Overthinking: How to Make Clear Decisions When Every Voice in Your Head Has Something to Say

Why your loudest voice isn’t always the wisest, and what it takes to lead from within. Best suited for: overthinkers, self-saboteurs, and rising leaders.

A vast opera house, weathered and gorgeous, its seats empty. You can feel the history in the tapestry and balustrades, the echoes of success and tension built over decades.

A spotlight cuts through the calm darkness onto the Conductor, baton raised. A hundred musicians sit before him: strings to his left, woodwinds at the center, brass and percussion rising at the back, a harp and a piano to his side. Beside him, the soloist stands poised, waiting for his precise signal to begin the final movement.

A couple of people sit in the first balcony — the theatre manager and the artistic director — watching, wondering if his reading of Mahler’s Symphony No. 4 will sell tickets, or if critics and aficionados will tear the production apart after opening night.

“Can everyone please pay attention? The third pause is two beats, not one; it has to be more like a staccato, not just a breath. Henry, I’m sorry, you’re still coming in too fast. I’ve asked several times to soften — please.”

I’m exhausted. How many more times do I have to repeat the same thing? Am I even reading this passage right? Maybe they hear it differently but don’t dare say it. Am I being clear? We’ve been at this for hours, and it still sounds off.

The audience, the musicians charged with bringing your vision to life, your bosses, and your own demands. As though there weren’t enough expectations already, there is also an inner choir — a constant cacophony demanding harmonization, often your fiercest critic and your greatest fan at once.

The orchestra on stage mirrors that inner choir, a bundle of voices mingling, filling your mind with suggestions, warnings, insights. When every voice has its tone and personality clamoring to be heard, which one deserves your ear, and how do you distinguish your own from the choir?

I should never have agreed to this program. Why? Why did I do that? I knew from the start it was a mistake, and I let that fool talk me into this mess.

Horns aren’t that bad. Trumpets… still not locking in. Cellos are doing fine, same with the first violins. And Frida is a great soprano; she never gave me a problem. I just have to reassure her that all will be fine.

Romanticism isn’t your thing. You may love it, but you don’t feel it. I can already see Mark Pullinger on Bachtrack, pounding his keyboard: ‘Hadrian Kellor offered a reading of Mahler’s Fourth that felt cautious and underpowered.’

So what is it? Did you set yourself up for failure, or did you push it as a way to grow? Is it really bad, or not that bad? How do you even tell right from wrong, up from down, left from right, when everything in your head is happening everywhere, all at once?

How Overthinking Clouds Your Decisions

The main issue with the inner choir is that multiple voices often break in at once. Some are loud, others faint, easy to miss, yet often the most insightful despite their quiet demeanor.

Among the inner choir are union members; others are naysayers who cling to the way things were. A few are friends for life, while others are seasonal singers who come and go, their presence and influence often lingering far beyond their stay.

Our inner voices, to some degree, function like any other human being who wants to be seen and heard. And like most human beings, when they are ignored, the consequences can be dire, the grudge endless, unwilling to move forward an inch, keeping you in a fog of confusion and uncertainty where you wander. Most of the time, it isn’t their fault, but our unwillingness to listen.

The inner choir never shuts up, even when you try to ignore some of its members. Oddly enough, once they grab your attention and say what they came to say, they quiet down, their purpose fulfilled: to deliver a message that matters to you.

Every single voice in the inner choir has something to say. It might be pleasant, hurtful, or frightening, but it’s a piece designed for your learning and growth. If you had news that could be vital for someone you really care about, would you shut up, or would you insist, hoping to get through?

Dealing with the inner choir is a listening exercise that requires slowing down and paying attention to every voice, especially the uncomfortable ones. Our inner chatter often resembles an endless meeting, where some take up too much space while others never get the chance to speak.

Internally, we can be facilitators, the kind who listen to everyone and make sure each voice has space. A good facilitator catches nuances, paraphrases difficult ideas, creates room, and guides a dialogue toward something more harmonious, even when the voices resist getting along.

