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Updated 28 October 2026 · Published by Loopless Mind, the editorial site of the unLooper app's developer. Educational content, not medical advice.
An illustrative case, not a real person. Leah presented a budget proposal to her department on a Tuesday morning. Halfway through, the director glanced at her phone. A few slides later she glanced again. At 10:40 she stood up, said "Sorry, I have to step out, send me the deck," and left before the questions.
By lunchtime, Leah had a complete story. The director was bored. The proposal was weak. Leaving early was a polite way of saying no. By the evening the story had grown a sequel: Leah would be quietly taken off the project, and everyone in the room had noticed. She felt heavy, embarrassed and tired, and she replayed the slides on the bus home.
Notice what actually happened: two glances at a phone, an early exit, and a request for the slides. Everything else, the boredom, the rejection, the sidelining, was built by Leah's mind in the gaps. That gap between what happened and what you fear it means is the subject of this guide. Learning to see fact vs feeling, and fact vs fear, is one of the most useful skills an overthinker can practise.
When a thought spirals, three layers usually arrive glued together. Pulling them apart is most of the work.
Facts are things that happened in a way another person could confirm. A camera or a microphone could record them: "She looked at her phone twice." "The email had one line." "He hasn't replied since Saturday."
Feelings are what is happening inside you: anxious, ashamed, irritated, heavy, tight in the chest. Feelings are real and worth naming. They tell you something true about your state.
Fears and interpretations are the meanings and predictions your mind adds: "She thinks my work is bad." "I'm going to lose this." "They're all talking about it."
The phrase "feelings are not facts" gets repeated a lot, and it can sound dismissive. A more accurate version is this: feelings are facts about you, not facts about the situation. Your anxiety is real. It just is not evidence that the director disliked the proposal.
Human attention is tuned to notice possible threats, and ambiguous social signals are a classic trigger. When information is missing, the mind does not leave a blank; it fills it with a guess, and under stress that guess tends to be the threatening one. Cognitive therapists have a name for one part of this: emotional reasoning, the habit of concluding "I feel it, so it must be true."
Research on worry offers a few cautious clues. In an early study, Borkovec and colleagues described worry as a chain of negative, hard-to-control thoughts that function as an attempt to solve a problem mentally. The trouble is that a guess about someone else's mind cannot be solved by thinking harder. Carleton's review suggests that difficulty tolerating the unknown may sit underneath many kinds of anxiety, which helps explain why a missing piece of information can feel so unbearable that a bad answer seems better than no answer.
Watkins, reviewing work on repetitive thought, describes a useful distinction: thinking that stays abstract and evaluative ("Why am I like this? What does this say about me?") tends to be less helpful than thinking that stays concrete and specific ("What exactly happened, and what is one thing I could do?"). Separating facts from fears is, in practice, a way of moving from the first style to the second.
Some situations almost invite the mind to write fiction. Watch for these:
Silence. A reply that has not come, a seen message, a colleague who did not say hello in the corridor.
Tone without context. A short email, a flat "ok", a sentence that could be read two ways.
Faces and body language. A frown, a yawn, someone looking at their watch.
Official-looking letters. Anything from a bank, a landlord, a tax office or a school that says "please contact us".
Body sensations. A racing heart read as "something is wrong", tiredness read as "I'm failing".
In each case there is a small, real fact and a large, invented meaning. The meaning feels like knowledge because it arrives so fast.
A few language clues help you catch the moment. You are probably reading a fear as a fact when:
Your story uses "always", "never", "everyone" or "obviously".
You know what someone else was thinking, without them telling you.
You describe the future in the past tense: "That's it, I've lost the contract."
The story contains far more detail than the evidence does.
You feel certain, yet you could not point to the moment that proves it.
For each statement in your head, ask: would a camera have recorded this? "She left at 10:40" passes. "She left because she was bored" fails; a camera cannot film a motive. "He replied with one word" passes. "He's annoyed with me" fails.
You do not need to argue with the statements that fail the test. Just relabel them. Instead of "She was bored", write "My guess is that she was bored." That small change in wording reminds you that you are holding a hypothesis, not a verdict, and it leaves room for other guesses.
Take a sheet of paper or a notes app and make three columns: What happened, What I feel, What I'm afraid it means. Empty the whole tangle onto the page, then sort each sentence into its column.
The middle column matters more than it looks. A 2007 brain-imaging study by Lieberman and colleagues found that putting feelings into words was linked with reduced activity in a brain region involved in emotional reactions. It was a lab study with simple pictures, so it does not prove that naming a feeling will calm you in every situation, but it supports the everyday experience that "I feel embarrassed" is easier to carry than a vague, unnamed dread.
When the columns are filled, read the first one on its own. It is usually short and much less dramatic than the third. If you like working on paper, a full thought record takes this further by adding evidence for and against each fear.
Facts and fears often meet around a gap in information. Make three short lists:
What I know (only items that pass the camera test).
