Unwelcome Thoughts (Please Wipe Your Feet)

There’s a thought in my head. It’s not mine.

It arrived uninvited last Tuesday and made itself comfortable somewhere behind my left eyeball. It brought luggage. Emotional luggage. A full matching set with tiny wheels and one handle that doesn’t work properly.

At first, I tried ignoring it. I pretended I was out. I left a polite note on the door of my brain:

“Sorry, no visitors today. Especially not the loud, judgmental ones.”

But the thought didn’t care. It sat on the sofa of my subconscious, ate all the biscuits of self-esteem, and started rearranging the furniture.

“Just passing through,” it said, while installing a faint but persistent sense of dread near my sinuses.

I tried everything. Meditation. Distraction. One of those herbal teas that smells like compost and despair. I even spoke to it politely:

“Hello, you seem lost. Could you possibly bother someone else for a bit?”

It grinned.

It ordered a takeaway.

The worst part? It brought friends.

A whole group of thoughts I’d rather not deal with, all moaning about old regrets, unpaid bills, and that time in 1993 when I said something awkward in a lift.

It’s very noisy in here now.

But here’s the thing I’ve learned (when I can hear myself think): You don’t always have to believe what your brain tells you. Not every thought is worth unpacking.

Some just need a cup of tea, a firm no, and possibly a sock to the head.

So I let them pass through.
I try not to argue.

I remind myself:

“Just because they’ve made a mess, doesn’t mean they live here.”

And sometimes, when it’s quiet enough, I tidy up.

I make toast.
I tell myself I’m doing okay.
And I reclaim the sofa.