Essay No. 4  ·  March 2026

The Tea Kettle

I started pulling away from everyone I loved. Not because I wanted to.

By Lindsey Lister

The mood swings were harder to hide.

The brain fog was confusing, frustrating—but mostly internal. I could compensate. I could push through. I could pretend.

The mood swings didn't give me that option.

They showed up in real time—in conversations, in reactions, in moments that didn't used to feel hard. And the worst part wasn't just how intense they felt—it was how unfamiliar they were.

I wasn't reacting like myself anymore.

Just like with the weight gain and the brain fog, I started making excuses for it. Telling myself I was overwhelmed. Distracted. Managing too much.

But this felt different.

At times, I wasn't present at all—my mind would drift, completely disconnected from what was happening in front of me. I couldn't engage in conversations the way I used to. My attention span felt like it was shrinking by the day.

And then there were the moments I couldn't ignore.

One night, while getting ready for dinner, I had a complete meltdown. I remember my husband just standing there, looking at me with a blank stare—unsure of what he had just witnessed.

To be honest, I wasn't sure either.

Why were my reactions so extreme? Why did everything feel like it was right at the surface, ready to spill over? I felt like a tea kettle about to boil—constantly building pressure with no real release.

During a phone call with my best friend, she stopped me mid-sentence and said, "I can hear the anger in your voice—you need to breathe."

She suggested I start using the Calm app daily, thinking it might help regulate my mood and bring things back to baseline.

I love her—but it did nothing.

I started to pull away from friendships. Not because I wanted to, but because I was afraid. Afraid that my reactions—my moods—were unpredictable enough to damage the relationships I cared about.

Mood swings. Brain fog. Weight gain. Anxiety around eating.

And now, isolation.

I'm an extrovert—connection is what fuels me. Seclusion doesn't just feel unnatural to me, it makes me feel worse. But at the time, it felt like the only way to protect the people in my life… and maybe even protect myself from the shame of not being able to control my own emotions.

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