The Cicadas in my Head: A personal reflection on Automatic Thoughts

Sometimes it feels like my mind is a summer night filled with cicadas that won’t stop buzzing. Not the kind outside my window, but the ones inside my head: ruminations, what-ifs, and the echo of longing that plays on loop.

Cicadas live most of their lives underground as nymphs, quietly feeding on the sap of trees. Then, one day, they emerge in full force, loud, relentless, impossible to ignore. Our thoughts aren’t so different. They live underground for years, quietly feeding on buried fears, until they suddenly erupt in a chorus you can’t turn off.

For me, the cicadas in my head aren’t always metaphorical...they’re both physical and psychological. I live with tinnitus, a ringing in my ear once so intense it caused vertigo and sent me to the ER. The sound feels perpetual, with no real cure. And sometimes, my thoughts feel just like that: buzzing, humming, repeating, as if the brain can’t tell the difference between sound and memory, noise and meaning.

That’s what automatic thoughts feel like, the mind’s version of tinnitus. They don’t ask for permission. They just arrive, buzzing in the subconscious whether you want them or not. Sometimes it’s regret, sometimes longing, sometimes fear. It’s always the same loop that convinces you it must matter simply because it’s loud.

What are automatic thoughts

Automatic thoughts are the ones that surface on their own throughout the day without conscious effort or awareness. They come from the subconscious, shaped by past experiences, beliefs, and fears. Most of the time, they’re just whispers, so quiet you barely notice them until you feel the emotion they leave behind.

At times, these thoughts spark emotions that are stronger or more negative than the situation actually warrants. What we experience consciously is the emotion, while the thought that triggered it often remains outside of awareness.

The background whispers often sound like this:

• “I’m going to mess this up as usual.”

• “They don’t really like me.”

• “Something bad is going to happen.”

• “I should have done better.”

• “This always happens to me.”

• “They must be upset with me.”

• "I’ll never get this right.”

• “What if they leave me?”

• "He doesn’t care about me”

Sometimes they’re self-critical, sometimes heartbreaking, sometimes anxious, sometimes tied to longing or regret. They feel convincing not because they’re true, but because they’re persistent.

What does the mind do when it hears these whispers?

These whispers are always the precursors to the emotions that surface, and emotions in turn drive behavior. This cycle of thought → emotion → behavior is the foundation of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT). I’m not going into the theory here… what matters is how it actually unfolds in our day-to-day experiences.

How It Plays Out in Real Life

For example, take someone who has just gone through a breakup. Almost immediately, automatic thoughts begin to surface:

• "What if I said the wrong thing?" (rumination and regret)

• "Maybe I wasn’t enough. If I was, they wouldn’t have left." (self-blame)

• "They’re probably happier without me." (self-deprecating/negative comparison)

• "What if no one ever loves me again?” (catastrophizing)

• “They never really cared anyway”  (defensiveness/denial)

These thoughts arrive uninvited, and before long the emotions follow, sadness, anxiety, self-doubt. Soon, they’re replaying conversations in their head, trying to solve a puzzle that may not have an answer. The buzzing of thoughts blends with the body’s own noise, until it’s hard to tell which is louder: the ringing in the ears or the chorus in the mind.

The next step in the CBT chain is behavior. If automatic thoughts are like cicadas and emotions are the hum that follows, behaviors are the outward ripples that others can see. Here’s how behaviors might show up in daily life:

• Withdrawal: avoiding friends or activities, retreating into silence.

• Overchecking: scanning social media, rereading messages, replaying interactions for hidden meaning.

• Reassurance-seeking: reaching out for validation, even in subtle ways, to quiet the doubts.

• Distraction loops: working too much, overexercising, or keeping constantly busy to drown out the noise.

• Irritability or fatigue: because living with that constant buzz is exhausting.

  
  

For some, these behaviors show up as constant checking or seeking reassurance. For others, it looks more like pulling away or staying endlessly busy. I tend to fall into the latter: withdrawal and distraction loops.

When the buzzing feels relentless, I try to take a slow breath and trace it back to the whisper that started it. Naming the automatic thought doesn’t silence the noise completely, but it softens it enough to make the noise more bearable and reminds me that I can do something about it.

What to Do About It: Quieting the Chorus 

• Name the cicadas: Notice the thought as an automatic process, not a truth.

• Shift attention: Tune into something else…your breath, your surroundings, music, or writing.

• Break the cycle: Move your body, ground yourself, journal, or call a friend to interrupt the loop.

• Reframe: Instead of fighting the noise, accept that it’s there and choose what else you want to focus on.

• Reality check: Ask, “Is this fact, or just my brain buzzing?”

• Self-compassion: Respond to the thought the way you would to a friend…with understanding instead of criticism.

These strategies don’t switch the cicadas off. They just make the noise a little less overwhelming. Sometimes that’s enough. Sometimes it only helps me get through the day. But even that matters.

The cicadas in my head may never leave. Some are the ringing of my ears; some are the looping of my thoughts. Both are part of my internal landscape. I’ve learned that peace isn’t in silence, it’s in living with the noise without letting it consume me.