I’m Jess, your wig wearing, champagne drinking, Bravo TV obsessed, side part and skinny jean wearing (they have never gone out of style in my opinion), telogen effluvium and androgenetic alopecia hair loss BFF.
For years, overthinking ran my life like an unpaid manager. It had opinions on everything: what I wore, what I said, how I laughed, how I stood in photos, whether I replied too quickly or too slowly, whether I was “too much,” whether I was not enough.
It was exhausting.
And if you’re reading this and thinking, yes, that’s me, I want you to know something right up front: confidence is not a personality trait. It’s something you practice. Often in small, unglamorous moments. Often, while your brain is doing its absolute best. This is the work I care about most. The confidence that lives under the lipstick, under the outfit, under the story you tell yourself. The kind that sticks.
Now, it’s not like I’ve reached some perfectly healed, floating, enlightened state (I’m still human). But I’ve learned how to stop giving certain thoughts the microphone. And I’ve learned that the biggest moments of growth are not always visible. Sometimes they look like: not checking your reflection twelve times before walking into dinner. Not re-reading a text to make sure you don’t sound “needy.” Not shrinking yourself to be easier to digest.
If you’ve followed me for a while, you’ll know I talk about hair loss and wigs, yes. But the real point has never been hair. It’s always been confidence. It’s always been the decision to live boldly, regardless of what’s happening on your head, in your body, or in your life.
And a lot of my confidence has come not from wearing hair, but from quieting the voice inside myself that says ‘I can’t’. From changing the narrative from ‘shrink yourself’ to ‘take up space’.
Here’s the things that I refuse to overthink in my 40s:
I spent years dressing like I was supposed to be invisible.
Not in a dramatic way, but in a subtle, quiet way. Choosing the safe option. The one that wouldn’t attract comments. The one that wouldn’t make anyone think I was trying too hard. The one that wouldn’t invite opinions.
And then one day I realized something: most of the rules about what women “should” wear are just ways to keep us small.
Now I dress like I’m allowed to take up space. If I love it, it’s right. If it makes me feel powerful, it’s coming with me. If it feels luxurious, timeless, a little editorial, I’m wearing it to the grocery store. Because why not?
What I do instead:

I used to treat asking for help like a failure.
Like if I couldn’t do something on my own, it meant I wasn’t capable. I wasn’t smart enough. I wasn’t “strong.”
But asking for help is an asset. There is no shame in not knowing something. There is no shame in not being able to do everything on your own. The strongest women I know are the ones who know when to lean. The women who ask, who learn, who receive, who don’t pretend they’re fine when they’re not.
What I do instead:
This one was a big one for me, especially as a mom.
I used to think prioritizing myself was selfish. I used to feel like I had to earn rest, earn time, earn care. Like everyone else’s needs came first, and mine could wait. But here’s what I’ve learned: putting yourself first isn’t selfish, it’s survival.
When I take care of myself, I show up better. I show up calmer. I show up more present. My nervous system is not a dumping ground for everyone else’s expectations.
What I do instead:

For a long time, I overthought whether I was too loud, too opinionated, too polished, too emotional, too direct, too anything.
And I realized “too much” is usually what people say when a woman stops performing smallness. When you stop apologizing for your presence. When you stop being endlessly convenient.
Now, “too much” isn’t in my vocabulary. Being yourself can never take up too much space. It’s called being authentic.
What I do instead:
I won’t lie, there are photos that never see the Instagram feed.
But I don’t overanalyze every photo anymore. Because I’m not looking for perfection. I’m looking for the memory. I’m looking for the joy behind it.
The silly company Christmas photos where my eyes are half closed. The family snap where my hair is not perfect. The candid where I’m laughing and my face is doing whatever faces do when they’re real.
I used to zoom in and spiral. Now I zoom out and remember: that photo comes with all the joy of the moment.
What I do instead:

This could be anything. Your outfit. Your hair. Your body. Your voice. Your energy.
Overthinking makes you feel like you are constantly being watched and evaluated. Like you’re on a stage and everyone’s taking notes. In reality, most people are thinking about themselves. Their insecurities. Their to do list. What they’re having for dinner.
And if someone does notice something about you?
That does not mean you are wrong. That does not mean you should hide. That does not mean you should contort yourself into being acceptable.
What I do instead:
I used to write paragraphs to justify a boundary.
Now I keep it simple. No is a full sentence. A calm no is still a no. A kind no is still a no.
What I do instead:

Overthinking loves perfection.
It loves you only when you’re good at something immediately, when you already know what you’re doing, when you can avoid feeling embarrassed. But growth requires being new. It requires being messy. It requires the courage to look slightly silly while you learn.
What I do instead:
Comparison is overthinking’s favorite hobby.
It will happily show you everyone else’s highlight reel and convince you you’re behind. That you missed the window. That you should have figured it out already. Especially as women, especially in midlife, especially when life has thrown curveballs.
But reinvention isn’t a crisis. It’s a skill.
What I do instead:

I didn’t stop overthinking because life became perfect.
I stopped overthinking because I got tired of missing my own life.
I got tired of being in the room but not really being there. Of being at dinner but thinking about how I looked. Of being with my child but thinking about whether I was doing motherhood “right.” Of being in my body but treating it like a project.
If you take one thing from this post, let it be this: you don’t have to eliminate every insecure thought to be confident. You just have to stop letting those thoughts make decisions for you.
What is one thing you’re ready to stop overthinking this year?
Take what you need, leave what you don’t. And if you want, tell me in the comments.
Cheering you on always,
Jess xx
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