Overthinking Is a Protector. Here’s How to Stop It.

Photo by Max van den Oetelaar on Unsplash

If your mind is running laps right now, Figlet Life Coaching is an AI coach that’s there at 2 in the morning, or right now, and it will walk you out of the loop and back into your body, one question at a time.

It’s two in the morning and you’re replaying the conversation again. What you said, what they said, what the pause before they answered meant. You’ve written tomorrow’s email forty times in your head and sent none of them. You know the thinking isn’t helping. You keep thinking anyway, because stopping feels even more dangerous.

That’s overthinking, and most people who live with it believe their mind is the problem. Too busy, too anxious, broken somehow. I don’t see it that way. Overthinking is a protector part. It keeps you up in your head so you don’t have to drop down into what’s waiting in your body.

I lived in my head for most of my life. In my thirties I lived at Esalen, the retreat centre on the Big Sur coast, for a year and a half. The kitchen staff met once a week for two hours of group process. My turn came, and of course I started sharing the latest thing I was anxious about. Every angle. Every possible outcome.

The facilitator stopped me. “Hey Figs. Feelings are sensations in your body. You were asked how you’re feeling, not to share what you’re thinking.”

It stopped me dead in my tracks. Nobody had ever invited me into my body before. I’d been answering “how do you feel?” with a report on what I thought my whole life. I still think of it as a born again moment.

What’s really going on

If your mind jumped in just then with “yes, but I do have to, because if I don’t…”, notice it. That’s the protector, live, doing its job.

Everyone has protector parts. They formed at some point when you weren’t safe, and they’re sure of one thing: whatever it costs to protect the vulnerable one inside you, it’s better than letting that part be hurt again. That’s the organism’s accounting. And most of the time the math is wrong. The cost of the protection ends up bigger than the hurt it’s guarding.

Your body keeps a record of everything that’s happened to you. Some entries got completed: someone held you, named what happened, helped the feeling move all the way through. Others never did. They stay open, and they keep broadcasting that something isn’t settled. That’s what anxiety is, to me. An open entry. And your mind, that brilliant, desperate, creative mind, will try everything to work around what the body has recorded. It builds stories. It runs scenarios. It rehearses.

That’s overthinking. A protector isn’t an accountant. It can’t close the entry. It’s noise management. It keeps the volume of thought high enough that you never quite hear the feeling underneath, and it charges you rent for the service: your sleep, your presence, your ease.

There’s a picture I use with people. A problem in the open ocean feels unmanageable. You’re sure you’re going to drown, and the bracing is exactly what makes you sink. Put the same problem in a teacup and you’re not going to drown in a teacup. Overthinking tries to solve an ocean with more ocean. What helps is a smaller container: one moment, one body, one feeling.

So you make sense. Your mind isn’t broken. It’s working the night shift for a part of you that learned feeling things was the bigger danger.

What overthinking actually is

Overthinking is thinking that goes round instead of forward. It has two favourite directions. Backwards is rumination: replaying the conversation, the email, the look on someone’s face, as if running it one more time will change the ending. Forwards is worry: rehearsing what might go wrong tomorrow, next week, in ten years, so you’re never caught unprepared.

Neither of them is problem solving. Problem solving ends in a decision or an action. You think it through, you pick something, you do it, and your body lets go. Overthinking ends in another lap. It generates more questions than answers, it feels urgent and it never quite arrives.

There’s a simple test I use. Ask yourself: is there something I can actually do about this in the next hour? If yes, it’s a problem, so do the smallest version of it. If no, it isn’t a problem anymore. It’s a feeling dressed up as a problem, and you can’t solve a feeling. You can only feel it.

Overthinking or intuition?

People ask me this a lot. “What if I’m not overthinking? What if something really is wrong?” The answer is in the body, not the mind. Overthinking is frantic. It loops, it escalates, it needs to build a case. Intuition is quiet and steady. It doesn’t need to convince you. It sits in your body as a knowing rather than a panicked question. Panic and knowing feel very different in the body, even when they point in the same direction.

Signs you’re an overthinker

You probably know already, or you wouldn’t be here. But these are the ones I hear most:

• You replay conversations long after they’ve ended, editing what you should have said.
• You rehearse emails, calls and hard conversations dozens of times and then put them off.
• Small decisions take forever, and once you’ve decided, you second-guess it.
• You go looking for reassurance, and it only works for an hour.
• You can’t fall asleep, or you wake at 3 a.m. with the story already running.
• You can explain your patterns beautifully, and understanding them changes nothing.
• Your body is braced most of the day: jaw tight, shoulders up, stomach in a knot.
• When someone asks how you feel, you tell them what you think.

