It Was Just a Mug… But It Wasn’t

 It Was Just a Mug… But It Wasn’t

I used to think I was the only one who overthinks. The only one who explains things too much. The only one who replays moments again and again, wondering if I did something wrong or if I could’ve done it better. But over time, I’ve started noticing—there are so many people just like me. People who are silently overthinking, overexplaining, and they don’t even realize it.

Something happened today that made me pause.

My favorite mug broke. It wasn’t a big deal. But the way it happened… that’s what stayed with me.

It was my house helper who broke it. By mistake. It slipped from her hand. But she didn’t tell me immediately. For the next fifteen minutes, I found her standing alone, softly talking to herself—repeating the same line again and again:

“Rubi, the mug broke. It slipped from my hand by mistake.”

(Yes, my nickname is Rubi.)

She was preparing herself just to say that one sentence to me. She looked nervous. Unsure. I watched her from a distance, gently repeating it like a school kid preparing for an exam.

I finally walked up and asked, “What’s wrong?”

In one quick breath, she said the line she had practiced for so long. And I just smiled and told her, “It’s okay.” Nothing more.

And the way she took a deep breath after that… as if she had been carrying the whole weight of that one moment on her shoulders.

It made me wonder how often do we all do the same?

How many times do we replay small mistakes in our heads? Worry about reactions that might not even come? Prepare long explanations for things that didn’t need one?

We get sick in our stomachs thinking about what someone might say. We ruin our mood, sometimes our entire day, fearing judgment or anger. And sometimes, the person we’re scared of disappointing… doesn’t even think twice.

That mug? It was my favorite, yes. But her peace of mind… mattered more.

I’ve done this too. I still do. Overthink a text before sending. Read my own words again and again. Try to explain myself even when no one asked for an explanation.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s not just me. Maybe it’s all of us, in our own little ways.

Trying to be careful. Trying to be kind. Trying not to break anything not mugs, not trust, not hearts.

Sometimes, I think we carry memories like wounds. A small word, a moment of silence, or even a broken object becomes a reason for guilt. We start attaching meanings that never existed. And the more we keep thinking, the heavier it gets.

Overthinking isn’t always loud. It doesn't always come with anxiety attacks or crying spells. Sometimes, it looks like a smile followed by silence. Sometimes, it looks like typing a message and deleting it. Or explaining something no one questioned because your mind has already imagined being misunderstood.

And over-explaining? That’s our way of seeking safety. We feel the need to justify even our smallest actions because somewhere, someone once made us feel that being ourselves wasn’t enough. So we add footnotes to our feelings. We defend our intentions before they’re even questioned. We hope that if we explain well enough, we won’t be left, judged, or misunderstood.

But the truth is those who care, don’t need long explanations. And those who make us overthink every word probably never truly listened in the first place.

I’ve seen people cry over things they never told anyone. I’ve seen people walk out of rooms blaming themselves for something no one even noticed. We’re all just trying to be enough, trying not to disappoint, trying to hold it all together.

But what if we gave each other a little more space to be human?

What if we reminded one another that it’s okay to make mistakes? That being imperfect doesn’t make us unworthy of love or kindness?

And most importantly what if we reminded ourselves?

That we are allowed to breathe. To let go. To stop rehearsing for things that may never happen. Because not everything needs a perfect explanation. Not every silence means rejection. Not every broken thing needs guilt.

Sometimes, all it takes is one moment of softness. A smile. A deep breath. A reminder that hey, it’s okay.

Just like I told her.

And maybe… just like someone would tell me, too.