An Example of My Jumbled Mind (The Forty-Tab Brain)

I talk a lot about having “forty tabs open,” but let’s be real—it isn’t just about being busy. It’s a survival mission that lives entirely inside my head.

And look, I’m not trying to make myself sound like the center of the universe. I know, deep down, that life would go on even without me. The world doesn’t stop because a mom takes a break. I also don’t want to belittle the massive part my husband and kids play in keeping this family moving—they are the ones spinning the wheels every day. But even when the wheels are rotating perfectly, the mental load is just… there. It’s the invisible architecture. Whether the emergency is real or not doesn’t actually matter; it feels real in my head. I’m the one scanning the horizon. So, on a random Tuesday at 3:00 PM, the browser inside my skull looks like this:

1. I need to pray Dhuhr right now before the window closes.
2. Why is he coughing like that? Do we have ivy leaf syrup or am I going to the pharmacy at 9 PM?
3. The kids need new underwear and socks. Do I ask for the money now or wait for a “good” mood?
4. STOP RUNNING!
5. It’s getting hot. AC goes on tomorrow. No, maybe tonight.
6. Astaghfirullah. I’m trying to focus on my adhkar, but I’m actually thinking about mushroom steak.
7. I thought we still had canned tomatoes? If we don’t, the whole dinner plan is a lie.
8. Why is my husband so quiet? Did I do something, or is he just carrying the world on his back today?
9. Someone needs new crayons.
10. Where is that school uniform? I swear I saw it in the wash yesterday.
11. I should wear perfume and lipstick more often. I’m starting to feel like a ghost in my own hallway.
12. DON’T JUMP FROM THE SOFA!
13. Where is my grey abaya? I wanted to wear it tomorrow and it’s vanished.
14. I need to call the doctor. I’ve been putting off that appointment for three weeks.
15. What will I bring for the community picnic on the weekend?
16. The teenager thinks their friends are cooler than me. Milestone. Ouch.
17. We are down to the last 2kg of rice. Hunt for the bulk deal begins tomorrow.
18. I should ask one of the older boys to fix the hinges on that kitchen cabinet today.
19. Is that the washing machine making that weird noise again?
20. I need to have a serious chat with him when the time is right—but when is it ever “right”?
21. Maybe I can give them Dr. Seuss books and turn on the read-along on YouTube so I have time to prep the lasagna ingredients.
22. Did the teenager pack his lunch bag?
23. I need to get my 5,000 steps. I’m currently at 1,200 and it’s already dark.
24. Kids need to be reminded to say their duaa again. I’m going to hang papers all over the walls.
25. The spice-hacker mission: doctor the premade Rendang mix so it actually tastes like home.
26. One of the girls has literal bird-nest tangles. Deep conditioner tonight is non-negotiable.
27. I need to call Mom. I haven’t heard her voice in 24 hours.
28. Take the supplements. Take the medicine. Stop forgetting.
29. Is that a new age spot or just a shadow? 1981 is catching up.
30. The shy child was too quiet at lunch. I need to find five minutes of one-on-one time.
31. How do I explain what’s happening in the news without scaring them?
32. I miss having a library book that isn’t about parenting or history.
33. I desperately need a shower before I pick up the kids.
34. Why did I say “yes” to that extra commitment next week?
35. Is our heritage getting lost in all this Sharjah heat? I need to tell them a story about Indonesia tonight.
36. Life will go on without me, but who will find the socks?
37. I’m so soul-tired, but the baby is still awake.
38. Remember the “ease” promised in the Quran. It’s here somewhere.
39. Thank You, Allah, for the noise. It means they’re healthy.
40. I’m still here. I’m still me.

This is the “Mental Load.” It’s the exhaustion of being the CPU for eleven other souls. When I finally stretch out on the bed and the baby is in the cot, the tabs don’t just close. They “refresh.” I’m lying there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, feeling the phantom weight of an emergency that hasn’t happened yet.

But then I remember the Barakah. It’s in the way the food stretches, the way the house holds us, and the quiet moment when the “jumbled mind” finally hits the prayer mat. I don’t have to save the world; I just have to be present in this one hallway.

What does your browser look like today? Which tab is screaming the loudest?