I think I've mentioned before that I help out at our local community theater. Sometimes I work in the box office. Sometimes I help out in the bar. And sometimes I'm the acting theater manager for the night. For long periods, it's pretty boring. Nothing's going wrong. But when things do go wrong, they happen all at once. And everyone's looking at me for the solution. But I'm always ready. Even when the most unexpected events occur, I have a plan. And why? Because I've thought about everything that can go wrong. And not just broken ticket scanners. I've thought about fire. Earthquake. For an invasion and plague. I'm ready for any disaster. Because my mind is constantly thinking of anything that could go wrong. I am an overthinker. And honestly, it's exhausting. Because this tendency that occasionally makes me good at my job. It doesn't clock out when I do. The time and place my brain most likes to rehearse these alarming things is in bed. Right before I'm trying to fall asleep. What about you? Are you an overthinker? Does your mind rehearse conversations that haven't happened yet? Does it review ones that already did? And create elaborate plans for situations that will probably never happen? If you're lying here tonight with thoughts circling like a merry-go-round that won't stop. You're not alone. And you're not broken. Your brain is actually trying to help you. It's just not very good at knowing when to stop. Because all day you've been busy. Your mind hasn't had a chance to process everything. So the moment you lie down in the quiet darkness. Your brain sees its chance. It starts pulling out every concern from the day. Every worry. Every unresolved issue. And because there are no distractions now. These thoughts have your complete attention. Your brain mistakes this for productivity. It thinks if it just reviews this situation one more time. You'll finally figure it out. You never do. Because this isn't problem-solving. It's just looping. And then the more you try to stop thinking about something. The more your mind keeps checking. To make sure you're not thinking about it. And each time it checks. It accidentally brings that very thought back into your awareness. And meanwhile your body is responding to all this mental activity. As if there's an actual threat. So your breathing gets shallow. And your muscles tense. Tense. In the end these looping thoughts aren't protecting you. They're not solving anything. They're just a habit. And tonight we're going to help you recognize these patterns. And learn to shut them down. And sleep. Before we begin. I need you to make sure you're somewhere safe to fall asleep. This episode uses relaxation techniques. And hypnotherapy. Specifically designed to help you drift off. So please don't listen anywhere you need to stay alert. And now my request for follows. Which as usual. I've overthought. Because I imagine you. Rolling your eyes. Thinking. There she goes again. Asking for follows. So pushy. But I'm asking anyways. Because when you follow the show. You always have these episodes ready when you need them. And future you. Lying awake at 2am. Will be glad you did. Before we begin. Let's make sure you're in a position. Where this relaxation technique. Can work effectively. If you're curled up tightly. Or lying on your stomach. You might want to adjust. Try lying on your back. If that's comfortable. Or on your side. With your body extended. Not pulled into a tight ball. Give yourself a little space. And don't worry. Once we're done. You can curl back up. But for now. Just give your body. Room to work with you. We'll use a simple technique. Briefly creating tension. And then releasing it. This helps your body. Understand the difference. Between holding on. And letting go. Start by bringing your awareness. To your breathing. Feel the natural rhythm of air. Moving in. And out. Now. Take a slow breath in. And as you do. Gently curl your toes. Downward. Creating a little tension. In your feet. Hold that. For three. Two. One. And release. Everything. On your exhale. Feel the contrast. That shift. From tight. To loose. Breathe in. Again. And this time. Flex your feet. Upward. Feeling your calf muscles. Engage. Hold. For three. Two. One. And let it all dissolve. As you breathe out. Notice how that wave of release. Feels in your body. Next. Breathe in. Press your knees together. Activating. Your thigh muscles. Hold. And release. Feel how your legs. Seem to sink more heavily. Into the bed. Inhale. And make fists. With your hands. Squeeze softly. Hold. And open your hands. On the exhale. Letting your fingers. Naturally curl. In whatever way. Feels comfortable. Breathe in. And draw your elbows. Slightly toward your ribs. Tensing your upper arms. Hold. And then let your arms. Become completely passive. Releasing any tension. Your arms can simply rest. Heavy. And still. On your next inhale. Gently draw your shoulder blades. Together. On your back. Not up. Toward your ears. But back. Toward each other. Hold. And then feel them settle. Wide. Across your back. Finally. Breathe in. And gently press your head. Back into whatever is supporting it. Your pillow. Or your mattress. Hold for three. Two. One. And then let your neck muscles. Completely release their job. Of holding your head. Take one more. Full breath. And this time. Tense everything at once. Feet. Legs. Hands. Arms. Your shoulders. Your face. Hold it all. And then release everything. With a long. Slow. Exhale. Feel how your body has settled more completely into the surface. Beneath you. Notice how warm you are now. How comfortable. Your muscles have remembered what release feels like. Your breathing has found a deeper, slower rhythm. You are completely safe here. Completely comfortable. This feeling of warmth. Of being held. Of being protected. This is exactly what your body needs. Just rest here. In this perfect place. Of safety. And warmth. In a moment. I'm going to guide you somewhere using the power of your imagination. All you need to do. Is to listen. To my voice. Let my words become like a gentle curse. If other sounds drift into your awareness. That's perfectly fine. Just notice them. And let them fade into the background. As you return to my voice. My voice is your anchor. Keeping you grounded. Every word is chosen to help you let go. A little more. To relax. A little deeper. To move closer to the natural, restorative sleep. Your body is ready for. And now, without effort. Without trying. You simply find yourself somewhere else. It's early evening. That magical time when day has not quite surrendered to night. You're standing on a wooden boardwalk. And you can feel the warmth of it beneath your bare feet. Wood that's been soaking up sunshine all day. Now