The night train, when you feel restless rather than tired — for a racing mind

Somewhere ahead of you, a door opens and closes with a soft, deliberate sound. Outside, the fields go past without anything in them you need to see. A station passes without stopping — a platform, a lamp, three empty benches, then dark again.

The heating is on low, and the air smells faintly of clean metal and old upholstery. The train left a quarter of an hour ago, and the carriage has already settled into its own quiet. The seat reclines one notch further than you expected it to.

Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.

Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Your ankles can go loose now.

The rhythm underneath you is steady enough to lean on. The lights along the aisle are dimmed to the colour of weak tea.

Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.

Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.

Every so often the wheels change their note as they cross a join in the rail. There is one other person in this carriage, four rows up, asleep with a coat over their knees.

Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.

Your bag is wedged under the seat in front, out of the way of your feet. The window is cool against the side of your face.

Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let your calves spread out and flatten.

A station passes without stopping — a platform, a lamp, three empty benches, then dark again. Every so often the wheels change their note as they cross a join in the rail.

Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.

The lights along the aisle are dimmed to the colour of weak tea. Somewhere ahead of you, a door opens and closes with a soft, deliberate sound.

If you feel numb, that's a valid thing to feel. Nothing to fix. You might be planning something. Notice the planning, then come back.

Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Let your ribs stop working so hard.

Let your breathing do the rest. Stay.

Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Almost nothing to do now. They will find their own way out.

Slower now. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Leave it there.

Restless is different from tired, and it needs a different approach.

Let the words go now, and take the quiet with you.