May is Mental Health Awareness Month—and while the internet floods with infographics and feel-good advice, so many people are still struggling.
Not just quietly— a lot of us are doing the work, adding tools, cutting ties, going to therapy, journaling, meditating, medicating. And still… something doesn’t shift.
That’s what we talked about in our latest conversation with Joseph Nguyen.
A lot of people know Joseph from his book, Don’t Believe Everything You Think. The title immediately resonated with me. I’ve spent decades analyzing story—our inner architecture, our self-talk, our cultural myths—and I’ve come to believe this: every thought carries the potential to unlock a larger narrative. If we pause and pull on that thread, we begin to see the construction underneath.
We notice how our thoughts shape meaning, how meaning shapes emotion, and how emotion reinforces belief.
And then the cycle loops.
We can go years—decades—caught in that loop, believing that experience is just “objective reality.”
Joseph describes it simply: “Thought is the observation. Thinking is the judgment we layer on top.” And it’s often that judgment—subtle, constant, mostly unconscious—that keeps us stuck.
Thought Isn’t the Problem. The Problem Is the Narrator.
It’s not the thought itself that traps us.
It’s the meaning we’ve wrapped around it. The interpretation. The conclusion. The echo of a voice we don’t even realize isn’t ours.
That’s where suffering grows.
Most of us don’t notice when a single stressful thought becomes the opening scene of a full mental documentary. We assume it’s true, then we argue with it, then we look for proof it’s still true. And because we’re always seeing through the lens we’re wearing—we always find it.
Joseph pointed out that you don’t need to change your circumstances to feel free.
You need to change your relationship to thought.
That doesn’t mean pretending everything is fine. It means recognizing that not every thought deserves a sequel.
We also talked about how “thinking” often gets confused with “processing.” But what a lot of us are doing isn’t processing—it’s rehearsing. We’re replaying the same loops of fear, unworthiness, control, and protection over and over.
When we believe our thinking, we’re not in the moment.
We’re in a memory of the past—or an anticipation of the future.
We’re narrating our experience instead of having it.
MMB's episode with Joseph Nguyen
The P.A.U.S.E. That Breaks the Loop
Joseph shared a practice he calls the P.A.U.S.E.—a framework that isn’t about fixing anything, but about interrupting the loop long enough to choose a different path.
P – Pause and breathe.
Return to the body. You can’t shift a narrative when the nervous system is in defense mode.
A – Ask: Is this thinking helpful?
Not “Is it true?”—because most thoughts contain some truth. The better question is: “Is it helping?”
U – Understand you don’t have to keep it.
A thought is a lens, not a law. You’re allowed to take it off.
S – Say something truer.
Not an affirmation, but an invitation. “I don’t have to believe this.” “Peace is possible.” “It’s safe to pause.”
E – Experience what’s underneath.
Let the emotion move without trying to resolve it. When we stop feeding it with thoughts, it often dissolves on its own.
This kind of work isn’t flashy. It doesn’t promise instant transformation.
But it’s quietly radical—because it shifts the place we’re operating from.
It changes the root system instead of just trimming the branches.
When Fear Sounds Like Logic
One part of our conversation that stayed with me was how fear often disguises itself as rational thought.
Especially for people who are smart, analytical, and self-aware—fear doesn’t shout.
It sounds reasonable. Responsible. Adult.
But underneath that “logic” is often a tight grip. A subtle avoidance. A need to stay in control because we’re still afraid of what might happen if we let go—even for a moment.
Joseph talked about surrender in deeply practical terms. He doesn’t use it as a spiritual cliché. For him, surrender means stopping the negotiation with your thoughts.
It’s listening for something deeper—intuition, presence, awareness. Whatever you call it.
It’s not about giving up.
It’s about giving in to the possibility that peace might be available… even before the external thing resolves.
Love Without a Storyline
Later in the conversation, Joseph shared a moment with his partner that hit me.
He had always assumed she loved him because of his qualities—because of how he showed up. But when he asked her why she loved him, she simply said:
“I just do.”
That’s the kind of love most of us crave. The kind that doesn’t need to be justified or earned.
The kind that exists before the story. Before the performance.
What struck me is how often we try to earn that kind of love—by performing the “right” version of ourselves.
And how often we extend that same conditional logic to ourselves.
We think we’ll be worthy of love, rest, or forgiveness once we’ve achieved something, fixed something, become someone new.
But what if the real shift isn’t becoming someone new—but unhooking from the thought that you ever had to be?
Rewriting Mental Health, From the Inside
Mental health isn’t just the absence of symptoms. It’s the ability to respond to life without being hijacked by every passing thought.
It’s not about fixing the mind. It’s about relating to it differently—not grabbing hold of every belief, every judgment, every inner commentary, and letting those stories run our lives unchecked.
The biggest shift Joseph invites is surprisingly simple: You don’t have to believe everything you think.
That’s it.
And while that might sound obvious, it’s one of the hardest things to actually practice—because thinking feels true.
It feels urgent. It feels like you.
But it’s not. Thought is a lens. And you can learn to take it off.
Mental health, then, becomes something we cultivate—not through control, but through practice.
One pause. One breath. One surrendered judgment at a time.
You don’t need to change your whole life to feel better.
You just have to stop believing everything you think.
Ah yes, the mind—the original drama queen.
It narrates doom with Oscar-worthy conviction, then demands you thank it for the warning. “Don’t believe everything you think” isn’t just good advice, it’s a spiritual mic drop. Because honestly, half our suffering is just us watching reruns of our own mental soap operas and forgetting we wrote the damn script.
I’m over here practicing the sacred art of Not Taking My Inner Narrator So Seriously™. She’s dramatic, she’s petty, and she thinks every email means the world is ending.
Thanks for this reminder that peace isn’t in the next fix, the next insight, or the next enlightenment-themed planner. It’s in the pause. The breath. The sacred shrug.
"Is this helping?" It is such a simple question to reroute your thinking. It's like the Marie Kondo of mental health.