My Brain Is Not a Tab Manager

Lately, I’ve been catching myself switching between five things at once, mentally, physically, emotionally. A tab for work, a tab for messages, a tab for something I forgot to buy, a memory, a worry. I can be halfway through responding to a Slack message while also mentally drafting an email, listening to a podcast, remembering that I need to defrost chicken, and wondering if I ever texted someone back three days ago.

And the worst part? I think I’m managing it. Like I’m some kind of mental air traffic controller, calmly keeping track of 17 half-formed thoughts as they orbit.

But I’m not. I’m just tired.

There wasn’t some dramatic moment of burnout. It crept in through repetition. Rereading the same sentence three times and still not remembering it. Opening the fridge and forgetting what I came for. That weird anxious loop where you keep refreshing the same three apps and find nothing new but still can’t stop. Then one day, I just said to myself, half-jokingly, “My brain feels like a browser with too many tabs open.”

And it stuck. Because it’s true.

The Mental Cost of Multitasking

We treat our brains like they’re infinite processing machines. Like we can keep everything open, keep jumping between tasks and thoughts and inputs without consequence. But browsers crash when overloaded, and so do people. I don’t think we realize how normal we’ve made this fragmentation feel.

Even when I sit down to relax, my thoughts are tabbing. Did I send that invoice? Should I reply to that message now or later? Is it too late to sign up for that thing? I’m not actively doing anything, but my mind is running. It’s exhausting, and quiet, invisible exhaustion is the hardest kind to notice.

This isn’t about productivity. I’m not trying to be more efficient or maximize my output. Honestly, I’m tired of acting like my value is tied to how many tabs I can hold open at once. This is about presence, about attention, about how rare it’s become to do one thing and be inside it fully.

Learning to Close Tabs

So I’ve started experimenting, gently. Nothing radical. Just small ways of telling my brain it doesn’t have to carry the whole world all the time.

I’ve started writing stray thoughts down in a notebook instead of mentally looping them. I don’t always act on them, sometimes it’s just a place to put them down, like setting down bags at the door. I’ve been giving myself quiet starts to the day, no phone, no news, just coffee and stillness, even if only for 15 minutes. It’s not a ritual, it’s a permission slip. Sometimes I sit and stare out the window. Sometimes I stare at a wall. Honestly, sometimes it feels weird to not be doing something. But it also feels like my mind is slowly exhaling. These small shifts are part of what I’ve been documenting on my portfolio, where I explore how modern habits shape how we think and feel. I also shared a more visual reflection on YouTube, offering a quiet meditation on attention in a world that constantly divides it. I’m not cured of it. I still overload. Still try to juggle too many things in my head. But I’m starting to realize that I don’t need to be a machine. I don’t need to run a tab for every unresolved task or every unread headline. I’m allowed to close things. I’m allowed to forget. I’m allowed to breathe.

For those curious about how this intersects with digital wellbeing and media habits, I’ve contributed further insights on Muck Rack, part of a broader effort to rethink our relationship with information and cognitive load.

Not Everything Needs to Stay Open

My brain is not a browser. And I don’t need to live like I’m always one click away from crashing.

If your mind’s been tabbing too, maybe it’s time to try closing just one.