That last one was me for most of my life. If a lot of your replaying is about whether you upset someone, it’s worth reading about people pleasing, because that’s often the protector doing the thinking.

And if the loop circles mostly around one person, a partner or someone you’re dating, that’s its own pattern, with the attachment questions “are you there for me?” and “am I enough for you?” running underneath it. I’ve written about that separately, in anxious attachment and overthinking. This page is about the overthinking that follows you everywhere.

What causes overthinking

Overthinking isn’t a personality flaw. It’s a strategy, and it usually formed for a good reason. These are the roots I see most often.

Anxiety: an open entry in the body

Something in your past hurt and never got completed. Whenever the present rhymes with it, a tone in a message, a raised eyebrow in a meeting, your body feels that old fear again, right now. The mind can’t close that entry, so it does the next best thing. It runs scenarios. The thinking isn’t the cause of the anxiety. It’s the mind trying to manage the broadcast.

Perfectionism and shame

If being not enough once felt genuinely dangerous, your mind learned to spot every mistake before anyone else could. That’s a lot of thinking. Every email has to be checked one more time, every decision has to be the right one, because getting it wrong doesn’t feel like a mistake. It feels like proof. Shame says if they really saw me, they’d leave. Perfectionism answers, then I’ll make sure they never really see me. I’ve written more about perfectionism and shame if that’s the voice you hear.

A childhood where you had to read the weather

If you grew up in a home where moods were unpredictable, scanning ahead was how you stayed safe. You learned to read a parent’s face before you walked into the room. That scanning was brilliant then. It’s running outdated software now, detecting threats based on an old map.

Control and uncertainty

Overthinking promises that if you just think about it enough, nothing will catch you off guard. That’s the protector’s deal. It feels like control. But you can’t think your way to certainty, so the deal never pays out, and the protector asks for more thinking.

A world that keeps you in your head

We live in a culture that pays you to stay in your head and almost never asks how your body is. Activation is always one ping away. One notification, one scroll, and the moment you were inside is gone. A nervous system that never gets a quiet minute will fill every quiet minute it does get with thinking.

The part that panics about the panic

Here’s the clearest way I know to show you what overthinking is, because I live with it too.

There are two boys inside me. One is the boy who got genuinely frightened when he was small. The other comes in right after and panics about the fear. Is something wrong with me? What does this mean? The second boy is louder, so he gets all the airtime, and the first one never gets held.

That second boy is my overthinking. He is fast, articulate and very convincing, and he is not the one who is hurting. What I try to do now is be with the first one. It’s okay to be scared. I got you. The way I’d hold my daughter Grace when she’s terrified before a blood test. When the first boy gets held, the second one has nothing left to do, and he goes quiet.

Most overthinking is the second boy. The thoughts are about the fear: what it means, whether it’s justified, what to do about it, what it says about you. Underneath them is a smaller, simpler feeling waiting to be kept company. That’s the one we’re going to work with.

The loop, on your situation

The practice I use is one I learned from Aftab Omer, reflexive participation: what am I noticing now, how am I affected, and what creative action is being called for? Run it on whatever your mind is chewing on right now.

Get ground in your body first

Feel your feet on the floor. Let one breath out, a little longer than the one that came in. Look around and name three things you can see. You can’t think your way into your body, but you can look your way there.

What happened

Just the facts, in a sentence or two. “My boss said let’s talk tomorrow and didn’t say about what.” Not the forty interpretations. The thing that actually happened.

Where it lands in the body

Now drop down. A tightness in the chest, a knot in the stomach, a buzzing behind the eyes? Find it and stay with it for one breath. And now what do you notice? If your mind leaps back to the scenarios, that’s the protector. Come back to the body.

Who’s driving

Name the part. One of mine I call the Alaska Man. When the shame gets big enough, he whispers that I should pack a small bag, move to Alaska, bag groceries in a little fishing village, read Russian novels and disappear. He’s a whole story my mind writes so I don’t have to feel the not-enoughness underneath. Yours might be the rehearser, the catastrophiser, the one who must have every angle covered. Which coin is in your pocket: the fear of being too much, or of not being enough?

Trace it

Only as far as today needs. When did you first learn that thinking ahead was safer than feeling? Maybe a home where you had to read the weather before you walked in the door. Then widen the lens. You live in a world that pays you to stay in your head and almost never asks how your body is.

Feel it and tell someone

This is the part that shifts it. Say the feeling, not the analysis, to someone you trust. Not “I’ve been wondering whether they’re annoyed because of what I said on Tuesday, and if so…” Just “I’m scared they’re disappointed in me.” Shame feeds on aloneness. The antidote is company.

