The Problem With Overthinking:
The Problem With Overthinking:
A Personal Essay by an INFJ-T.
Let me introduce myself. Again.
Not because you asked, but because people like me always feel the need to provide context before speaking.
Hello. I'm a Highly Sensitive Person, an introvert, a chronic overthinker, and someone who feels other people's emotions so deeply that sometimes I struggle to separate them from my own. According to the MBTI personality framework, I'm an INFJ-T. Whether or not you believe in personality types, that label captures one thing perfectly: I spend an extraordinary amount of time inside my own head.
Being an overthinker and an empath isn't just a personality trait. It's a full-time occupation.
No weekends. No holidays. No off switch.
What Is Overthinking, Really?
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According to Merriam-Webster, overthinking means:
"To think too much about something; to spend more time analyzing something than is helpful."
That definition sounds harmless.
Clinical, even.
What it doesn't tell you is that overthinking means replaying a ten-second interaction for nine years. It means creating fifteen different versions of a conversation before it happens and then saying something completely different anyway. It means lying awake at night wondering whether a message you sent three days ago sounded rude.
Overthinking is exhausting because your mind never simply experiences life. It analyzes it, dissects it, rewrites it, and then revisits it long after everyone else has forgotten it happened.
Which brings me to the highlighter.
The Highlighter Incident (Yes, It Still Haunts Me)
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Nine years ago, a classmate asked if she could trade her neon yellow highlighter for my pink one.
Now, any normal person would have considered whether they actually wanted to make that trade.
I did not.
My immediate thought was:
"If I say no, she'll feel bad."
So I handed over my favorite pink highlighter without hesitation.
The moment it left my hand, reality arrived.
That was my favorite highlighter.
Why did I do that?
What was I thinking?
But asking for it back felt impossible.
What if she felt disappointed?
What if she thought I was selfish?
What if she told other people?
What if everyone suddenly decided I was a terrible person because of a highlighter?
So I spent the entire day trapped inside a mental courtroom where every possible outcome was being debated.
Eventually, while we were leaving school, I approached her and delivered what might be one of the worst excuses in human history.
"Hey, I'm really sorry, but it's actually my cousin's, and I need to return it or she'll kill me."
She looked at me.
I looked at her.
She looked at the highlighter.
Then she handed it back with an expression that clearly said:
"That is the dumbest excuse I've ever heard."
And somehow, despite surviving exams, global events, and the passage of nearly a decade, that interaction still visits me randomly at 2 a.m.
This is overthinking.
Not because the event mattered.
But because my brain decided it did.
When Empathy Makes Everything Heavier
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According to the Oxford Dictionary, an empathetic person is someone who can understand another person's feelings by imagining what it is like to be in their situation.
Empathy is often described as a gift.
And it is.
But nobody talks enough about how heavy that gift can become.
Whenever I'm outside and see an elderly person struggling to make ends meet, something shifts inside me.
Maybe they're selling vegetables by the roadside.
Maybe they're carrying things that seem too heavy for their age.
Maybe they're simply sitting alone.
Most people notice these things and continue with their day.
My mind doesn't.
It starts asking questions.
What happened to them?
Do they have children?
Were they always this lonely?
How difficult must life have been to bring them here?
What keeps them going?
What if one day that's me?
Why does the world seem so indifferent to suffering?
Within seconds, I've created an entire emotional history for a stranger.
The difficult part isn't just feeling sadness.
It's carrying it home with me.
Some people can witness pain and leave it where they found it.
Empaths often cannot.
We collect it.
We absorb it.
We carry pieces of other people's stories long after they've disappeared from view.
The Quiet Reality of Being an Introvert
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An introvert, according to the Oxford Dictionary, is someone who prefers their own thoughts and feelings to excessive social interaction and generally enjoys smaller gatherings over large groups.
Contrary to popular belief, introverts are not always shy.
They are not always quiet.
They are not always socially awkward.
Some of the most confident people I've met are introverts.
I'm talking specifically about the softer, more reserved variety.
The kind who would choose a corner seat every single time.
The kind who secretly celebrates when plans get cancelled.
The kind who loves people but can only handle them in carefully measured doses.
Being this type of introvert requires a surprising amount of creativity.
Because people often assume that if you're not busy, you should want to socialize.
So you end up inventing explanations.
"Are you free this weekend?"
"I'm going out with my parents."
"What about next weekend?"
"I'm busy."
"Want to join us?"
"Not feeling well."
"Group study?"
"My parents won't allow it."
"Then we'll come to your house."
"..."
The real challenge isn't declining invitations.
It's declining them without sounding rude.
You don't want people to feel rejected.
You don't want them to think you dislike them.
You simply want to spend time alone without having to justify why.
And somehow, that can feel surprisingly difficult.
Being Highly Sensitive in a Loud World
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One thing people often misunderstand about being highly sensitive is that it isn't just about being emotional. It's about experiencing emotions with the volume turned all the way up.
For me, one of the clearest examples is conflict.
Whenever someone raises their voice at me, especially someone I care about, my first reaction isn't anger. It isn't defending myself. It isn't even figuring out who's right or wrong.
It's crying.
My brain immediately jumps to:
"Why are they speaking to me like that?"
"Are they angry at me?"
"Did I do something wrong?"
"Do they hate me now?"
And before I've had the chance to process the situation logically, the tears have already arrived.
Call me a crybaby if you want. I've heard it before.
The funny thing is that, after I cry, I can usually think of several reasonable solutions to the problem. I can communicate clearly. I can explain my side. I can even be surprisingly rational.
But first comes the emotional tsunami.
It's as though my feelings insist on entering the room before my thoughts do.
And it doesn't always have to be an argument involving me. Sometimes hearing people shout at each other is enough to make my chest tighten. The tension hangs in the air long after everyone else has moved on from it.
Being highly sensitive often feels like having emotional skin that's a little thinner than everyone else's. Things don't just touch you. They reach deeper.
It can be exhausting.
But perhaps it's also why kindness means so much to us. We remember harsh words for years, but we remember gentle ones just as long.
The Challenges Nobody Sees
People often romanticize personalities like these.
They talk about empathy as a superpower.
They describe sensitivity as depth.
They admire thoughtfulness.
But there is another side to it.
Perfectionism
When you spend so much time thinking, it's easy to convince yourself that everything must be perfect before it's worthy of being shared.
The result?
Constant pressure.
Constant self-criticism.
Constant disappointment.
Vulnerability to Stress
Things that other people shrug off can linger for days.
A careless comment.
A strange look.
A slightly different tone in someone's voice.
The smallest things can occupy far more mental space than they should.
Emotional Burnout
Feeling deeply sounds beautiful until you're doing it all the time.
Empaths absorb emotions the way sponges absorb water.
Eventually, even the strongest sponge becomes saturated.
And that's what burnout often feels like.
Not weakness.
Not failure.
Just emotional exhaustion from carrying too much for too long.
The Beautiful Part Nobody Talks About
Despite everything, I wouldn't completely trade this way of being.
Yes, overthinking is exhausting.
Yes, empathy can be overwhelming.
Yes, introversion can be misunderstood.
But these same traits are also why we notice things other people miss.
Why we care.
Why we listen.
Why we remember.
Why a stranger's struggle can move us.
Why kindness matters so much.
Why a pink highlighter can become a story that survives nearly a decade.
Maybe people like us spend too much time thinking.
Maybe we feel too much.
Maybe we care more than is practical.
But in a world that often encourages indifference, there is something quietly beautiful about refusing to stop caring.
Even when it's exhausting.
Especially when it's exhausting.
Written by someone who spent more time overthinking this essay than actually writing it.
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