I’m an over-thinker. It’s one of the things that I openly acknowledge about myself for a while now. I used to beat myself up about it like it’s the worst thing. But not anymore. Though I have to admit, I still have moments where I feel bad when I caught myself overthinking but it’s not as bad as it used to be. I’ve already accepted that overthinking is a part of me. Of who I am.

In this acceptance, I feel comfort as oppose to uneasiness whenever I unconsciously spend time pondering about even the smallest details of life.

It is in this acceptance that I realized why I love to read— it is not because I want to consume all the knowledge there is, but because stories and pieces feed my imagination. They keep me in the flow. They help me stay connected to myself and others.

It is in this acceptance that I realized why I love to write— it is not because I want to be a writer but because the train of thoughts, the overwhelming amount of things that run in head want to be set free. Letting them go through written words soothe me.

I’ve made my peace— I am an over-thinker. And I will stay that way.