“You’re overthinking it.”
It’s one of those phrases that most of us have either heard or said. Usually, it’s offered with kindness. We don’t like seeing people we care about feeling anxious, caught in circles of uncertainty or unable to make a decision. Telling someone they’re overthinking can feel reassuring, almost like an invitation to put the problem down.
Lately, though, I’ve found myself wondering what we really mean when we say it. Is someone genuinely thinking too much, or are they trying to make sense of something that feels uncertain, frightening or important? And perhaps more interestingly, what is happening for the person listening?
I don’t think I overthink in the same way I did when I was younger. Back then, thinking often felt relentless. If I could anticipate every possibility, perhaps I could prepare for it. If I thought hard enough, perhaps I could prevent something going wrong. Looking back, I can see that much of my thinking was really an attempt to manage uncertainty.
These days, I notice something different. Sometimes I keep myself busy, perhaps busier than I need to be. There are days when I realise I haven’t done anything that feels productive, so I’ll find something to do almost instinctively. Busyness can be another way of creating distance from our thoughts. We often imagine that thinking and doing sit at opposite ends of a spectrum, but I wonder whether they sometimes serve the same purpose.
Of course, not all thinking is the same. There is the kind of thinking that goes round and round, becoming more frightening with every lap. It narrows our world, pulls us away from the present and leaves little room for anything new to emerge. I think of that as rumination. It feels intrusive. It rarely creates understanding.
Then there is curiosity. Curiosity asks different questions. It slows us down rather than speeding us up. It is willing to hold uncertainty a little longer. Instead of desperately searching for certainty, it begins to wonder whether there might be another way to understand what is happening.
One of the things I value most about therapy is that it gives people the opportunity to think with someone rather than simply think on their own. I treasure difference. Not because I expect to agree with every perspective, but because different perspectives loosen certainty. They help us notice the assumptions we’ve been carrying for years without ever realising they were there.
From a systemic perspective, we never really think alone anyway. When we’re making sense of our lives, there are often many voices present. The parent who told us to be careful. The teacher who expected more. The former partner whose criticism still echoes years later. The version of ourselves who was frightened at twelve. The cultural messages about success, relationships, family or failure. Even when nobody else is in the room, we are often in conversation with people who shaped us.
Perhaps this is why being told we’re overthinking can sometimes feel so dismissive. Not because the person saying it intends to dismiss us, but because our thoughts are rarely just thoughts. They are connected to histories, relationships, and meanings that deserve curiosity before correction. I also wonder whether “you’re overthinking” sometimes tells us as much about the listener as the speaker. Watching somebody we care about struggle can be deeply uncomfortable. Uncertainty is difficult to witness. Anxiety can be contagious. Offering a simple answer may be less about solving the problem and more about trying to ease our own discomfort in the face of someone else’s worry.
Most of us have done it. Most of us have also been on the receiving end of it. Neither position makes us uncaring. It simply reminds us how uncomfortable uncertainty can be.
People sometimes come to therapy hoping for answers. They want someone to tell them what to do, give them a technique or offer the right homework. There are many excellent therapists whose work is structured in that way, and for many people that is exactly what they need. My work tends to be different.
I’m interested in getting into the mess with people. Not to leave them there, but to understand it alongside them. I’m interested in where an idea came from, what purpose it serves, whose voice it belongs to and whether there might be another way of making sense of it. The understanding has much more value when it belongs to the person discovering it than when it belongs to me. Perhaps that’s why I’ve become less interested in asking whether people think too much. I’m much more interested in whether they’ve had the opportunity to think alongside someone who is prepared to stay curious with them.
Sometimes the problem isn’t that we’re overthinking. Sometimes we’ve simply been left to think alone.
