When the World Becomes Too Loud: Reflections on Breaking and Healing

I can’t pinpoint when it started, but something inside me started to feel off. The world around me is louder, sharper, and more intrusive than it used to be. Is it just me? Loud noises grate on me, put me on edge, and sometimes they startle me. Crowded spaces set my teeth on edge. I sense my jaw tightening as I clench my mouth shut, pushing back the pending eruption. And when someone gets too close, like at the counter of our local burger joint, I tense up, my whole body fighting not to start an argument with a complete stranger who happens to be invading my personal space.

Like what’s your hurry, bro? Can’t you see I’m still in line? Don’t think just because you got your buddies here that you’re safe. You’re not. Simmering between anxious and angry, zero and ninety, I crawl into a shell as the din from the dining crowd makes my skin crawl. I can’t make it stop. THERE’S TOO MUCH NOISE. How long will it take to simply get my order and head to the quiet safety of my truck? I sit crouched with my back to the wall, watchful of the door, as more and more people flow in from the dark, chilly Friday night air. My eyes examine each person entering the joint, rapidly determining who’s a friend or a foe. Somewhere beneath the surface of my skin things are churning as my mind races and I don’t know why.

If you asked me to tell you when this started, I couldn’t. I woke up one day and the switch was on.

The other day at the self-checkout of our grocery store was another one of these moments that suddenly are becoming less rare. I simply wanted to scan my items and leave. But the machine kept flashing this $5-off coupon message, over and over, like it couldn’t take the hint. I couldn’t pay! My patience evaporated and I shouted “I JUST WANT TO PAY!!!”

Yes, the world stopped and everyone in the checkout line gawked at me with a mix of disbelief and fear. I was one step shy of going viral but fortunately I didn’t see anyone recording my momentary meltdown on their phone. A young, portly female attendant waddled over and explained that I had earned a five dollar off coupon good for my next visit. “See there—that wasn’t so hard was it, sir?” I ungratefully received her gift as her snarky sneer shrank my soul, further crushing my spirit. Yeah, I deserved it, is what you’re probably thinking. But as my friend Billy would say, “You never know what’s going on inside someone or what they maybe carrying around inside themselves that they can’t tell you about in that moment.” So get off me.

Here’s the thing: I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to carry this edge with me everywhere I go. But lately, life feels overwhelming, like everything is just a little too much. The noise, the crowds, the closeness—it’s all pressing in, and I’m constantly walking a line between keeping it together and falling apart.

And the worst part? I can’t tell if the world has changed—or if it’s just me.

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The Quiet Erosion

No, this didn’t happen overnight. This crept in quietly, inch by inch, until one day I looked around and realized that something had gone awry. My licensed professional counselor and I’ve been talking about it. There’s evidence of it in my art work.

At first, it was little things—being slightly more irritable and feeling drained after what used to be an ordinary day. I am reluctant to enter places I used to enjoy, like noisy restaurants or crowded events. Twenty years ago, I managed a place that was vibrant and rocking with life. And now, I shudder at the thought of spending time in a space filled with people. Four years ago, I ran what was the largest emergency homeless shelter in the nation at the time. Today, I tremble at the mere mention of it. The thought of dealing with all the noise and chaos makes my body tense up. I want to be there, yet I don’t. But it doesn’t stop there. The other day at work the vibe felt completely different, like I woke up in the twilight zone. Our guests didn’t feel safe; as a matter of fact they were downright uncomfortable. I felt unsure that my onsite staff—limited as it was in that moment—was safe or in a place where they could do their work. I felt unsafe. It was super weird.

I don’t know when I noticed the shift at work. The passion I’d once felt—the purpose that drove me—began to fade. Conversations had all the wrong energy. Meetings became torturous marathons of endurance. Was I being gaslighted?

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Interested in seeing more of my art?

Check out my Flickr profile.

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Each passing day became harder to tackle as the vibe veered off in a direction I couldn’t control. I was no longer the driver. Heck, I wasn’t even a passenger. No, I had been left at the last bus stop.

