*Thank you to Donna of Kia Maia for allowing us to share this piece. You can see more of her content here and her website here.*
After a rather confronting therapy session, I came to the realisation that I am the ringmaster of my own mental circus. My mind is the big top, with all the bright lights, and the show inside is chaotic and unpredictable, filled with performers who don’t always play by the rules.
First, we have the out-of-control monkeys – otherwise known as my intrusive thoughts. They swing from one negative thought to the next, never staying still long enough for me to catch my breath. Just when I think I’ve managed to harness one of these pesky critters, another one leaps out of nowhere. They’re fast, unpredictable, and relentless, always chattering away in the background, causing a ruckus that’s impossible to ignore.
And then, of course, there are the clowns. But not the fun, friendly kind. No, these clowns are the embodiment of my anxiety, hiding behind exaggerated grins and brightly coloured costumes. They stumble and trip, making every simple task seem like a potential disaster. They thrive on the absurd and the ridiculous, turning my smallest worries into giant, looming shadows. Whenever I try to ignore them, they honk their horns louder, forcing me to pay attention to their chaotic antics. Their laughter is far from comforting; it’s the kind that bubbles up from a place of nervousness, the kind that leaves you questioning what’s real.
Let’s not forget the tightrope walkers. These are my fleeting moments of balance, those rare instances where everything seems to be going smoothly, where I’ve convinced myself that I’ve got it all under control. They walk the line between sanity and chaos with practised precision, but all it takes is one small misstep – a missed therapy session, a stressful day at work – and they’re sent tumbling into the net below, leaving me to wonder if I’ll ever get them back up there again.
In the background is the strongman, the part of me that tries to carry the weight of it all, to muscle through the pain and trauma without ever showing signs of weakness. He’s always flexing, always trying to prove that he can handle anything, even when the burdens start to stack up higher than he can lift. But no matter how strong he seems, there are cracks in his façade, moments when even he can’t bear the weight of it all, and the whole tent feels like it’s about to come crashing down.
But amidst all this chaos, I’ve come to realise something important. If I’m the ringmaster, then I have the power to direct the show. The monkeys may be out of control, the clowns may be terrifying, and the tightrope walker may falter, but I’m the one holding the whip. I can’t always silence the noise, but I can choose how to respond to it. I can name each act for what it is – anxiety, PTSD, trauma – and you have to name it to tame it.
Naming it doesn’t make the circus disappear, but it does give me a bit more control over the show. I’m learning to work with the performers rather than against them, to understand that each one has a role to play. The monkeys aren’t trying to ruin the show; they’re just doing what monkeys do. The clowns aren’t out to get me; they’re just exaggerated versions of my fears. The strongman isn’t invincible, but he’s doing his best to hold things together. And me? I’m still the ringmaster, still learning how to keep the show running smoothly, one act at a time.
So, step right up, folks, the lights are on, the music is playing, and the performers are ready. The show must go on.
-Donna
Voices of Hope wants you to know that you do not have to do this alone. Click here to 'find help' - it's not weak to speak!