Latest / Still Standing: Stories of Resilience, Survival & Strength / Why Closing That Tab Frees Your Soul (And How to Do It) | Still Standing
Transcript
- You know that specific kind of exhaustion that hits you at 9 PM, where your brain feels like a browser with forty-seven tabs open and one of them is frozen? I’m talking about the mental clutter that doesn’t go away when you close your eyes. I want you to picture your mind as a computer. Not just any computer, but one that’s been running for years without a restart. You’ve got work emails pinging in the background. You’ve got that article about climate change you meant to read three weeks ago. You’ve got the recipe for sourdough bread that you haven’t made since 2019. And then there’s the tab you’re actively looking at right now—the one that makes your chest tight because it reminds you of something you’re avoiding. We call this 'digital clutter,' but it’s so much more than that. It’s emotional residue. It’s the weight of potential actions we haven’t taken and decisions we’re too tired to make. I see it in my own life every single day. I’ll be sitting with my coffee, trying to enjoy the quiet, and suddenly my brain will flash to that email I didn’t send. Or that conversation I had last Tuesday that I keep replaying in my head. It’s like a ghost in the machine. And here’s the thing: most of us think resilience means pushing through that noise. We think being strong means carrying all those tabs at once, managing the chaos, keeping everything loaded and ready. But what if I told you that true strength isn’t about holding it all together? What if it’s about knowing exactly which tabs to close? Let’s talk about the cost. When we keep those mental tabs open, we pay a price. It’s not money; it’s energy. It’s the small, constant drain on your focus that leaves you feeling foggy even after eight hours of sleep. Psychologists call it 'attention residue.' It’s the phenomenon where part of your brain is still stuck on the previous task while you try to start a new one. If you’re checking your phone between every sentence of a conversation, you’re never fully present. You’re split. And over time, that splitting adds up. It creates a low-grade anxiety that hums in the background of your life. I remember a time when I was working in corporate communications, and I literally had thirty browser tabs open during meetings. I thought I was multitasking. I thought I was efficient. But by the end of the day, I was shattered. My brain felt like mush. I wasn’t making better decisions; I was making faster ones, often wrong ones. We do this with our lives, too. We keep the tab about 'what if I quit my job' open. We keep the tab about 'did I say the wrong thing?' open. We keep the tab about 'I should be further along by now' open. And we wonder why we feel tired. We wonder why joy feels so hard to access. The answer isn’t that we’re broken. The answer is that we’re overloaded. So, how do we fix it? How do we find peace in the clutter? It starts with a simple, almost radical act: closing the tab. This isn’t about deleting your history or pretending the problem doesn’t exist. It’s about creating space. Think about it like cleaning your physical desk. If your desk is covered in papers, receipts, and old coffee cups, can you think clearly? No. You need clear surface area. Mental clarity requires the same thing. I started practicing this intentionally last month. I realized I was doom-scrolling through news headlines before bed, and it was ruining my sleep. So, I created a rule. At 8 PM, the phone goes into the other room. No exceptions. The first night, I felt anxious. I kept reaching for it. I kept wondering what I was missing. But by the third night, I noticed something beautiful. The silence wasn’t empty; it was full. Full of rest. Full of me. Closing that digital tab allowed me to close the mental one. I stopped worrying about the world’s problems for those few hours and started caring for my own nervous system. It sounds simple, but it’s profound. We have to give ourselves permission to disconnect from the urgency. To tell ourselves, 'This can wait until tomorrow. I am safe enough to let it go for tonight.' Now, I know what some of you might be thinking. 'But Marissa, if I close the tab, won’t I forget? Won’t I lose track?' There is a fear behind that question. It’s the fear of missing out, yes, but also the fear of losing control. We hold onto these tabs because they feel like responsibility. If I keep the tab open, I’m paying attention. If I close it, I’m neglecting it. But neglecting isn’t always bad. Sometimes, neglect is self-preservation. I think about the episode we did recently on caregiving, and the idea of anticipatory grief. We talked about how heavy it is to carry the future pain before it arrives. Closing a mental tab is a way of saying, 'I cannot carry this today.' It’s an act of mercy toward yourself. It’s honoring the fact that you are human, and humans have limits. When I close a tab, I’m not ignoring the issue forever. I’m just putting it down for a moment so I can breathe. I’m giving myself grace. And that grace ripples outward. When you stop trying to hold everything in your head, you become more present for the people right in front of you. You become more available for your own joy. You stop living in the hypothetical and start living in the actual. That shift changes everything. It changes how you speak, how you listen, how you love. It changes how you show up for yourself. So, let’s get practical. How do we actually do this? Start small. Pick one tab. Just one. Maybe it’s the social media app that makes you compare yourself to others. Maybe it’s the news site that fuels your anxiety. For twenty-four hours, close it. Delete the shortcut from your home screen. Make it slightly inconvenient to open again. Notice what happens. Do you feel lighter? Do you feel curious about what you’re avoiding? Then, pick another. Create rituals of closure. When you finish work, shut your laptop completely. Don’t just leave it in sleep mode. Physically close it. Say out loud, 'Work is done.' Walk away. Change your clothes. Drink a glass of water. These small signals tell your brain that the day has ended. It allows you to transition into rest. And don’t be afraid to forgive yourself for reopening tabs. We all slip up. We all get overwhelmed. The goal isn’t perfection; it’s awareness. When you notice you’ve opened a tab that drains you, gently close it. Don’t judge yourself. Just say, 'Okay, I’m back. I’m choosing peace now.' That gentle correction is where the healing happens. It’s not about building a fortress of discipline; it’s about cultivating a garden of intention. You get to decide what grows there. You get to decide what gets sunlight and what gets pruned away. Take a breath with me. Right now. Feel your feet on the floor. Feel the air filling your lungs. Notice the weight of your body against the chair or the bed. You are here. You are safe. You don’t need to solve everything right this second. You don’t need to carry every worry, every hope, every fear. You can put some of it down. You can close some tabs. And in that space, you might find something unexpected. You might find yourself. Not the version of you that is constantly performing, constantly consuming, constantly reacting. But the real you. The one who likes quiet mornings. The one who loves long walks. The one who needs rest to be her best self. Resilience isn’t about enduring the storm; it’s about finding the eye of the storm. It’s about creating that center of calm where you can stand firm. And you create that calm by letting go of what you can’t control. By closing the tabs that don’t serve you. By trusting that the world will still be there tomorrow, even if you aren’t watching it happen right now. Even if you aren’t carrying it in your head. You are allowed to rest. You are allowed to pause. You are allowed to be imperfectly, beautifully human. So, take that next step. Close a tab. Just one. And see how light you feel. Thank you for spending this time with me. I’m Marissa Davidson, and I’ll see you next time. Until then, be gentle with yourself. Close the tabs. Breathe deep. You’re doing better than you think.