thanked my altar and my journal for holding the space, blew out the candle, and went back to bed.

Some days, journaling for me looks like a full, layered ritual in the middle of the night. Other days, it’s one sentence by a creek. Both count.

Gentle Guidance: Adapting Journaling to Your Own Nervous System

If you’ve never used journaling this way before, I want to keep any “how‑to” as simple and flexible as possible. This is about supporting your nervous system, not performing journaling correctly.

Here are three small steps you can try and then adapt:

Beyond that, my only real guidance is: listen to yourself. No one, me included, can tell you the “right” amount of time to write, how fast to write, or exactly when to stop. Just because fugue writing worked for me in one season doesn’t mean it will work for you. You might prefer bullet lists, mind‑maps, doodles, “Journal Speak,” or a style you invent yourself. You’re allowed to experiment and combine methods until something fits.

When I speak about journaling, it’s to help people understand that there is no best way. There is only what supports you in this moment.

When it comes to safety, I treat my journal as a place where I can be fully honest, but I also pay attention to how my body feels while I’m writing. If detailed trauma memories start flooding in and I feel overwhelmed or spun out, that’s usually a sign to pause and, if possible, take those deeper layers to a therapist or another supportive space. You do not have to carry or process everything alone on the page.

Writing is for you and you alone. No one has any authority inside your journal except you. In a world where it can often feel like everything you do belongs to someone else, this is one of the quiet powers of journaling: it gives you back your autonomy.

A Few Journaling Prompts for Buzzing Days

If, after reading all of this, your nervous system is offering you a soft “yes” to journaling, here are some prompts you can borrow. You don’t have to use them all. One honest sentence is always enough.

Check in with your body

Pour out the loud thoughts

You don’t have to make this neat or pretty. Fragments, messy handwriting, and rants all count.

Close with kindness instead of pressure

You can screenshot or bookmark these and return to them on the days your system won’t stop buzzing. Let your body choose whichever question feels most reachable today, not the one that feels most impressive.

Explore More Nervous System–Friendly Rituals

If you’re curious about how your nervous system is moving through this season, and how writing might support you alongside other tools, you’re welcome to take my 8-question quiz to explore where your inner voice is right now. It’s a gentle way to get to know the stories you’re carrying and how you might start tending them on the page in ways that feel safe and realistic for you.

In my Wayfinding Rituals work, I help people shape personal, trauma-aware rituals and journaling practices so they can live with their nervous systems more kindly, instead of constantly fighting themselves. If that kind of companionship sounds supportive, you can visit the Wayfinding Rituals page to explore current offerings, resources, and future gatherings.

This post is based on my lived experience and is not a substitute for professional therapy.
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