At times, the inner choir becomes antagonistic, just like it happens in real relationships. You struggle to understand some of them because they are too noisy. And they can be so persistent that they convince the rest they have no right to speak, or that what they have to say isn’t meaningful.

The symphony is the goal.

“Let’s take a 20-minute break, everyone. Thank you.”

The two men seated on the first balcony get up, their eyes on the Conductor.

“Gentlemen, we’ll talk later, after the rehearsal.”

“No problem, Hadrian.”

 “I have to get something from my dressing room.”

He can breathe again as soon as he steps out of the concert hall and heads quickly without saying a word to the stage manager.

He closes the door and walks straight to the leather couch, where he has spent hours looking at the full score. But this time, he lies down and closes his eyes.

His mind goes to the day Elias, his eight-year-old son, showed him what he’d learned in his emotional education class. He puts both hands on his stomach and watches them rise and fall, following his breathing, which slows down quickly.

“They’re your friends, Dad. You bow to each one and say, like this—‘Hello, Ms. Doodle, how are you today?’ And you listen to what she says without interrupting.”

He stays in the stillness of the dressing room for a couple of minutes, then he bows at the voice standing right in front of him.

Hello, Mr. …? I’m not sure we’ve met before.

Marcel Crickety, pleasure to meet you.

What can I do for you, Mr. Crickety?

The inner choir speaks to him through sounds and images, all meshing and creating an impressionist painting, beautiful, but he cannot see the figures in it. So he begins stepping back, as you’d do in a museum, to catch the whole piece.

The pace is fine, it sounds… clean. Maybe too clean.

You’re treating Mahler like Brahms, but this is no lullaby.

The Scherzo is dragging. The devil’s in that solo violin is too polite.

You don’t trust the silences. You’re filling them with control.

RESTRAINT.

The voice bursts out of nowhere, one word ringing with truth and precision. The highest note of the Glockenspiel finds him, rather than hiding. Less direction, more space.

He gets up quickly and frantically makes some quick notations.

First violins — less vibrato in the opening. Let the line breathe.Horns — no swell in bar 26. Keep it still, almost innocent.Frida — sing it like a lullaby that no child ever woke up from.

Facilitating inner balance means listening to the message of each voice, the fear that hides insight, the boldness that shields pain, the calm that conceals the solution. Every voice carries a thread of truth, and only by hearing them all can you see the whole picture.

‘The voice’ we’re seeking is always present, shaped by the cumulative effect of the entire inner choir, each member contributing a piece of the truth, lighting the night.

When we seek ‘the voice’, we often get stuck in thinking and overthinking how things should unfold, rather than allowing it to rise on its own and chime through as an unmistakable yes.

Like in conversation, when you stop rehearsing your next line and finally hear what the other person is trying to say.

PAUSE. LEARN. MOVE ON.

Cognitive scientists call metacognition the act of thinking about your own thinking. It’s the moment you notice your mind in motion — the inner choir, the subtle shift from clarity to chaos, from insight to avoidance.

John Flavell, who coined the term, described metacognition as both awareness and control. Richard Schwartz, the creator of Internal Family Systems, brought it closer to lived experience. He viewed the mind as a collection of parts, each with its own story, tone, and purpose. Some act as protectors, others react instinctively, and a few carry burdens we’ve never fully acknowledged. These elements need to be understood and guided.

We manage to get through life because these tones step up when needed. True leadership, whether inside ourselves or in the external world, starts with recognizing who’s speaking, understanding what they’re trying to shield, and deciding if they should be at the forefront in this moment.

Leaders with high metacognitive awareness show stronger emotional regulation, better decision-making under stress, and higher interpersonal trust, especially where composure matters more than certainty. When leaders can identify which inner voice is active and whether that voice belongs at the helm, they become safer, clearer, and more credible to others.

You can reach Stephen at stephen@alygn.company