I Tried to Meditate and Realign My Energy, but My Brain is Basically a Squirrel on a Trampoline

So I made the bold, spiritually ambitious decision to realign my energy.

Because clearly, things were off.

Like, “yelling at inanimate objects” off. Like, “eating cereal out of a measuring cup at 11 p.m.” off.

My vibes weren’t just low—they were buried under emotional baggage and leftover rage from 2008.

I knew the recipe:

Quiet space.

Grounded breath.

Open heart.

A dollar store candle that smelled nothing like what the label said.

Maybe some chakra music or that weird crystal bowl humming that feels like it’s trying to rearrange your DNA.

So I lit the candle (lavender and mild desperation), plopped down on the floor with all the grace of a folding lawn chair, and closed my eyes like I was about to summon the divine.

Instantly, my brain sprinted into full-throttle chaos mode:

"Did I lock the front door?"

"why do raccoons have thumbs?"

"What ever happened to that ferret I saw on YouTube wearing a hat?"

"Can you get possessed while meditating? Like, what if a spirit’s just waiting for you to go still and spiritually open the garage door?"

I cracked one eye open.

Nine seconds had passed.

I was sweating.

I already wanted a snack.

Still, I gave it another go. This time I added the soft ambient noise of a “Forest Healing Frequency” video on YouTube.

It sounded like someone rustling leaves in slow motion while a fairy cried in the distance.

But just as I was about to “breathe in light,” my back started to itch.

Then I remembered that embarrassing thing I said in 5th grade.

Then I wondered if squirrels ever get anxiety.

Then the dog walked in and farted loud enough to scare me out of alignment and back into the present.

I couldn’t focus. My inner peace had the attention span of a housefly at a rave.

I was trying to transcend, and instead I got into a staring contest with my houseplant, who was probably judging me harder than my spirit guides.

Eventually, I gave up and laid flat on the floor like a spiritually exhausted plank of wood.

Just me, my burnt-out nervous system, and the flickering light of the candle that now smelled suspiciously like anxiety.

But here’s the weird part—it helped.

Because even though I didn’t unlock the secrets of the universe or levitate or meet my inner child in a field of sunflowers, I showed up.

I tried.

I paused long enough to notice how loud my mind really was, and how funny it is that I thought I could silence it like flipping a switch.

And maybe realigning your energy isn’t about becoming perfectly still.

Maybe it’s just about showing up for yourself in whatever feral form you’re currently in—messy, twitchy, overcaffeinated, slightly unhinged—but willing.

So no, I didn’t have a mystical experience.

But I did learn that sometimes alignment looks like laying in your underwear on the floor, surrounded by half-melted candles, whispering “shut up” to your own thoughts while a dog snores in the corner.

And that, my friends, is a win in my book