10/9/26 | Written by Idina Cole
When Your Mind Won’t Be Still, It May Be Telling You Something
You know that feeling when you’re sitting at your desk and something small happens, but your reaction to it feels much bigger than the situation actually is? Maybe an email comes through, someone gives you feedback, or you look at a number on a report and realize it isn’t where you thought it should be. Nothing particularly dramatic has happened, but something shifts inside of you. Your chest tightens, your shoulders tense up, and your mind starts getting cloudy. Before you know it, you’re thinking, I messed up. I’m failing. I can’t handle this. Maybe I’m not cut out for this.
Suddenly, you don’t even want to look at the computer anymore. You open another tab, then another, and before you realize it, you’re checking things that have absolutely nothing to do with the task you were working on. You move from one thing to another, trying to find some relief from the discomfort you’re feeling. Eventually, you start telling yourself that you’re just tired, that you need a better system, or that you need to get tougher. But what if some of that exhaustion isn’t really coming from how much you’re doing? What if it’s also coming from the way you’ve learned to interpret pressure? That’s something the Lord had to show me.
I Didn’t See the Connection at First
For a long time, I didn’t connect what was happening in my professional life with what was happening when I sat down to spend time with God. In my mind, they were two completely different things. Work was work, prayer was prayer, and business was business. My relationship with God was something separate. But looking back now, I can see the same pattern running through all of it.
I spent years working as a coach, mentor, and specialist within a large managed care program for state Medicaid. Eventually, I moved into a very technical area of the work called Dental Appeals, and let me tell you, that was not casual work. When a family’s request for something like braces, orthopedic dentistry, or dentures was denied, that file could land on my desk, and I had to build the appeal packet from the ground up. I couldn’t just skim through it and make a decision. I had to review the guidelines, examine the dental records and x-rays, study the patient’s history, read what the dentist had documented, and make sure the entire case was supported. Everything had to be there, and everything had a timeline.
For some appeals, I had three days to put the entire packet together and send it to the internal dentist for review. There were days when I worked through files with 25 or 30 different points that had to be addressed. And I was good at it. Really good. I could work through a huge stack of files during my eight-hour shift, close my laptop at five o’clock, and have my entire pipeline cleared. I could even take two or three weeks off because I had already handled my work. From the outside, I looked incredibly organized, but underneath all that productivity was something I hadn’t recognized yet. I had learned to associate being okay with getting everything right.
The Clipboard Followed Me Home
The problem was that I didn’t leave that mindset at work. I brought it home with me, and eventually, I brought it into my relationship with God. I would sit down with my Bible and journal and somehow turn my quiet time into another file that needed to be completed. I had my steps, my expectations, and my own idea of what a “good” quiet time was supposed to look like. If my mind wandered, I felt like I had failed. If I started thinking about something I needed to do, I wondered whether I was spiritually disciplined enough. And if I couldn’t settle down and focus, I became frustrated with myself.
It was almost as though I had taken that corporate clipboard and carried it into the presence of God. I was asking myself whether I had done enough, prayed long enough, or read enough, and wondering why I couldn’t focus. What was wrong with me? The irony is that I was trying so hard to get closer to God that I was exhausting myself in the process. I didn’t understand that I was trying to solve an identity wound with the same performance system that had trained me to survive pressure in the first place.
Then the Lord Had Me Stop and Look
I remember sitting at my desk one morning when I was completely at the end of myself. The work was right there in front of me, but the mental fog was so thick that I couldn’t seem to get myself moving. I had already tried everything I knew to do. I tried working faster, organizing my schedule, figuring out the problem, and forcing myself to focus, but I kept ending up in the same place.
Right in the middle of that exhaustion, the Holy Spirit gave me a very simple instruction: “Write down everything you’re doing right now.” So I did. I started paying attention to what I was actually doing, including when I sat down, when I got up, when my mind wandered, what I was thinking about, and what happened right before I felt the tension. As I began writing everything down, something became very clear. The wandering wasn’t random, and neither was the heaviness. There was a pattern.
That was the part that really got me because I had been calling it a lack of discipline. I had been calling it distraction, and I had been calling it tiredness. But the Lord was showing me that my reactions were giving me information. The moment pressure showed up, an old pattern would activate. If I thought I had missed something, I would immediately question myself. If I felt uncertain, I would start trying to regain control. Once I saw the pattern, I couldn’t unsee it.
Your Mental Static May Be Saying More Than You Think
Sometimes we’re so focused on getting rid of the distraction that we never stop long enough to ask what the distraction might be revealing. That’s what changed for me. I stopped seeing my wandering mind as something I simply needed to beat into submission, and I started asking, “What is happening underneath this?”
Because sometimes the thought isn’t the whole problem. Sometimes it’s pointing you toward something deeper. Maybe you’re not simply distracted; maybe you’re afraid. Maybe you’re not simply procrastinating; maybe you’re overwhelmed. Maybe you’re not lazy; maybe you’ve been carrying an expectation you were never meant to carry. And maybe you’re not struggling to hear God because He has stopped speaking. Maybe you’ve been so conditioned to respond to pressure with action that stillness itself has become uncomfortable.