Like a rubber band stretched too far for too long, I faced the reality that I just couldn’t do it anymore. I abruptly took a leave of absence—not because I wanted to, but because I had to. I believed I had no choice. My mental health and sobriety weren’t negotiable. I no longer felt safe. I no longer believed in what I was doing. Everything felt surreal, like I’d stumbled onto the set of a David Lynch movie where nothing made sense and everything was just slightly off-center.

The world I used to move through so easily now feels foreign and hostile. And the scariest part is, I don’t know if I’ll ever find my way back.

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Searching for Solid Ground

When things feel wrong, you start asking questions. You doubt anything and everything. Is it the world that’s changed? Is it me? Am I just exhausted or am I broken? How do I get back on track?

I once felt steady and grounded. I had a clear sense of purpose. Even on the hardest days I knew why I did what I did. But now, it’s as if someone ripped the map out of my hands and spun me in circles. People lauded me for my ability to make decisions quickly in dire circumstances. Now I suddenly need to ask for permission?

I don’t know where I’m going anymore. I don’t know if I trust the ground beneath my feet. I feel lost.

And that sucks.

Is this what burnout feels like? Not the quick, fiery kind where you burn out in a flash, but the slow smoldering kind—the kind that leaves behind only ash. I don’t know, honestly. Other days, it feels more like fear, like I’m afraid of the world and what it might throw at me next. But I’m not afraid. I trust in the Lord. My wife, Terri, is in my corner. I’m not alone. I have people rooting for me. Am I afraid of myself? Am I concerned that I won’t hold up when things get heavy?

Shrug.

I honestly can’t say.

There is this persistent part of me that refuses to give up—that keeps looking for a way forward. Resilience, I believe the experts call it. It’s quiet, but it’s there. It shows up in the still moments, when the noise finally fades, and I can hear myself think. It whispers, “This isn’t over.” It reminds me that no matter how disoriented I feel, there’s always a path forward.

I just have to find it.

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The Hope in the Waiting

I keep coming back to the words of Isaiah 40:31: “But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.”

I’m waiting. I’m waiting for my strength to be renewed, for my focus to return, for the weight of this tension to lighten. I don’t know when it will happen, or how, but I hold on to this promise that there is something greater than my boiling point, greater than my anxiety. I’m not sure what the path looks like, but I know it’s there. And it’s leading me somewhere better.

Isaiah 40:31 EASY

But people who wait for the Lord to help them
    will receive new strength.
They will rise up high,
    as if they have the wings of eagles.
They will run and they will not become tired.
    They will walk and they will not become weak.

I’m also reminded of Philippians 4:6-7, where Paul writes, “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

I’m learning that the peace I long for isn’t something I can force. It’s not something I can manufacture when the noise gets too loud. It’s a peace that comes when I surrender my anxiety to God and trust that He’s guarding my heart and mind. As Terri says, “God’s got this.”

Philippians 4:6-7 EASY

⁶ Do not worry about anything. Instead, pray to God about everything. Ask him to help you with the things that you need. And thank him for his help. ⁷ If you do that, God will give you peace in your minds. That peace is so great that nobody can completely understand it. You will not worry or be afraid, because you belong to Christ Jesus.

I remind myself “This too shall pass.” Even if it’s scary and weird in the moment, I know there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.

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Find more of my artwork here.

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And so, I wait with active hope. I believe that I will get better. I simply need time to rest and heal. No, it’s unlikely I will be able to go back to the way things once were, but who among us can? I am confident that the quiet moments will come, that healing will find me, and that the world will once again feel like a place I can walk through with joy, peace, and love.

That time just isn’t now and that’s okay.

The trick is not letting them take more than they already have…

Don’t trade in the Cross for a ladder.

God is good.

Until my next post…

Grace and peace,

Rainer Bantau —The Devotional Guy™

The Stigma Stops Here.🛑

#mentalhealthmatters