Understanding Rumination: Navigating Self-Doubt and Self-Trust
Restless Nights and Lingering Thoughts
It’s been a long, frustrating day, and it has finally come to an end.
You look forward to showering, changing into your pajamas, and wrapping yourself up in a burrito of cozy blankets. You are exhausted—but sleep doesn’t come easy.
As you close your eyes, your mind wanders to an earlier interaction you had with a colleague. They left your office with few words after you gave them constructive feedback.
You begin to analyze your tone, your facial expressions, your demeanor. You reflect:
“Was I too harsh?”
“Did I make them feel inadequate?”
“Are they talking about me?”
Your mind desperately scans for answers, yet nothing is resolved. You know it’s unhelpful—the moment has passed, and there’s no time machine to take you back. So why can’t you stop thinking about it?
Your attention shifts. You notice a scratchy sensation in your throat.
Did you wash your hands before eating lunch today? Surely you did—you’ve been cautious with the flu going around.
You try to retrace your steps:
What did you touch? Who were you around? Did your hands go near your face?
Now doubt creeps in. The harder you try to remember, the less certain you feel. The past feels just out of reach—yet your mind insists on figuring it out.
Defining Rumination
This process has a name: rumination.
Rumination is a natural mental process—but one that can become excessive and distressing. It is the mental replay of past interactions, events, or behaviors in an attempt to gain new information—information that might confirm (and hopefully reassure us) that we are “good,” rather than unworthy, embarrassing, or flawed.
In anxiety and OCD, rumination often becomes especially persistent, looping without resolution.
Why is our brain so determined to achieve the impossible? Is it possible that this tormenting process serves a purpose?
It does—at least, it once did.
Long before modern technology, our brains were our primary tool for survival. We relied on them to problem-solve, anticipate danger, and learn from past experiences. We didn’t have answers at our fingertips like we do now.
No spell check, no TikTok, no email, and certainly no ChatGPT. We relied on our brains to figure things out.
The Hidden Question Behind Rumination
Most rumination begins with a question:
“Did I…?”
Did I say the wrong thing?
Did I make a mistake?
Did I contaminate myself?
But underneath that is a deeper, more personal question:
“What does that say about me?”
Am I a bad person?
Am I careless?
Am I enough?
This is where rumination becomes especially sticky. It’s no longer about the event—it becomes about identity.
When we struggle to trust our own goodness or integrity, the urge to find certainty grows stronger. We may seek reassurance from others, search online, or mentally replay situations over and over.
And yet—the answers never stick.
Steps to Break the Cycle
The first step is awareness.
Even noticing a small percentage of your rumination is meaningful progress.
The second step is understanding its goal.
Ask yourself: What question is my brain trying to answer right now?
The third step is going deeper:
If I did—what am I afraid that means about me?
And finally, the hardest (and most important) step:
Practice trusting your own goodness.
Instead of seeking reassurance, Googling, or replaying the situation, experiment with a different response:
“Can I trust that I did the best I could in that moment?”
Not because you have certainty—but because you are choosing to step out of the loop.
One Final Thought
Rumination is a natural and automatic thought process—one that has existed and will continue to exist throughout life. The goal is not to eliminate it entirely, but to build awareness, reduce attempts to gain certainty (such as reassurance seeking or excessive searching), and gradually learn to trust your own goodness.
If this feels familiar, consider it a starting point—not a flaw. With the right support, it’s possible to relate to your thoughts in a way that feels less consuming and more freeing.
