Lena woke up to the sound of her alarm, a jarring buzz that seemed to echo louder in her mind than in the quiet room. She rubbed her eyes, stretched, and sat up. Did I turn off the stove last night? The thought hit her immediately. She paused, trying to picture the moment before she went to bed. Was it on? What if it wasn’t? Her heart began to race, but she forced herself out of bed, heading to the kitchen.
It was fine. The stove was off. But what if it wasn't? she thought as she made her coffee. She couldn’t shake the idea. The more she examined it, the more her brain tangled itself into a knot. By the time she stepped out the door, Lena had already replayed every conversation from the day before, overanalyzing every word she said and wondering how she came across. Did I sound too nervous? Too eager? What did she think of me?
At work, it only got worse. Her inbox was flooded with emails—some urgent, some not—but each one seemed to require careful deliberation. A simple question about a project turned into an hour of considering every possible interpretation. What do they really want from me? Am I doing enough? What if I fail? How do I do better? Her thoughts spiraled, and she found herself staring blankly at her screen, overwhelmed.
Lunchtime arrived, and Lena sat alone at a café, picking at her salad. Her mind, however, was a storm. Was I too quiet in the meeting? What if my idea was not understood? Did I convey appropriately? Every glance from a stranger became a judgment. Every smile, a secret meaning. She realized she hadn't even tasted her food.
By the time the evening came, she was drained—mentally and emotionally. She hadn’t accomplished anything she planned. Did I do enough today? she wondered, lying in bed. She thought of all the things she should have said, the ways she could have done things differently.
But the worst part? She didn’t even know how to stop. Her mind, tangled in a web of “what ifs” and “maybes,” spun faster each day. In the quiet moments, when she wasn’t too busy, the weight of it all sank in. She longed for peace, but the threads of overthinking kept her tangled, always searching for answers that never came.
It was fine. The stove was off. But what if it wasn't? she thought as she made her coffee. She couldn’t shake the idea. The more she examined it, the more her brain tangled itself into a knot. By the time she stepped out the door, Lena had already replayed every conversation from the day before, overanalyzing every word she said and wondering how she came across. Did I sound too nervous? Too eager? What did she think of me?
At work, it only got worse. Her inbox was flooded with emails—some urgent, some not—but each one seemed to require careful deliberation. A simple question about a project turned into an hour of considering every possible interpretation. What do they really want from me? Am I doing enough? What if I fail? How do I do better? Her thoughts spiraled, and she found herself staring blankly at her screen, overwhelmed.
Lunchtime arrived, and Lena sat alone at a café, picking at her salad. Her mind, however, was a storm. Was I too quiet in the meeting? What if my idea was not understood? Did I convey appropriately? Every glance from a stranger became a judgment. Every smile, a secret meaning. She realized she hadn't even tasted her food.
By the time the evening came, she was drained—mentally and emotionally. She hadn’t accomplished anything she planned. Did I do enough today? she wondered, lying in bed. She thought of all the things she should have said, the ways she could have done things differently.
But the worst part? She didn’t even know how to stop. Her mind, tangled in a web of “what ifs” and “maybes,” spun faster each day. In the quiet moments, when she wasn’t too busy, the weight of it all sank in. She longed for peace, but the threads of overthinking kept her tangled, always searching for answers that never came.
gas off, door lock, windows close...
which we surely cross check multiple times.