That last realization was especially important for me. When you’re used to solving things, stillness can feel like you’re doing nothing. And when your identity has been built around being the person who handles everything, sitting quietly with God can reveal just how much you’ve been carrying. You may sit down intending to pray, only to find your mind running through your responsibilities, your finances, your unfinished projects, and all the things you think you need to fix. Before long, you’re frustrated because you can’t seem to make yourself be still. But what if that moment is an opportunity to notice what’s going on inside instead of immediately judging yourself for it?
The Lord Wasn’t Teaching Me How to Work Harder
He was teaching me how to stop carrying the clipboard. That became the real revelation for me. I didn’t need another productivity system to manage my mind. I needed to learn how to recognize the pattern that kept pulling me back into performance, fear, and self-rejection.
Romans 8:38–39 became especially meaningful to me. Paul writes that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor anything else in creation can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. Think about that for a moment. Your circumstances can change, your emotions can change, and your performance can change, but your position in Christ isn’t changing every time you have a difficult day. The email, the unfinished project, the disappointing number, or the mistake you made cannot separate you from His love. You don’t have to respond to every uncomfortable moment as though your entire life is falling apart.
Ephesians 3:20 gives us another part of this picture: God is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all we ask or think, according to the power that works in us. This verse isn’t telling us to manufacture an outcome through our thoughts. It directs our attention back to God’s ability. He is able, even when we cannot see how everything is going to come together. That means I don’t have to figure everything out before I can rest, and I don’t have to know how everything will work before I can take the next step of obedience.
Daughter First. Doer Second.
This is where everything started making sense to me. I had spent so much time learning how to be a doer that I had to learn how to live as a daughter. And those are not the same thing. In my professional life, I had become very good at following systems, meeting deadlines, and making sure every detail was accounted for. But underneath that capability was an old rejection loop that could get triggered whenever I felt I had missed something or wasn’t measuring up. Instead of seeing a mistake or an uncomfortable situation for what it was, I would take it personally. I would question myself, feel that familiar tension, and try to work harder to prove that I could handle it.
I eventually began recognizing that I was carrying that same pattern into my relationship with God and the way I approached building my business. When something wasn’t working the way I expected, my instinct was to fix it, find another strategy, or push myself to do more. I had to learn that I could be responsible without making myself responsible for controlling every outcome. A doer may immediately ask what needs to be fixed, while a daughter can pause and ask her Father what He is showing her. A doer may reach for another strategy the moment something feels uncertain, while a daughter can bring that uncertainty to God instead of assuming everything depends on her.
As I began breaking that rejection loop and learning to operate from my identity as a daughter first, I started seeing changes in how I approached my work. I was learning to stop letting fear and the need to prove myself drive my decisions. I could still build systems, plan my days, and execute what was in front of me, but I was learning to do those things from a different place. And during that season, I experienced a 75% increase in my income. That was significant, but the part I don’t want you to miss is what was changing underneath the numbers. I was learning that my capability was something I could steward, not something I had to use to prove that I was worthy, safe, or accepted.
God wasn’t asking me to throw away the part of me that was organized or become less capable. He was teaching me to stop using my capability as proof that I was safe. I could still be productive, make wise decisions, and build with excellence without making my productivity the foundation of my identity. I was learning to be a daughter before I was a doer, and that changed the way I approached what God had placed in my hands.
What If Your Mind Is Giving You a Signal?
The next time you sit down to pray and your mind starts running through everything you need to do, don’t immediately assume you’ve failed at being still. Pause long enough to ask yourself what you were thinking about right before your mind started racing. What are you afraid will happen if you don’t handle something right now? Is there something you’re trying to control, or are you carrying a responsibility that God hasn’t asked you to carry? You may discover that your mind isn’t simply being difficult. It may be revealing an area where fear, pressure, or an old way of thinking is still influencing your response.
You can bring that discovery to the Father without shaming yourself for it. You don’t have to condemn yourself for being distracted or frustrated. You can approach Him with honesty and curiosity, asking Him to help you recognize what is happening and learn a different response. Sometimes the most helpful thing you can do is stop trying to force yourself into stillness long enough to notice what keeps pulling you away from it.
The Practical Rhythms I Use to Realign My Day
Once I began recognizing the patterns that were pulling me back into performance, I needed to do something with what the Lord was showing me. I didn’t want to keep identifying the problem without changing how I approached my day. I needed a practical rhythm that would help me slow down, spend time with the Father, and stop carrying the weight of every responsibility into my time with Him. That’s where my Morning Stillness and my evening routine, which I call Closing the Lid, became important parts of my day.
1. Morning Stillness: Establishing My Day Before the Work Begins
My morning begins before I open my email, check my phone, or start thinking about everything I need to accomplish. While it’s still dark outside, I get up and go directly to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. This is a practical part of my routine because I don’t want to linger in bed, start scrolling, or allow my thoughts to pull me into the responsibilities of the day before I’ve had time with the Father. Getting up and preparing myself helps me transition from sleep into the day intentionally.
