When Your Mind Goes Blank Mid-Sentence

(and you’re supposed to be the one with the answers)

I want to share something that happened during a group coaching call I was part of last night.. because even though it was just a quick moment that already passed, it’s been sitting heavy with me ever since. And I think there’s something important here. Maybe for me. Maybe for you, too.

You know that feeling everyone talks about, where they’re meditating and their mind just goes blank?? like, Eat Pray Love kinda shit?

Here’s a little story about the time I experienced that, totally against my will and out of nowhere.

Group coaching call, Friday night.

We were mid-conversation, talking about topics where I know I know my shit. Not just professionally, but personally. Lived experience kind of stuff. Like I could talk about it with my eyes closed, and I was actually so excited to share.

My boss asked a question that really got me thinking. I felt energy move through me: it was one of those “yes, this is important” kind of moments. I could see the dots starting to connect and, for me, the best way to navigate that is to start talking and let the thoughts flow. so I opened my mouth to share, started talking my way through what was coming to me, and halfway through my thought…

Blank.

Not a lost word or a mental hiccup. Like—nothing. Just stillness. Silence. Not a single thought available to grab onto. For the first time in my life, I experienced what it was like to not think anything. And to be honest, I didn’t really like it.

At first, I thought to myself, “Okay, no big deal. You’ll find your train of thought again. Just take a breath” But then I remembered:

- This is a live call.

- This is being recorded.

- These women are here to receive something from me.

- I’m not just sharing—I’m supposed to be using this moment to help teach them something, or at least give them guidance on a difficult topic.

- Omg the panic is starting to set in.

For a second, I felt that familiar pull: the old urge to push through. To perform. To pretend I had it all together. To prove I belonged in the space.

An old part of me was still operating under some outdated beliefs, like:

• You must always be clear, well spoken, and have a plan.

• You must always be helpful and useful, constantly providing something in some way.

• You must always be ready for anything, and if you don’t know the answer, you have to convince people you do. If not, you’ll be chastised or scoffed at.

So I definitely felt the heat and redness creeping up my chest and spreading across my face, once I realized what was happening. I was not going to be able to grab that thought again, and just keep speaking like nothing was wrong. It was truly gone.

Cue total breakdown, right?

But here’s what happened instead.

I paused.

I breathed.

I admitted out loud: “I’m so sorry—I completely lost my train of thought.”

And I asked for help.

The women on the call were kind. The lead coach gently reminded me of what I’d just said, and it gave me an anchor point to grab onto. I was able to come back to the topic, explore it in a new way (even if it felt like I was kind of talking out of my ass for a minute), and eventually found my footing again.

But that moment of blankness lingered. Not because it ruined the call (plot twist, it didn’t). It actually ended beautifully. But because it brought up fear in me, that I knew I needed to look at.

It made me question:

Why did that moment feel so threatening??

Why did I feel so afraid people would think I didn’t know what I was talking about??

Why did a completely human moment feel like a failure??

Here’s the answer i had to sit with:

I’ve spent most of my life feeling like I had to prove I’m safe to trust. Like if I can speak clearly, hold space well, sound smart, be helpful… then maybe I’ll be allowed to stay. Maybe I’ll belong. Maybe I’ll matter. Maybe people won’t make fun of me or reject me.

I was often placed into a “scapegoat” role as a child, too, so a lot of times I felt like I had done something horribly wrong, even when there was no way that could logically be true. But even deeper than that, I had formed this subconscious fear that being wrong meant losing all credibility and trust.

So when my words disappeared, it didn’t just feel like “oops, a brain fart.” It felt like risk. Full exposure. Like someone might say, “See? She’s not who we thought she was.” I honestly felt a panic come over me, that my boss would fire me from leading future coaching calls. (I’m being super vulnerable in this post, K?)

But the truth is:

That silence wasn’t a failure.

It was a pause.

It was my body saying: “Let’s not rush this. Let’s get present.”

And maybe that was the real medicine for me, in that moment.

It was super uncomfortable, but it gave me an opportunity to face a really deep fear that was hidden wayyy down in there.

If you’ve been there too..

Whether it was a brain fart moment, a time when your mind completely checked out, or just a time when you felt like a failure before anyone had a chance to even say anything..

Just know:

We don’t need to perform our way through every vulnerable moment.

We don’t need to have a perfectly packaged answer every time we open our mouths.

Sometimes, the most powerful thing we can offer is ourself, exactly as we are—mid-blank, mid-recovery, mid-sentence.

You haven’t failed.

You’re human.

And maybe in these moments, the pause is the point.

P.S. - If you are a woman recovering from the betrayal trauma of infidelity or facing the reality of porn addiction within your relationship, reach out - I can send you an invite to a weekly women’s call where we discuss all the intricacies surrounding this topic, and much more. It’s a wonderfully growth-oriented, honest, and safe space. Brain farts and all.