The Ball of Yarn

Written roughly ten years ago, then edited with ChatGPT.

We often get the idea of dealing with problems wrong. This applies from the small annoyances of daily life to deep-rooted childhood trauma. I think the confusion begins with a tempting expectation: if we have truly dealt with something, we should be able to forget it and stop thinking about it. And then, of course, comes the frustration when those memories bubble back up from the depths of the subconscious. In the end, it feels like things never really get “lighter.” So let’s try looking at it from another angle.

Lightness, here, isn’t about erasing our thoughts; it’s about organizing them. Imagine the mind as a basket filled with balls of yarn. Each one corresponds to a problem, but their loose threads have become tangled together. When everything’s tangled like that, pulling on one thread inevitably pulls on a bunch of others too. That’s what it feels like when one issue takes over your whole day and you can’t even manage basic tasks. Your mind is just too full.

Of course, not every thread is equally tangled. The loss of someone we love, the end of a relationship, or losing a job can become tightly wound around many parts of our lives. A headache, a disagreement with a friend, or missing the bus may be looser and easier to handle. The distinction is not always easy. A small event can catch on an older knot and suddenly feel much larger than it appears from the outside. You likely experienced that in relationships, no?

The key point here is: the threads are there whether we like it or not. Wanting to forget a problem is like asking one ball of yarn to disappear from the basket. But this is not how it works. What we can do is loosen the knots and separate the threads. We can work through a problem without pretending that it has vanished.

So what would help us untangle the yarn? In the analogy, the obvious answer is a comb or a brush. And yes, that would help! Of course, when everything’s still tangled, trying to work on one thread without disturbing the rest is tricky. Anyone who has started examining one painful experience only to find it connected to several others knows the feeling. Some threads are so tightly wound around others that trying to comb them might even snap them. That happens. Still, the work matters. Once the threads are more or less separated, a new problem is easier to identify and handle. It may still be painful, but it is less likely to pull everything else with it.

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All of this sounds nice, but it is still just a metaphor. Someone might now ask: alright, but what is the real-life comb?

Each person probably has their own kind of comb, in different shapes and styles. I suspect many of them have bristles made of words. Let me explain.

When we think internally, the process can be wildly nonlinear. Our inner monologue is messy and irregular, and we mix in images, sounds, voices, smells, memories, and imagined conversations. That creative chaos is part of what makes us human, but it can get in the way, especially when we are dealing with something difficult. Verbalizing—writing things down or talking to someone who listens without judgment—helps bring some order to the mess.

Language is not perfectly linear, but it is more linear than thought. A sentence has an order: one word follows another. Expressing a problem aloud or in writing gives it a sequence and a shape. The problem remains, but it becomes more accessible. It becomes easier to see which part belongs to the present situation and which part was pulled in from somewhere else. Have you ever poured your frustration about one issue into something completely unrelated? That is the sort of thing I mean.

Of course, words are not the only kind of comb. Some experiences resist this kind of structure, and we turn to music, painting, movement, or other forms of art. They can express what words cannot organize without flattening it. This does not mean those experiences lack meaning. It means only that expression and untangling are not always the same task.

Different knots also need different combs. One problem may become clearer in a conversation with a close friend. Another may need solitude and writing. Some require professional help. A good therapist is not simply a friend who does not judge; they offer a different kind of care, one that may be necessary when a knot is too tight, too old, or too painful to pull at alone.

This is a process, and it needs practice. Life keeps adding new threads while old ones continue to cross and catch on one another. The goal is not a perfectly ordered basket. It is enough separation that pulling on one thread no longer moves everything at once.