When I became a mom, I searched for a blog that resonated with every part of me: the nerdy kid, the ansty teenage feminist, the wayward 20-something, the ambitious career woman, the writer, the traveler, the wife, and yes, the mother. I couldn’t find that blog, so I wrote it. Welcome.

The privilege of overthinking

The privilege of overthinking

Anxiety: Something is wrong.

Me: What is it?

Anxiety: Something

Me: Can you give me a general idea?

Anxiety: S O M E T H I N G

Overthinking is a special talent of mine. If there was an Overthinking Olympics I’d have medals in the categories of Rehashing My Day at 3 a.m., What Did He Really Mean By That?, and Do I Have Cancer or Am I Just Dehydrated?

Overthinking, though, is a privilege. I am able to do it because I have so many of my basic needs already met--safety, security, and love. 

I am able to waste energy over-analyzing unimportant things because I am not in survival mode.

I’ve spent other periods of my life obsessively, singularly focused on stretching my paycheck so that I could pay rent and buy groceries, or on saving my marriage, or on having a baby. I was able to stay fixated on these things because I needed them to survive, or because I thought my happiness depended on them.

These days, I have a full, beautiful life and I’m not struggling to overcome any major obstacles. Thus, I overthink. I do it because I can. And while I’d love to have a calmer mind, at least when I catch myself swirling in my thoughts and over analyzing, I can be grateful that I’m in a position to do that.

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