How my brain works

I don’t even know how to start this, but whatever, I’m just going to start.

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I’ve always been the kind of person who thinks a little too deeply, maybe even a little too much. It’s not just reflection. It’s like my brain is always two steps ahead, already playing out ten different outcomes for a single moment. I never used to call it overthinking. It just felt like being aware, like being tuned into everything and everyone around me.

But the truth is, it’s more than that.

Overthinking isn’t just thinking a lot. It’s thinking in loops. It’s taking a simple situation and unraveling it until it becomes complicated, heavy, and hard to breathe through.

Let’s start with relationships.

Say your significant other doesn’t send that “Good morning” text by the time you wake up. Now your brain starts:

“Did he forget me?”

“Is he mad?”

“Does he still love me?”

“No, wait—he usually texts by now, so he must’ve woken up already…”

“Did something happen to him?”

“Is he sick? Did he die? Did he break his leg? Was he kidnapped?”

And then—ping.

“Good morning😍.”

Suddenly, your chest relaxes.

He didn’t die. He didn’t leave. He was probably just asleep.

And then there are the highs, when someone tells you they love you, that you’re the best thing that ever happened to them, and your heart could burst from joy. But the moment that same person takes five hours to respond to a message, the spiral begins again.

That’s the thing about overthinking: it usually stems from a lack of feeling wanted. It comes from a lack of affection. From the need to constantly read between the lines.

You start thinking:

If someone shifts in their seat, they’re uncomfortable.

If they keep hitting their fork on the plate, maybe they’re trying to talk but don’t know how.

If they’re staring into space, something must be wrong, they’re lost in thought, maybe battling something.

It gets to a point where you can no longer tell if what you’re sensing is real, or just a projection of your inner panic. The body joins in. You get that pit in your stomach, that familiar tightness that feels like a tummy ache, but it’s not. You’re nervous, tired, anxious… all at once.

It’s exhausting.

And yet, that’s how my brain works.

I like to plan. I don’t like spontaneity. I hate not knowing what’s next. I hate when things fall out of schedule. I also hate when someone tells me “no” without a valid reason. I’m a very specific person.

The little things, even jokes, can spiral me.

If someone laughs and says, “I don’t like you,” I’ll laugh too, but deep down, I’ll ask myself:

What do you mean by that? Do you not love me? Do you even want me?

It’s a lot.

Sometimes, I want to shut my brain off. Just flip a switch and breathe.

All of this also connects to my attachment style.

I’m someone with an anxious attachment style. I like to be in control. I want to know what’s going on, all the time. And after a lot of reflection, I’m learning just how much that harms me… and the people around me.

Because I tend to focus on what’s wrong.

I zero in on what’s off, what’s missing, what could go wrong.

And when I’m in that headspace, it clouds every other part of my life.

I’ve been working hard to shed that identity. To loosen its grip on me.

It’s not easy. But there’s peace on the other side.

You start seeing the world in softer colors.

But we’ve only talked about relationships so far.

Let’s talk about social spaces.

I wouldn’t call myself a socially anxious person, but the overthinking?

It shows up when I dress up to go out and look in the mirror, questioning everything:

Is this skirt too short?

Is this outfit too shiny?

Will this draw attention?

Is my hair laid back enough? My edges?

I forgot my earrings, ugh, I would’ve looked ugly today.

Will my friends like this outfit? What will people think when they see me?

Then there’s the performance:

Practicing your “hi’s” and your smile and your head nods before leaving the house.

It feels ridiculous. But it’s real.

That’s what it feels like to live inside this head.

And honestly?

It’s exhausting.

So many people casually say, “I have anxiety” or “I overthink,” but I don’t think many truly understand what it means to be that person.

To be trapped in the noise of your mind.

To want help but not know how to explain the chaos in words.

It’s why I often resist labeling myself as “anxious.”

Because that label isn’t light.

It’s chest-tightening.

It’s can’t-breathe, curled-up-on-the-floor chaos.

It’s trying to call someone for help, only to realize, no one gets it.

They’ll just say, “Take it easy.”

But that’s not what I need.

So I drop the phone.

Close my eyes.

And remind myself to breathe.

Inhale… exhale… count to ten.

Find your rhythm.

Eventually, I do.

And for a moment, I’m okay.

There’s also academics.

Reading a single paragraph drains me.

I get overwhelmed just looking at my books.

And then the panic kicks in:

How will I pass?

Who can help me?

What if I fail?

What if this is the end?

Suddenly, I find it hard to breathe, again.

I’m spiraling. Again.

This is not a phase.

This is someone’s daily life.

Sometimes, this is my life.

It doesn’t just harm me.

It harms the people around me.

But most of all, it harms my mind.

Because when this is how your brain is wired, it feels like carrying a superpower you didn’t ask for.

One that hears everyone’s thoughts, sees every detail, and can’t turn off.

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As I’m editing this, all I can think is:

Wow. I didn’t even realize how deeply this goes. How accurate it is. How real.

But maybe… maybe it helps someone understand their sister.

Their partner.

Their child.

Maybe it helps you understand yourself.

And if you’re like me, and you’re trying to rewire your brain?

Trying to unlearn this exhausting way of living?

Please know:

You don’t talk your way out of it overnight.

It’s a process.

It’s hard.

It’s like quitting an addiction.

You’ll have withdrawals.

You’ll relapse.

You’ll go back and forth a thousand times.

Because that chaos?

That’s been home for so long.

But I promise, there’s a better home waiting for you.

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If you’d like to leave a tip, it would mean the world to me. It’s just another way to show your support, and I’d appreciate it deeply.