“Life of an Overthinker — Messy, Blessed & Real”

This is my life of an overthinker — messy, blessed, and real. From childhood to motherhood, my mind never rests. I think too much, love too deep, and sometimes it feels like I’m living in a body that’s just breathing while my heart and head are trying to catch up.

From childhood — slow because I think a lot

When I was a child, I was always “slow.” Not lazy slow — thinking slow. If I went to take a bath, I took my time. If I started a task, I would take time because my brain was already making ten plans and ten worries at once. No one understood that. From childhood till now, people called me an overthinker like it’s a fault.

My parents never talked about emotions. They spoke about studies, the future, and how to behave in society. Emotional support? That word didn’t exist at our home. I didn’t even know how to name what I felt until Instagram posts started showing me I wasn’t the only one.

My brother’s favourite line was, “Don’t be filmy.” He meant stop dramatising. But I wasn’t acting — I was being real. He never got me.

When people don’t get you

Some friends understood me for a while. But when I went to my darker thoughts, suddenly I was “too much.” They would pull away because my feelings felt heavy. The special ones I wanted to tell, “You are important to me,” misunderstood me and said, “You think too much. Don’t think.”

My husband jokes, “If I had thought that much, I’d be a Collector officer by now.” 😂 Neighbours have their own “diagnoses” — “Oh she has thyroid after delivery, now she thinks deep,” or “Her HB is low, that’s why she’s always thinking.” My mind comes with a medical explanation.

When overthinking feels like being dead inside

Sometimes it feels like I’m dead inside a body that still breathes. When no one gets you, it’s a lonely, hollow feeling. I always want to fix things for the people I love, but trying to fix everything ends up making problems. I even lost one precious person from my childhood because my overthinking made them feel guilty and depressed. I can’t always love my people freely — my mind won’t let me. When they leave, they don’t understand what they meant to me.

Motherhood turned it up

Motherhood made everything louder. Oh my god — I became more dangerous in my thinking. I think so deep about my children: every cough, every silence, every crumb. I replay things, imagine futures, worry about things that haven’t even happened. It gets exhausting to be me sometimes. But it also made me notice tiny details others miss — the little signs, the small smiles, the moments hidden under noise.

The gift hidden inside the curse

Yes, overthinking isolates me. But it also gives me depth. I often see the intentions behind a smile, or the unsaid words in a quiet room. I feel the layers. That is my strength — and sometimes it’s too much for others. At this stage, I don’t have many who truly listen (I have one family friend who does). So I choose to write.

Why I started this blog

I realised I keep pushing my thoughts on people who didn’t choose to carry them. That’s unfair to them and exhausting for me. Here, on my blog, readers can choose. They can click, read, leave, or stay. No one is forced to listen. Maybe my words will find one person who says, “Me too.” Maybe they will find many.

If you’ve ever been told, “Don’t think so much,” or felt dead when no one gets you, know this — you are not broken. You are wired deep. You are messy, blessed, and real. And you deserve a space where your thoughts can breathe.

✨ With care,
Sanjivani.