i miss my mind
what cognitive slowing feels like from the inside
Some days I miss my mind.
It isn’t all gone. I still know who I am. I still love the people I love. I still carry faith, memory, grief, humor, tenderness, stubbornness, and all the little things that make me me.
But there is a part of myself I have always counted on that feels harder to reach now.
The deep thinking part.
The part that could sit with an idea for a long time and let it turn into something. The part that loved making connections. Scripture to story. Theology to pain. A phrase from a book to something I noticed in a movie. A memory from years ago to a sermon on grace. I could feel thoughts coming together inside me. They weren’t just facts. They had weight. They had feeling. They were alive within me.
Now, sometimes, they disappear before I can get to them.
Cognitive slowing is a strange phrase. Clinical. Almost harmless sounding, like a computer taking a few extra seconds to load. But that is not what it feels like from the inside. It feels like walking into a familiar room and finding that someone has moved all the furniture. It feels like reaching for a word or a name and finding fog instead. Knowing there is a thought somewhere inside me, but not being able to get to it.
I can still think. But thinking costs more now.
A conversation can wear me out.
That is hard to explain to people.
Because from the outside, I may look mostly the same. I can smile. I can answer a question. I can preach a sermon. I can send a text. And because I can do those things, people may assume I am fine.
I’m exhausted all the time, but whenever I push myself, I crash even harder afterward.
Afterward, my body gives out. My brain goes quiet. The pain gets worse. The fog gets heavier. I forget names and conversations. And I am left grieving something most people cannot see.
It is called Post-exertional malaise (PEM). This is a term used to describe a worsening of symptoms after physical, mental, emotional, or social exertion that would not have caused problems before.
Post-exertional malaise causes my symptoms to get worse: fatigue, brain fog, pain, dizziness, sleep quality, weakness, sensitivity to noise/light, mood and emotional resilience.
Post-exertional malaise makes my deep thinking slower.
I think one of the hardest parts is that deep thinking has never been a hobby for me. It has been part of my calling. Part of how I love God and love people. I listen for connections because I believe things belong together. I look beneath the surface because pain usually has roots. I keep asking what love requires because that is where faith keeps taking me.
So when my mind slows, it is not just frustrating. It feels personal. It feels like losing access to a room in my own house.
There is grief in that. Real grief. The grief of becoming someone different before you were ready.
And I am trying to learn something here, even though I would not have chosen this.
Maybe my worth was never in how fast I could think. Maybe wisdom is not the same as speed. Maybe love does not leave when clarity does. Maybe God is not waiting for my best sentence before coming close.
Some days the prayer is not eloquent. Some days the prayer is sitting in the chair, tired and foggy, and whispering, I am still here.
I still miss the old ease of thought. I miss the feeling of my mind moving freely. I miss the deep waters.
But I am trying to trust that the water is still there, even when I cannot reach it as quickly.
I am trying to believe that I am not less myself because I am slower.
I am still here.
Slower now.
Still here.
Still listening.
Still loving.
Still held.
You seem to be describing me. Thanks it’s good to know I am not the only one
You and your writings are a blessing. And your vulnerability gives hope to many of us that we still belong. So thank you for your beautiful honesty. Praying for you hope, healing and peace.