When Your Brain Gaslights Your Soul

When logic sounds responsible but your inner truth refuses to settle

You are lying in bed at 2am grappling with a decision.

You want to make the best choice possible.
So you logic your way through it.
You weigh everything.
You make the most reasonable decision you can.

Yet it still feels wrong.

Not loudly wrong.
Not dramatically wrong.
Just quietly wrong.

And that quiet wrongness is unsettling.

Because nothing is technically incorrect.
Nothing is reckless.
Nothing is obviously harmful.

But something inside you does not settle.

Sometimes there is a secret choice you would make.
If it didn’t have to be explained.
If it didn’t have to be justified.
If it didn’t have to look responsible from the outside.

Then there are the 2am ideas.

The ones that arrive when everything is quiet.
When the noise of the day is gone.
When the pressure to perform is asleep.

An idea appears.
Clear. Alive. Almost electric.

And immediately your brain asks.
“Have you lost it?”
“That’s unrealistic.”
“That’s too much.”
“That’s not safe.”

But the idea does not disappear.

It sits quietly in the background.
Like an itch you can’t scratch.
Like something that wants your attention without demanding it.

So you cautiously check it out.

You research.
You explore.
You look at it from a practical angle.

And sometimes the most surprising part happens.

It’s viable.

Not fantasy.
Not delusion.
Not chaos.

Just unfamiliar.

That is usually when the ego catches on.

Not with panic.
Not with dramatic sabotage.
But with containment.

It throws you breadcrumbs.

Small plans.
Safer versions.
Controlled interpretations.

It reshapes the idea into something manageable.
Something that fits inside your current identity.
Something that won’t disrupt the nervous system too much.

At first, this looks supportive.
Responsible, even.
Protective, even.

But over time, you begin to notice a pattern.

The idea never fully breathes.
It gets trimmed.
Reduced.
Adjusted until it no longer feels alive.

I used to think this only happened during big decisions.

Now I catch it in small ones.
Daily ones.
Quiet ones.
Personal ones.

Especially during periods of change.

I have been honoring my nervous system more lately.
Trying not to stress it.
Trying not to force myself the way I used to.

And that is when a new voice got louder.

“You are vulnerable.”
“You shouldn’t push.”
“Writing is too much on top of a part-time job.”
“You should rest more.”
“You shouldn’t reach for anything big right now.”

It sounded caring.
Measured.
Protective.

Almost wise.

But something about it felt… off.

Because there is a difference between regulation and restriction.

My nervous system does have requirements.
It needs pacing.
It needs steadiness.
It needs gentleness.

But it does not need me to abandon what matters.

“Fear is the cheapest room in the house. I would like to see you living in better conditions.” — Hafiz

It does not need me to shrink my life in the name of safety.

That realization was uncomfortable.

Because I have experienced real gaslighting in my life.
And I know how disorienting it feels.
When something true inside you is constantly questioned by another voice.

I never expected to recognize a quieter version of that internally.

Not as cruelty.
Not as self-hatred.
But as partial truths dressed as logic.

The ego is very good at this.

It doesn’t always lie loudly.
It offers edited versions of reality.

Versions shaped by fear.
By past stress.
By the desire to stay in control.

“The intuitive mind is a sacred gift and the rational mind is a faithful servant.” — Albert Einstein

It tells you that hesitation is maturity.
That doubt is realism.
That staying small is stability.

And if you are someone who values responsibility then you listen.

You listen very carefully.

But there is another voice present too.

Much quieter.
Almost easy to miss.

It doesn’t argue.
It doesn’t spiral.
It doesn’t flood you with explanations.

It simply whispers.

Whispers that live in the heart.

Not in the racing thoughts.
Not in the fear loops.
Not in the endless analysis that keeps you awake at 2am.

“There is a voice that doesn’t use words. Listen.” — Rumi

The heart does not debate.
It recognizes.

It nudges toward expansion in ways that feel steady instead of overwhelming.

This is deeply personal for me.

My heart whispers about my writing.
About how important it is.
About how it is not something I do only when conditions are perfect.

My ego prefers things small and controllable.
Predictable.
Contained.

Writing consistently does not feel contained.
Growth does not feel contained.
Change does not feel contained.

So the mind tries to reinterpret reality.

“It’s too much right now.”
“It will stress your nervous system.”
“You should wait until everything is stable.”

But stability, in this context, can quietly become avoidance.

Not loud avoidance.
Refined avoidance.
The kind that sounds intelligent.
The kind that sounds self-aware.
The kind that sounds like protection while slowly disconnecting you from what is meaningful.

That is how the internal gaslighting works.

Not by shutting you down completely.
But by convincing you that staying smaller is the most responsible version of yourself.

There is a strange part to this.

You can logically agree with your thoughts and still feel misaligned in your body.

You can make the “right” decision on paper and still feel unsettled in your chest.

You can follow every rational step.
Still sense that something true was quietly overridden.

That is not irrationality.

That is awareness.

The mind speaks loudly.
The ego speaks strategically.
But the soul does not shout.

It whispers.
Often at 2am.
Often through the heart before the brain has time to rewrite the story.