How to Stop Spiraling Thoughts and Find Stillness

(cursor clicks) (bright music) Headspace Studios. Hey friends, it's Rosie here. Welcome to "Radio Headspace," and to Monday. The other night, I was lying in bed, exhausted, but my brain, wide awake. I was doing what I like to call mental ping pong. You know, bouncing between deadlines, texts I hadn't answered, something I had said two days ago, and a completely unnecessary hypothetical about what would happen if I forgot to set an alarm. You know that feeling: when your thoughts start looping and suddenly you're fully alert, rehearsing future disasters, or reliving past missteps while everyone else is peacefully asleep. Anxiety, many of us experience it, but often, we don't talk about it in real time. And I'm not talking about the buzzword version. I'm talking about the real, messy, sometimes paralyzing spiral that happens when your mind won't stop running. And by naming it, honestly, we give ourselves permission to move through it with more compassion and less shame. I've struggled with anxiety most of my life, but I didn't always have the language for it. I grew up in East LA in the early '90s, surrounded by chaos, gang violence, instability, the kind of fear you don't process until years later. By the time I was a teenager, I had full-blown anxiety, but I didn't know that's what it was. I just thought I was always on edge, constantly scanning for something to go wrong. That wasn't overthinking. That was survival. My nervous system had learned to stay ready. I didn't have the language for it then, but I was living in a constant state of hyper vigilance, like my body didn't know how to relax because the environment didn't feel safe enough to let go. And honestly, that's how I first found mindfulness. Not because it was trending or part of some wellness practice, but because I was desperate for something to help me feel safe in my own body. Meditation gave me a place to land when the world felt unsafe. It helped me slow down enough to notice that my spiraling thoughts weren't always telling the truth. They were just trying to protect me. Many years later, when I began teaching, one of my teachers shared something that stuck with me: "The mind is a wonderful servant, but a terrible master." That quote changed everything. It reminded me that my mind wasn't trying to harm me. It just needed guidance, attention, a place to rest. I remember one afternoon, I was running late for a meeting, caught in traffic and spiraling into that anxious loop, "You're going to blow this. They'll think you're unprofessional." But I paused, I took a breath, and instead of letting that story run wild, I said, "Okay, mind, I see you. But we're not doing that today." That moment taught me that I could observe my thoughts without obeying them. Anxiety isn't the enemy. It's a messenger. And while it doesn't always tell the truth, it is trying...