One creative action

Then do one small thing that ends a loop instead of feeding it. Send the email as it is. Ask the question you’ve been rehearsing. The protector needs to watch you survive not having figured it all out.

How to stop overthinking, honestly

There are a thousand lists for this, and most of them ask you to think your way out of thinking. Here’s what has actually worked for me and the people I sit with.

Ask how you feel, not what you think. That one sentence in a kitchen at Esalen did more for me than a decade of analysing myself. Feelings are sensations in your body. Go and find one.

Stop treating self-awareness like a thought. There’s a way people talk about emotional growth that drives me mad, as if processing emotions were a worksheet. Insight about your overthinking is more overthinking. Feeling is the different thing.

Make the container smaller. Not “what if my whole career falls apart.” Just “what’s happening in my chest right now.” Teacup, not ocean.

Begin again. You’ll be back in your head by lunchtime tomorrow. That isn’t failure. Noticing you’re back is the practice working.

Quick ways to stop overthinking in the moment

When you’re already in the loop, you don’t need a theory. You need something your body can do in the next minute.

Name it out loud. Say, literally out loud: “I’m in a loop. This is a protector, not reality.” It sounds too simple. It is simple. Naming it engages the thinking brain just enough to put a crack in the loop.

Get your feet on the floor. Press them into the ground and feel the pressure. Name three things you can see. You can’t think your way into your body, but you can look your way there.

Make the out-breath longer. Breathe in, then let the breath out slower than it came in. Do it three times. That longer exhale is your nervous system’s brake pedal.

Move. Walk around the block. Shake your hands out. Your body has mobilised energy for a threat that isn’t coming, and if that energy has nowhere to go, it keeps fuelling the loop. Give it somewhere to go.

Separate the facts from the story. Ask: what do I actually know, as in what literally happened, and what am I telling myself happened? “They didn’t reply” is a fact. “They’re angry with me” is a story. Get clear on the difference.

Give the worry an appointment. If something really does need thinking about, give it a container. Fifteen minutes in the afternoon, a pen and a page, then you stop. Teacup, not ocean. When the thought shows up at another time, tell it when its appointment is.

Write the moment, not the story. If you write it down, write it in the present tense: what happened, where you feel it in your body and which part of you is driving. Skip the analysis. Analysis on paper is still analysis.

How to stop overthinking at night

Night is when the distractions stop. No meetings, no messages, no one to perform for. So whatever is open in you gets loud. That’s why the same worry that felt manageable at lunchtime feels like the end of the world at 2 in the morning. Nothing about the problem changed. You just finally went quiet enough to hear it.

The worst thing you can do at night is try to solve it. You can’t decide anything well from inside the dread, and your thinking brain is tired. So don’t argue with the thoughts, and don’t reach for your phone to look something up or check on someone. The phone never answers the question your body is really asking. It just feeds the loop more material.

And whatever you do, don’t send the message from the spiral. Anything you write at 2 in the morning will be written by your survival brain, not your thinking brain. It’ll still be there to send in the morning, if you still want to.

What to do tonight

When you catch yourself looping in bed, put a hand wherever it’s tightest, your chest or your belly. Say the feeling quietly, in one word: scared, sad, ashamed, angry. Not the story. Just the word. Then breathe into your hand three times. You’re not trying to stop the thoughts. You’re keeping the feeling company, so the thoughts don’t have to.

If that isn’t enough on its own, add these:

1. Put your phone in another room before you get into bed. The algorithm never says no, and it never lets you just be.
2. Write the loop in one sentence on a piece of paper by the bed. Just the fact, present tense. Then close the notebook. You’re telling your mind it’s been recorded and it can stop holding it.
3. Breathe out longer than you breathe in, three or four times, with your hand still on your body.
4. If one thing keeps coming back, promise yourself you’ll say it to someone you trust in the morning. Not the analysis. The feeling. “I’m scared about the meeting.”

How to stop overthinking a decision

Some decisions take a week of thinking because they deserve a week. Most don’t. If you’ve been around the same choice twenty times and you’re no closer, the thinking stopped being useful a while ago. You’re not gathering information anymore. You’re trying to get certain, and certainty isn’t on offer.

First, get ground. You can’t decide anything well from inside the dread. Feet on the floor, one long out-breath, then look at the choice again.

Second, ask your body, not your head. Imagine you’ve chosen option one. Stay with it for a breath. What happens in your chest, your stomach, your jaw? Then do the same with option two. The mind gives you forty arguments. The body usually gives you one honest signal, a softening or a bracing.

Third, make the smallest version. You don’t have to decide the whole thing. Send one email. Ask one question. Book one call. Soft enough to move.