After that, I go to my quiet space and spend about seven to ten minutes kneeling. I use this time to settle myself before the Lord and remember that I am coming to Him as His daughter, not as someone trying to earn His approval. I place my hands over my chest and pray, “Father, I am Your daughter. I am loved, and I don’t have to perform to earn Your love. Help me begin this day from a place of trust rather than pressure or striving.” This is a moment for me to acknowledge where my heart is and bring my attention back to Him before I begin doing anything else. This is the place where I'm just quiet and sitting still.
From there, I turn around and sit on the floor at the feet of Jesus with my Bible and journal open. I set aside approximately twenty to thirty minutes to be with the Lord, read His Word (one passage or verse) listen then pray without trying to force a particular message or figure out my entire day. I may ask Him, “Father, what do You want me to know today? Is there anything I’m carrying that I need to bring to You?” If a work assignment, an unfinished task, or another responsibility comes to mind, I write it in my journal instead of trying to solve it right there. That way, I can acknowledge the thought without allowing it to take over the time I’ve set aside with Him. Once I’ve written it down, I return my attention to the Father.
I close my Bible and journal and get up. I move my body, stretch, or spend about ten minutes doing some light movement or dancing before I take a shower and get dressed. I use that transition to move from my quiet time into the rest of my morning. My goal is to be ready for my work blocks by 9:30 a.m., having already given myself time to be with the Lord and prepare for the day. I’m not trying to earn anything through this routine. I’m establishing a rhythm that helps me remember who I am before I step into what I need to do.
2. Closing the Lid: Releasing the Day Before the Evening Ends
Just as I need a rhythm for beginning my day, I need one for ending it. Otherwise, I can close my laptop and still carry every unfinished task, business decision, and financial concern around in my head all evening. That’s why I have a practice I call Closing the Lid. It gives me a defined transition between working and resting instead of allowing the workday to follow me into every other part of my life.
At 5:30 p.m., I stop working. I may still have things on my list, but I don’t automatically extend the workday just because everything isn’t finished. If it’s my day to cook, I move into preparing dinner. I can watch television, spend time on other responsibilities, and allow myself to be present in the evening without continually returning to my business. This boundary reminds me that unfinished work doesn’t mean I have to keep working indefinitely. I can identify what needs attention tomorrow without trying to resolve everything tonight.
At 7:30 p.m., I begin my evening routine by going to my knees before the Lord. This is my opportunity to bring the day to a close spiritually, reflect on how I’ve responded to people and circumstances, and confess anything I need to bring before Him. If I was impatient in a conversation, reacted out of frustration, or allowed anxious thoughts to dominate my decisions, I can be honest with God about it. I pray something like, “Father, I release this day to You. Show me what I need to learn, help me make right what needs to be made right, and teach me not to carry today’s pressure into tomorrow.” I also acknowledge the things I didn’t complete and entrust them to Him rather than treating them as evidence that I have failed.
From 7:30 to 8:30 p.m., I use my journal to write down what I’m still carrying. I might list unfinished assignments, concerns about my business, decisions I need to make, or thoughts that keep circling in my mind. The purpose isn’t to reopen the workday or start planning another hour of tasks. It’s to get those thoughts out of my head and give myself a clear place to return to them when it’s appropriate. I remind myself, “I don’t have to solve this tonight. I can write it down, bring it before the Father, and allow myself to rest.”
At 8:30 p.m., I stop journaling and begin preparing for bed. I brush my teeth, wash my face, put on my pajamas, turn off the television, and settle into some light reading. I avoid reopening my work or starting another round of problem-solving because I want the evening to lead toward rest rather than another period of activity. My aim is to be asleep around 9:45 or 10:00 p.m., giving myself an opportunity to end the day without feeling that I must resolve every unanswered question before I can rest.
What These Rhythms Are Teaching Me
These routines aren’t a formula for making God respond, and they aren’t a checklist I use to measure whether I’ve been a good Christian. They’re practical rhythms that help me make room for the Father at the beginning and end of my day. These have become my non-negotiables because this is where I practice being still. These are where I've learned to release and receive. It's not a perfect system. But, it's become the place I return too often; and that's saying alot because before I had a rhythm that was for me and my design. I was all over the place trying to do it just right. Morning Stillness gives me space to turn my attention toward Him before the day’s demands take over, while Closing the Lid helps me recognize when it’s time to stop working, release what remains unfinished, and prepare to rest.
I’m still responsible for the work in front of me. I still have decisions to make, things to build, and circumstances that require my attention. But I don’t have to treat every unfinished task as an emergency or every wandering thought as evidence that something is wrong with me. I can notice what’s happening, write down what needs my attention, return to the Father, and take the next step when it’s time.
That’s the difference I’m learning to live out: I can be intentional about my routines without making my routines the source of my security. The rhythms help me create space for relationship with God, but my identity as His daughter doesn’t depend on how perfectly I follow them. I practice them because I want to live from that identity, not because I need to earn it.
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