I once spent two hours deciding whether to send a three-word email. It wasn’t even important. It was just “thanks, that works.”
But I couldn’t send it. What if it sounded too casual? What if they expected something more formal? What if they thought I was being sarcastic? I rewrote it. I deleted it. I wrote it again. I started drafting a longer version to explain why I was saying thanks. Then I deleted that too.
Two hours later, I sent the original version. Nothing happened. No one cared. I wasted two hours of my life on a three-word email that didn’t matter.
That was the moment I started paying attention to how much of my life I was giving away to thoughts that didn’t deserve that much space. Not just emails. Conversations I’d replay. Decisions I’d second-guess. Things I said that I’d re-examine for hidden meaning. I wasn’t solving problems. I was spinning.
Quick Answer
If you overthink small things like emails or conversations, it’s usually because your brain is trying to avoid being wrong.
What helps:
- Name the overthinking loop
- Delay it with a “worry window”
- Ask “what would I tell a friend?”
- Use a time-check (“will this matter in a year?”)
- Shift from thinking to action
If you’ve ever lost an hour (or two) to a thought that wouldn’t let go, here’s what I learned about why we do it, and a few things that actually helped me stop.
Why we overthink (it’s not what you think)
I used to believe I overthought because I was careful. Or thorough. Or just more anxious than other people. Those weren’t wrong. But they weren’t the real reason either.
Here’s what I figured out. I wasn’t trying to find the right answer. I was trying to avoid the wrong one. Every time I replayed a conversation, I was trying to make sure I hadn’t messed up. Every time I delayed a decision, I was trying to avoid making a mistake. Overthinking felt like protection. It wasn’t. It was just a way of staying stuck without having to risk being wrong.
A therapist once told me: “Your brain thinks if you think about something long enough, you’ll eventually feel certain. But certainty doesn’t come from thinking. It comes from acting.” That hit me. I wasn’t thinking to learn. I was thinking to feel safe.
What didn’t work (and why)
Telling myself to “just stop.” That never worked. Telling yourself not to think about something is like telling yourself not to think about a pink elephant. You’ll just think about it more.
Distracting myself. I’d scroll my phone, watch a show, do anything to escape the thought. But it was still there waiting for me when I was done.
Trying to “figure it out.” I’d dig deeper, analyze more, try to find the perfect angle. That just fed the loop. Overthinking loves when you keep feeding it.
Asking other people for their opinion. I’d text a friend: “Do you think this was weird?” Most of the time, they’d say no. But I wouldn’t believe them. I’d just find a new angle to worry about.
Four things that actually helped me stop spinning
1. I named the loop
When I caught myself overthinking, I started saying out loud: “I’m overthinking right now.” That sounds too simple to work. But naming it interrupted it, just a little. I wasn’t lost in the thought anymore. I was observing it.
And once I could observe it, I could choose something different.
What it looked like: “I’m overthinking that conversation I had with my boss. I’m replaying it for the fourth time.” Saying it out loud made me realize how ridiculous it was. That didn’t stop the thought, but it stopped me from taking it so seriously.
2. I gave myself a “worry window”
Instead of letting overthinking take over my whole day, I gave it a specific time. From 4:00 to 4:15 p.m., I was allowed to worry. I could analyze, replay, and obsess all I wanted. But only during that window. Any other time the thought showed up, I’d say: “Not now. I’ll worry about this at 4.”
This sounds like pretending. It’s not. It’s training your brain to contain the thought instead of letting it run your entire day. Most of the time, by the time 4 o’clock rolled around, the thought didn’t feel as urgent anymore.
3. I asked “what would I tell a friend?”
When I was stuck in a loop, I’d imagine a friend came to me with the exact same problem. Would I tell them to obsess over it for hours? Would I tell them they made a terrible mistake? Would I tell them their life was falling apart? No. I’d probably say: “It’s not that big of a deal. You’re overthinking it.”
And then I’d realize I was being harder on myself than I’d ever be on anyone else.
4. I started asking “will this matter in a year?”
This question killed most of my overthinking. The answer was almost always no. That email I was stressing about? No. That awkward conversation? Probably not. That decision I was agonizing over? In a year, I probably wouldn’t even remember it.
The things that actually matter in a year don’t usually need hours of analysis. They need action. The rest is just noise.
A real example from someone who got stuck differently
My friend Dave is a classic overthinker. He’d get stuck on decisions for days. Small ones — which airline to book, what to order at a restaurant, whether to reply to a text right away or wait. It was exhausting to watch.
What helped him was a simple rule: “If you can fix it in five minutes, do it now. If you can’t, let it wait.” That rule cut his overthinking in half. He stopped spending twenty minutes deciding what to eat for lunch. He started just picking something and moving on.
He told me: “I realized that most of my decisions didn’t actually matter that much. I was just treating them like they did.”
What I still mess up
I still overthink sometimes. Usually when I’m tired, stressed, or already anxious about something. The difference now is that I know when I’m doing it. I can catch myself. I can name it. I can use one of the tools above to interrupt the loop.
I still send an email and wonder if I sounded weird. But I don’t lie awake for two hours replaying it anymore.
The bottom line
Overthinking feels like problem-solving. It’s not. It’s the opposite. It’s a way of staying stuck without having to risk being wrong.
The way out isn’t to think more. It’s to notice when you’re spinning, give the thought a container, ask yourself what you’d tell a friend, and remember that most of this won’t matter in a year.
I still have moments where my brain wants to run. But now I know how to let it run without losing my whole day.