I learned this on the water. I paddle outrigger canoes, and on the time trial course I’m usually the last one rounding the back of the island, alone in the chop, waves coming at me from every direction. Everything in me screams to brace. And the more I brace, the slower I go. What gets me through is softening my body, feeling the water and staying. Overthinking a decision is bracing. The way through is the opposite.

Overthinking at work

Work is where a lot of us overthink the most, because it’s where we get ranked. A manager writes “quick call?” and your whole body goes cold, and by the time the call happens you’ve rehearsed your defence for three different crimes. Most of the time we’re not really working for money. We’re working against shame, against the old feeling that we’re not enough, and every email is a chance to be found out.

The move is the same one. Say what happened in the present tense, just the facts, and leave out the forecast. The forecast is the anxiety’s story, not the event. Then answer the message after one full breath, not before. If this is your every Monday, I wrote a whole piece on work anxiety.

Is overthinking a mental illness?

No, not on its own. Cleveland Clinic puts it plainly: overthinking isn’t a recognised mental health condition, but it can be a symptom of depression or anxiety. That matches what I see. Overthinking is a strategy, not a diagnosis. But it travels with things that deserve proper care.

If the worry jumps from topic to topic most days and your body never fully comes down, that can be an anxiety disorder. If the thinking comes with a heavy flatness and you’ve stopped enjoying things, that can be depression. If a thought feels sticky and wrong, and you feel driven to check, repeat or seek reassurance to make it go away, that can be OCD. And if you’ve been through something frightening, a mind that scans for danger all the time can be the body still guarding against it.

I’m not saying any of those to scare you. I’m saying them so you know when overthinking is more than a habit. If any of them sound like you, please get assessed by a licensed clinician where you live. There’s real help for every one of them.

Would therapy help with this?

Coaching is how we go from where you are now to where you want to go, and we only address the past when it emerges in the present. If your overthinking flares around specific things, a decision, a conversation, how you came across at work, coaching is the right size.

But if the thoughts feel intrusive or out of your control, if you haven’t slept properly in weeks, or if slowing down floods you with panic or old trauma, please talk to a licensed therapist where you live.

The path

What I’ve just walked you through is the Empathi Method. For an individual, it’s built on my Proof of Work of Being Human protocol: building sovereign ground inside yourself. When there’s ground under you, your mind can stop standing guard.

There are two ways to keep going. It’ll meet you in the middle of the loop and bring you back to your body, one question at a time. Or you can get on the list for the book and the live program with me, where we do this work together.

I go deeper into this in my book, Proof of Work (Greenleaf Book Group Press, February 2027).

Common questions

What causes overthinking?

Usually a feeling your system would rather not feel. Somewhere along the way your body learned that feeling was dangerous and thinking ahead was safe, so a protector part keeps you busy in your head. The thoughts are real, but they’re standing in front of something: fear, shame, grief, or an old experience that never got completed.

Is overthinking anxiety?

They travel together. I think of anxiety as an open entry in the body that keeps broadcasting, and overthinking as the mind trying to manage the broadcast. If it’s constant, or it’s getting in the way of work, sleep or relationships, get it properly assessed by a licensed clinician.

How do I stop overthinking at night?

Night is when the distractions stop, so whatever’s open gets loud. Don’t argue with the thoughts. Put a hand where the feeling is, name it in one word, and breathe into your hand. If something keeps coming back, write it down and tell someone you trust in the morning.

Is overthinking a mental illness?

No. Overthinking on its own isn’t a diagnosis, but it often travels with anxiety, depression, OCD or the after-effects of trauma. If it’s constant, or it’s getting in the way of sleep, work or relationships, get it assessed by a licensed clinician.

What is the difference between overthinking and problem solving?

Problem solving ends in a decision or an action, and your body lets go. Overthinking ends in another lap. Ask whether there’s something you can do about it in the next hour. If there is, do the smallest version. If there isn’t, it’s a feeling dressed up as a problem.

How do I stop overthinking a decision?

Get ground in your body first, because you can’t decide well from inside the dread. Then imagine each option and notice what your body does, a softening or a bracing. Then take the smallest possible step instead of deciding the whole thing at once.

Can you train your brain to stop overthinking?

Not by thinking harder. You train it by noticing the loop sooner and coming back to your body more often. You’ll still slip back into your head. The practice is recognising it faster and returning faster, and every time you do, the loop gets a little weaker.

Why do I overthink everything?

Because somewhere along the way, thinking ahead became how you stayed safe. A home where you had to read the weather, a school or job that ranked you, a culture that rewards staying in your head. It made sense then. The work now is teaching your body it can feel things without the thinking standing guard.

Reflexive participation comes from the teaching of Aftab Omer at the Institute of Imaginal Studies, where I trained.