Sometimes I wonder if overthinking is just my way of feeling alive. If I didn’t dissect every tiny interaction, would I even notice the world at all? There’s a thrill in it, I think — a mix of dread and curiosity that keeps me awake at night, listening to my own thoughts echo. 🌀

And yet, there’s exhaustion in it too. The constant mental gymnastics, trying to assign meaning where there may be none, weighing every word as if it carries the weight of the universe. I get tired of myself. I get tired of caring so much about things that don’t matter.

But then, when I finally let go, even for a moment, there’s relief. A breath. A crack of sunlight through the blinds. And I wonder why it took me so long to just exist in the moment without dissecting it, without analyzing it into nothing.

Do we ever actually learn to stop overthinking, or do we just get better at pretending we’re fine? ❓ I don’t know the answer, but I keep trying anyway. And maybe that’s enough. 🌿