This month I find myself recovering from a double mastectomy with reconstruction. For reference, I look like Frankenstein’s monster and have been severely limited in my activities which, admittedly, have included a lot of scrolling. I’ve only just been able to dial back the pain killers enough to read, let alone get the February newsletter published just under the wire.
An article I did manage to read, Why Boredom is Good for Your Kid, was found in the August 4, 2025 issue of Psychology Today, by Sam Goldstein, Ph.D. Having frequently watched my only child make up games and stories to entertain himself, I already knew this, but Dr. Goldstein said something else that stopped me in my Tramadol soaked tracks. “…slow down for a second. Look around. Let your brain breathe.”
I danced around a similar idea with my therapist once but it didn’t really go anywhere because if I’m going to be sitting around I should be brainstorming, meditating, or reading the news. Manifesting something, at least. Right? She suggested sitting quietly, gazing out the window, alone for a while with my thoughts.
MY thoughts? Absolutely not. My thoughts don’t know how to act. They are intrusive and catastrophic and guaranteed to run amok. Since my diagnosis I’ve put a lot of energy into steering clear of the downward spiral and staring off into space seemed like the mental health equivalent of consulting a Ouija board. It feels like a game until the demon moves into your house.
Disgusted with the doom the other day, I put down my phone and realized after about ten minutes that I’d just been sitting there. Alone with my thoughts. What? I won’t lie, at first they were grim but after about ten minutes more, I found that I wasn’t really thinking about much of anything. I felt my shoulders leave my ears and I heaved the heaviest, most cleansing sigh my stitches would allow.
The exercise didn’t instantly change my life but for a little while I felt better, lighter even. Instead of social media, I opened the Notes App and drafted a new essay to be delivered (perhaps on time) in the March newsletter. Since then I’ve often repeated this exercise on purpose and the end result isn’t always creative and doesn’t always feel better. Sometimes I just cry. It is weirdly satisfying though and I no longer consider it a dangerous waste of time. I find now that I crave that sensation when overwhelmed with emails, tasks, pain, worries, and the news. I have to admit that I’m making it a habit to slow down, look around, and let my brain breathe.