One of the things many of us get accused of, by other people and by ourselves, is being overthinkers.

It’s rarely meant kindly. It’s often framed as a flaw, something excessive or inefficient, something we should rein in if we want an easier life. Overthinking gets lumped together with anxiety, indecision, or unnecessary worry, as if it’s simply a bad habit we’ve picked up and failed to drop.

But that label rarely gets examined properly, because if some people are overthinkers, it also means there are underthinkers out there. And that part of the equation is pretty much never named.

Overthinking doesn’t usually come from a love of rumination for its own sake. It comes from trying to understand. From wanting to get things right. From scanning for meaning, risk, and consequence in a world that doesn’t always feel predictable or safe. In many cases, it’s not a fault at all. It’s a system that has learned to work overtime.

A brain that anticipates, analyses, and rehearses is often a brain that has had to brace itself for emotional shifts, unclear expectations or consequences that arrive without warning. Overthinking becomes a way of creating safety through clarity, of reducing risk by thinking one step ahead.

So when someone says, “You’re reading too much into this,” what they’re often missing is that you’re reading at the depth you’re used to reading. And crucially, you’re assuming that everyone else is doing the same. This is where the mismatch begins.

If you’re someone who thinks deeply, reflects carefully, and chooses your words with intention, other people’s comments can land with surprising force. A throwaway remark can echo for days. A blunt email can derail your focus. A casual judgement can feel like a definitive statement about who you are.

And the story you tend to tell yourself is that you’re too sensitive. But what’s actually happening is a collision between overthinking and underthinking.

When you overthink, you process internally. You consider impact. You weigh meaning. You don’t usually speak unless there’s something behind what you’re saying. Even when you’re saying something on apparent impulse, there’s often a long runway of thought, values, and lived experience underneath.

So when someone else says something sharp, dismissive, or hurtful, your brain assumes the same level of processing must be behind their words. Why would they say it otherwise? Why would it come out of their mouth if it wasn’t true, or at least carefully considered?

That assumption is what makes these moments so destabilising.

Many people don’t speak from reflection. They speak from reaction, they offload, they project. They say things to relieve their own discomfort, assert control, or avoid sitting with something awkward. The words aren’t carefully chosen: they’re expedient.

But if you’re wired for depth, you don’t instinctively factor that in. Instead of thinking, that came from their stuff, you think, this must mean something about me. And so you replay it, analyse it, and try to work out what you missed.

Highly reflective people are often described as thin-skinned, but that misses the point entirely. The issue isn’t fragility. It’s integrity: you simply don’t do empty words. So when someone else doesn’t operate that way, it can feel confusing and unsafe, as though the usual rules of communication as we understand them have been shimmied.

This is especially true for people who grew up needing to read between the lines, manage other people’s emotions, or anticipate reactions. You learned early that words mattered, that tone mattered, and that paying attention kept you safe. So when someone speaks carelessly, your system treats it as significant. Here’s the reframe that often changes everything:

What people say belongs to them first.

Not everything spoken is a truth. Not every opinion is informed. Not every reaction requires your response, your explanation, or your repair.

Once you start holding that idea, something softens. You don’t have to absorb every comment as data about who you are. You don’t have to interrogate yourself every time someone is uncomfortable. You don’t have to assume equal care, equal thought, or equal responsibility.

This isn’t about becoming detached or dismissive, it’s about accuracy.

Overthinking isn’t the problem; unexamined assumptions are. Thinking deeply is a strength, but without discernment it can leave you carrying things that were never yours to begin with.

So perhaps the question isn’t how to stop overthinking, but whether we can stop punishing ourselves for a system that has been doing its best to protect us – and point the finger where it truly belongs. ‘Have you really thought that through?’ might be the perfect come back you’ve been needing all along.