releasing that stored heat back into the cooling air. You're at an old amusement park. You can smell it before you fully see it. That particular blend of summer evening air. A lingering sweetness of cotton candy and popcorn. The faint scent of cut grass from somewhere nearby. The park is mostly quiet now. Mostly dark. You can hear the distant sound of car doors closing softly in the parking lot. Families are packing up. Heading home with their tired, happy children. The day here is done. But one more ride is still running. It's a Ferris wheel. Vintage. And beautiful. It's lights glowing warm yellow. And soft red against the deepening purple sky. It's turning slowly. Steadily. The gondolas moving in their endless circle. You can hear the gentle mechanical creaking of it. A rhythmic sound. That's almost hypnotic. Around and around it goes. Walk closer now. Feel the boardwalk beneath your feet. Still warm. Solid. Your steps are quiet. The evening air is perfect. Just cool enough to feel pleasant against your skin. After the warmth of the day. As you approach the Ferris wheel, you begin to understand something. Each gondola that passes carries something familiar. A thought. A worry. There goes one. You recognize it. It's that concern you've been turning over in your mind tonight. There's another one. Coming around again. And another. That regret. That conversation you keep replaying. Around and around they go. The same thoughts. Making the same circle. Passing by. Again. And again. And again. You're not on the ride. You're standing here watching it. In this distance. This ability to observe rather than be caught up in it. This is important. You can see the pattern now. The repetition. The wheel continues its slow rotation. Patient. Persistent. Unchanging. And then you notice something. Just to the left of the Ferris wheel. There's a small wooden building. Vintage like everything else here. Painted in faded colors. With a screen door and a warm light glowing from inside. Above the door a simple sign. Control booth. Walk toward it now. Your hand reaches for the door handle. Smooth metal. Slightly warm from the day's sun. The door opens easily. And you step inside. It's a small space. There's a wooden counter. Worn smooth from years of use. The walls are lined with vintage switches and dials. All of them dark now. Inactive. But your attention is drawn to one thing. Sitting on the counter. An old-fashioned tally counter. The kind you might see in a vintage store. Mechanical and simple. It has a number displayed. When you look at it. You see how many times that same thought has circled past tonight. Eight times. Or twelve. Or fifteen. The exact number doesn't matter. What matters is seeing it. Really seeing it. You look at that counter and something shifts inside you. And understanding. These thoughts going around and around. They're not protecting you. They're not solving anything. They're not making you more prepared. Or more safe. They're just spinning. The same worry. Over and over. Like it's stuck on a track. Each time it passes. You thought maybe this time you'd figure something out. But you haven't. Because this isn't problem solving. This is repetition. And seeing that. Really seeing that pattern changes something. You notice now. The main control lever. It's right there on the counter. Solid brass. Worn from use. It's currently in the on position. Keeping the wheel turning. And you understand. You can stop this. Anytime. Simply by choosing not to give these thoughts. More energy. The thought can exist. The concern is real. But you don't have to ride along with it. Tonight. You place your hand on the lever. Feel how solid it is. How real. And you pull it. Down. The Ferris wheel. Begins to slow. You can hear the change in it's rhythm. The mechanical sounds becoming gentler. More spaced out. The gondolas. Slower now. Each rotation taking longer than the last. The lights begin to dim. The warm yellow glow softens. The soft red fades to a gentle amber. And the wheel keeps slowing. And finally. Peacefully. It stops. The lights go out. The mechanical sounds cease. And then the sounds of evening rise to fill the space. You can hear crickets. The distant rustle of leaves in a breeze. Somewhere far away. The soft sound of the ocean. Or maybe it's just the wind. You step out of the control booth. The sky above you is that deep rich blue of summer nights. And stars. So many stars. Hundreds of them. Scattered across the sky. Like diamonds. The park is completely quiet now. It feels peaceful. Content. This place served it's purpose today. Children laughed here. Families made memories. Joy happened here. And now it's earned it's rest. You walk slowly along the boardwalk. And you notice string lights are still on. A gentle glow along the pathways. Like night lights. They cast a soft golden light. That makes everything feel safe. And warm. You pass the cotton candy stand, closed for the night. The carousel, its painted horses frozen mid-gallop, beautiful and still. Everything here is resting. Tomorrow night, if the loops start again, you'll remember this. You'll know what to ask yourself: Is this a new thought? Or is this the same one circling back? Am I solving anything right now, or am I just repeating? That simple question - that's all you need. That recognition of the pattern. And then the choice to step off the ride. But for now, there's only this: this quiet park, this peaceful evening, these countless stars overhead. The night wraps around you like a soft blanket. You can hear your own breathing - slow and easy now. Your heartbeat - calm and steady. The Ferris wheel stands silent and still against the starlit sky. The lights are out. The motion has stopped. Everything that was spinning has come to peace. Your body feels so heavy now. So comfortable. Your mind is quiet - truly quiet - for the first time in so long. There are no thoughts demanding your attention. No loops pulling you back. Just this deep, peaceful stillness. Your breathing has become so slow, so natural, like gentle waves on a quiet shore. Each exhale carries you a little deeper into rest, a little further from the day, a little closer to dreams. There's no need to think anymore. No need to plan or worry or figure anything out. Tonight, you are simply here, peaceful and still, held by the darkness like a tender embrace.

Even your thoughts have slowed to barely a whisper, like leaves drifting lazily to the ground. You are safe here. Completely safe. Nothing requires your attention. Let yourself drift now... your mind wandering into those pleasant, hazy places between waking and dreaming. The sounds around you fade into a gentle hum. And sleep - - rises up to meet you like the tide.