When They Overstay their Welcome in Your Mind

 

There are guests in my head who’ve forgotten how to leave. How about yours?

They arrived uninvited, years ago—some came bearing drama not their own, others carrying grievances like oversized luggage that you never asked to hold. They settled into your mental armchairs, kicked off their shoes, and began speaking over your thoughts. Not to you, but at you—reliving stories you never starred in, bickering about people you’d long since unshackled from.

It’s the kind of noise that sounds like concern but hums like control. "You should know what she said." "I can't believe they acted like that." "I’m just saying, someone needs to call them out."

They use your airspace like a megaphone. Thoughts of your own wait patiently at the edges—prayers for clarity, dreams for what’s next, glimpses of peace interrupted by static that isn’t yours.

And you wonder, quietly, when did their grievances become mine to host?

I’m learning—slowly, sacredly—that not every voice deserves front-row seating in my spirit. Some stories were never meant for me to carry. Some people, though loved, need boundaries even in memory. And some rooms in my heart need decluttering if I’m to hear my own soul again.

It’s okay to change the locks on yesterday’s rants. To ask the guest to take their drama with them. To whisper “I forgive you, but I’m busy now,” and not let guilt re-enter.

This isn’t bitterness. It’s breath. This isn’t avoidance. It’s peace.

I’m reclaiming my mental living room—not with shouting, but with silence. Not with anger, but with permission. Not with proof, but with presence.  Be blessed!  wcd