You Don’t Know What They’re Thinking

How Anxiety Turns Uncertainty Into Certainty

Earlier this week, my client reached out to me before an important meeting.

She walked into work and immediately sensed that something felt different.

A few people who normally greeted her walked by without saying hello. Nobody said anything negative. Nobody confronted her, and nothing had actually happened.

Yet within minutes, her stomach tightened, her body braced, and her mind accelerated.

By the time she sent me a message, she was trying to make sense of an environment that suddenly felt uncertain.

Most of us know that feeling.

The details may be different, but most of us have experienced moments when our internal alarm system activates. You walk out of a meeting feeling unsettled. Someone seems different, though you can’t explain why. A supervisor sends a brief message. A trusted relationship suddenly feels distant. Communication changes without explanation. Nothing obvious has happened, yet your mind immediately begins searching for answers.

We begin creating explanations.

They’re upset with me. I must have done something wrong. I was too much. Something bad is about to happen. Everyone knows something I don’t.

What’s interesting is that these stories often feel true long before we know whether they are true.

That’s because the struggle isn’t simply about what we’re observing.

It’s about what we’re concluding.

One of the most important distinctions I’ve learned personally and seen repeatedly in coaching conversations is the difference between being a good observer and being a good interpreter.

Some people are naturally observant. They notice subtle changes in tone, facial expressions, energy, body language, and atmosphere. This is especially common among people who have lived through difficult experiences, experienced rejection, grown up in unpredictable environments, or who are neurodivergent.

Their awareness is often remarkably accurate. They really do notice things other people miss.

The problem is not usually what they notice. It’s the meaning they attach to what they notice.

There’s a significant difference between observing that someone didn’t say hello and concluding that they’re angry with you.

There’s a significant difference between sensing tension and believing you know exactly what that tension means.

Observation and interpretation are not the same thing.

Yet people move from one to the other so quickly that we don’t realize we’re doing it.

Part of this is simply how God designed the brain.

Our brains are constantly trying to make sense of the world around us. Neuroscientists often describe the brain as a prediction machine. It’s always gathering information, making forecasts, filling gaps, and attempting to answer one persistent question:

Am I safe?

Most of the time, this process is incredibly helpful.

It’s what allows us to navigate daily life without having to analyze every detail consciously. But when information is incomplete, the brain doesn’t always wait for more information.

It often creates a story and once that narrative exists, we can begin responding to it rather than to reality.

The story reduces uncertainty, but it doesn’t necessarily reveal truth.

I’ve noticed that people don’t actually struggle most with rejection, conflict, or disappointment. More often, they struggle with uncertainty.

We want to know where we stand, clarity, and reassurance.

But when we’re caught in am interpretation we’ve constructed, we rarely move toward those things. Instead, we stay trapped in our interpretations, replaying conversations, analyzing interactions, and trying to solve questions that don’t yet have answers.

Beneath many of what we tell ourselves is often something deeper than fear.

There is longing.

We long to be accepted, to belong. We long to be respected, valued and understood.

Uncertainty threatens those desires, which is one reason it feels so uncomfortable.

Sometimes we are not afraid of rejection itself.

We are afraid of not knowing whether rejection exists. In many ways, uncertainty feels threatening because it leaves our deepest questions unanswered.

And when those answers remain out of reach, whether because we haven’t sought clarity or because clarity simply isn’t available yet, anxiety often rushes in to fill the silence.

I experienced this recently with a referral partner.

Communication slowed down. Referrals stopped coming in. I offered myself a few reasonable explanations.

But it didn’t take long before I started turning the spotlight inward.

Did I do something wrong? Was I too direct in a previous conversation? Had I somehow damaged the relationship without realizing it?

I moved from observation to interpretation.

Nothing had actually happened beyond a slowdown in business, but I imagined the worst case scenario and jumped to conclusions to explain the absence of information.

Even after years of doing this work, I found myself revisiting the same questions over and over.

Eventually, I paused and became curious about my own thinking.

How long am I willing to carry a story without knowing whether it’s true? What evidence do I actually have that supports the narrative? What am I assuming? If a client brought this situation to me, what questions would I ask them? Would I encourage them to continue guessing? Or would I help them consider what might happen if they pursued clarity instead?

That shifted something for me.

A conversation took place, and the explanation was completely different from the one I had been carrying around for weeks.

The experience reminded me how easy it is to suffer under conclusions we reach in the absence of information.

It also reminded me how often anxiety rushes to fill the gaps before truth has a chance to arrive.

Interestingly, the client who inspired the opening of this article experienced something similar. The tension she had sensed was real, but the story she feared was not.

What she feared would become a painful confrontation turned into a healing conversation, where understanding grew and relationships deepened.

She later told me she left the meeting feeling loved, supported, and grateful. The outcome wasn’t beautiful because she correctly interpreted everyone’s thoughts.

