Living With My Overthinking Mind

There are mornings when I wake up already exhausted. Not because I didn’t sleep, but because I spent all night stuck inside my head. My brain runs rehearsals of conversations I had days ago, questioning if I said something wrong or if I should’ve responded differently. It doesn’t matter how small the moment was—if it made me feel uncertain, my mind holds onto it like a looping playlist I didn’t choose.

Most people wouldn’t know this about me. Out in public, I laugh. I smile. I make small talk. I show up on time. On the outside, I look like I’ve got it together. But what people can’t see is the mental tug-of-war I’m in just to keep that version of myself standing.

I live with chronic overthinking. It’s not just a quirky personality trait or a sign that I “care too much.” It’s a full-blown, energy-draining, mood-altering pattern that shapes how I see the world—and myself. I analyze every word I say, read into every silence, and create entire scenarios in my head based on someone’s tone or the way they looked at me.

I wish people understood that it’s not something I can switch off. It’s not like I want to lie awake wondering if I annoyed someone with a text or replay a conversation from two weeks ago trying to hear it differently. It just happens. My mind constantly scans for problems—even ones that aren’t really there.

There are times when I cancel plans, not because I don’t want to see people, but because I’ve already imagined every possible way the interaction could go wrong. What if I say something awkward? What if I make someone uncomfortable? What if they invited me out of pity? The thoughts don’t always make sense, but the anxiety they create feels very real.

Overthinking shows up in moments you wouldn’t expect. If someone I know walks past me without saying hi, I’ll spend hours wondering if I upset them. If I don’t get a text back, I assume I said something wrong. And even when people do reassure me, I sometimes convince myself they’re just being nice. It’s exhausting, and the worst part is how invisible it all is.

I know I can be hard to read. One day I’m talkative and upbeat, and the next I’m quiet and withdrawn. It’s not about anyone else—it’s just where my head’s at that day. Some days I can push through the noise in my mind and actually enjoy a conversation. Other days, the mental load is too heavy and I go quiet to protect myself.

What’s tough is that people often misread me. They assume I’m moody or uninterested, when really I’m just tired from fighting thoughts no one else can hear. I’ve learned how to mask it well, to smile while I’m spinning inside. And I know I’m not the only one.

If you know someone who deals with anxiety or overthinking, please know that it’s not about you. If they cancel, go quiet, or seem off—it’s not rejection. It’s survival. What helps the most isn’t advice or quick fixes. It’s patience. It’s the people who don’t need an explanation every time I need space. The ones who check in with a simple “Thinking of you,” or say, “I’m here if you want to talk.”

And if you’re someone like me—someone with a mind that doesn’t shut off easily—know that you’re not alone. It can feel like no one understands, especially when you seem “fine” on the outside. But your struggle is valid, even if it’s invisible. You are not dramatic. You are not weak. You are human, with a brain that sometimes runs a little too fast for comfort.

Some days will be heavier than others. But that doesn’t make you any less worthy of rest, of connection, of peace. You are allowed to take up space, even if you’re still figuring things out.