What I don't know (motives, outcomes, other people's opinions).
What I could find out, and how (a question you could ask, a document you could check, a date when you will learn more).
The NHS self-help guidance on worry distinguishes between practical worries, which you can act on, and hypothetical ones, which you cannot. This list does the same job. Anything in the third column becomes a small action. Anything that stays in the second column is something to notice and set down, not to solve by replaying.
An illustrative example. Tom, who had rented the same flat for three years, received a text from his landlord on a Thursday evening: "Hi Tom, could we have a quick call about the flat sometime next week?" Within an hour he was checking rental prices across the city.
Here is how the three columns looked when he sorted them:
What happened: one polite message, no date suggested, no reason given. The landlord has been reasonable for three years. The lease renews in four months.
What I feel: anxious, a bit sick, protective of my home.
What I'm afraid it means: a big rent rise; being asked to leave; having to move in winter; losing the short commute.
Then the know / don't know / can find out lists. He knew the message was neutral in tone. He did not know the reason. He could find out by replying. So he did, that evening: "Sure, Tuesday after 6 works for me. Is it about anything I should prepare?" The fear did not vanish, but it now had a date and a question attached, and the replay lost much of its grip. Whatever the call turned out to be about, he would face the real conversation, not the four imagined ones.
If the worst-case story keeps escalating even after you have sorted the facts, the guide on how to stop catastrophizing offers tools for weighing probability against cost.
Arguing your feelings away. The goal is not "I shouldn't feel anxious." It is "I feel anxious, and here is what I actually know." Feelings stay in their column; they are not deleted.
Turning it into a courtroom. You are not trying to win a case against yourself. Five minutes is usually enough.
Collecting only scary facts. Notice whether you skipped the neutral or reassuring facts, such as "she asked for the deck", which is not what people usually do with work they have already rejected.
Demanding certainty. Sometimes you simply cannot know yet. The skill is letting "I don't know" be an acceptable answer.
Dismissing intuition entirely. A gut feeling can point to something worth checking. Treat it as a question to investigate, not a conclusion to obey.
Write the thought in one sentence, exactly as it sounds in your head.
Underline the parts a camera could have recorded. Those are your facts.
Name the feeling in one or two words, and let it be there.
Rewrite the rest as guesses, starting with "My fear is that..."
Add at least one other possible explanation for the same facts.
List what you don't know and what you could find out.
Choose one small next step: ask, check, wait until a set time, or let it rest.
Your feeling is a fact about you: it is true that you feel hurt or worried. It is not automatically a fact about what caused it or what will happen. Respect the feeling and check the story attached to it.
Sometimes it will. Separating facts from fears is not about proving the fear wrong; it is about responding to what is real rather than to a dozen imagined versions. If the bad outcome does arrive, you meet it once, with clearer information, instead of living it many times in advance.
No. Positive thinking replaces a negative story with a pleasant one. This method replaces both with what is known, and labels the rest as unknown. Often the result is neutral, not cheerful.
There is no fixed timeline. Many people find that after writing the columns out a number of times, they start asking "Would a camera have recorded that?" in their head, without paper.
If overthinking seriously affects your sleep, your work or your relationships, or if you have thoughts of harming yourself, please speak to a doctor or a licensed mental health professional. In the US you can call or text 988; in the UK, Samaritans are available on 116 123.
Your mind adds meaning because it is trying to protect you, and it is fast. You can be slightly slower and more precise. Write down what happened, name what you feel, and label the rest as a fear or a guess. The facts are rarely as heavy as the story, and when they are, at least you are dealing with the real thing. Try the five-minute routine the next time a small signal turns into a big conclusion.
If you would like a gentle prompt to walk you through this, unLooper, an iPhone app made by the publisher of this site, includes the Overthinking Breaker: a guided session of about three minutes in which you capture the thought, separate fact from fear, look for other angles and choose one small next step.
It is entirely optional, and it is a self-reflection tool, not therapy. You can find unLooper for iPhone on the App Store.
Borkovec, T. D., Robinson, E., Pruzinsky, T., & DePree, J. A. (1983). Preliminary exploration of worry: Some characteristics and processes. Behaviour Research and Therapy. https://doi.org/10.1016/0005-7967(83)90121-3
Carleton, R. N. (2016). Fear of the unknown: One fear to rule them all? Journal of Anxiety Disorders. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.janxdis.2016.03.011
Watkins, E. R. (2008). Constructive and unconstructive repetitive thought. Psychological Bulletin. https://doi.org/10.1037/0033-2909.134.2.163
Lieberman, M. D., et al. (2007). Putting Feelings Into Words: Affect labeling disrupts amygdala activity. Psychological Science. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1467-9280.2007.01916.x
NHS Every Mind Matters. Tackling your worries. https://www.nhs.uk/every-mind-matters/mental-wellbeing-tips/self-help-cbt-techniques/tackling-your-worries/