It was beautiful because she stopped allowing her assumptions to lead the way and chose instead to pursue truth, humility, and connection.

As Christians, there is another dimension worth considering.

Not every anxious thought originates from spiritual warfare. Sometimes our thoughts are simply the product of being human, living in a fallen world, carrying wounds, and trying to make sense of incomplete information.

At the same time, Scripture reminds us that we have an enemy who traffics in deception.

Jesus described satan as "a liar and the father of lies" (John 8:44). That means deception is not merely something he does; it is part of his nature.

One of the enemy’s most common strategies is not necessarily to create entirely new thoughts, but to take our fears, insecurities, wounds, and uncertainties and quietly whisper interpretations that pull us away from truth.

You are unwanted. You are too much. You ruined the relationship. You are being rejected. God is not for you. No one values you.

Those thoughts often arrive sounding remarkably believable because they attach themselves to circumstances we do not fully understand and to wounds we already carry.

This is one reason Paul instructs believers to “take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ” (2 Corinthians 10:5).

Notice that Paul assumes some thoughts should not be trusted automatically.

Some thoughts need to be examined, challenged and surrendered.

The question is not simply, “What am I thinking?”

The question is, “Is what I’m thinking true?”

And even more importantly, “Does it agree with what God says?”

What makes uncertainty particularly difficult is that it activates more than our thoughts.

It activates our bodies.

Your chest tightens and your breathing changes. Your stomach churns and your shoulders rise. Your muscles brace.

The body begins preparing for possible loss, loss of income, loss of opportunity, loss of relationship, loss of love, before the mind has determined whether any real threat is present.

This is why anxiety can feel so convincing.

The physical sensations create the impression that a threat exists, yet discomfort and danger are not the same thing.

Many of us learned early in life to treat them as if they were. If you grew up around volatility, criticism, addiction, emotional unpredictability, conflict, chronic invalidation, or instability, paying attention became necessary.

You learned to scan, anticipate, and read the room.

You learned to detect shifts before they became problems, and those skills may have protected you.

But they can also become exhausting and problematic.

Long after the original danger has passed, the nervous system continues scanning.

What once helped you survive can eventually make it difficult to rest.

This is where Scripture offers such profound wisdom.

The Bible never asks us to become naive.

It never asks us to ignore reality or stop paying attention.

But it repeatedly invites us to acknowledge the limits of our perspective.

One of the most humbling verses in Scripture is 1 Samuel 16:7:

“The LORD does not see things the way you see them. People judge by outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.”

Only God sees hearts completely.

Only God understands motives perfectly.

Only He possesses the full story.

That reality should create humility in all of us.

The humility to say:

I may be noticing something real, but I may not fully understand what it means.

That single sentence can bring peace because it loosens anxiety’s grip on certainty.

One of my favorite passages for overthinkers comes from Ecclesiastes:

“Do not listen to everything people say, or you may hear your servant curse you. For you know how often you yourself have cursed others.” (Ecclesiastes 7:21–22)

What a refreshingly honest piece of wisdom.

Solomon seems to be reminding us that life becomes very difficult when our emotional well-being depends on knowing, analyzing, and managing everyone else’s opinion of us.

People will misunderstand us, have bad days, say things they shouldn’t, and will sometimes be upset with us.

My mentor once told a group of us, “If you know me long enough, I will eventually disappoint you or hurt you.”

Not intentionally, but inevitably.

Life and relationships are messy.

Sometimes we won’t know exactly where we stand.

But the deeper issue is not whether uncertainty exists.

The deeper issue is whether our peace depends on uncertainty being removed.

I think that’s why Isaiah’s words are so comforting:

“You will keep in perfect peace all who trust in you, all whose thoughts are fixed on you!” (Isaiah 26:3)

Notice what Isaiah does not say.

He does not say peace comes from understanding everything or controlling outcomes.

He doesn’t say peace comes from certainty. Peace comes from trust in God, the Most High.

Trust can exist even when questions remain unanswered.

In fact, trust often grows strongest there.

I’ve found that when anxiety begins writing stories, a few simple questions can help create space between observation and interpretation:

• What do I actually know?

• What am I assuming?

• What evidence supports the story I’m telling myself?

• How do I want to show up regardless of what other people are doing?

  
  

That last question may be the most important because it shifts our attention away from controlling others and back toward stewarding our own hearts.

The Apostle Paul writes that we are to “capture their rebellious thoughts and teach them to obey Christ” (2 Corinthians 10:5).

Not every thought deserves agreement, authority, or trust.

Some thoughts need examination before they are believed.

Some interpretations need humility before they are embraced.

Some stories need to be surrendered before they become strongholds.

Perhaps one of the clearest signs of emotional and spiritual maturity is learning to tolerate uncertainty without rushing to eliminate it.

That is not easy.

Especially for those who have spent years scanning for danger.

But it is often in that uncomfortable space that God does some of His deepest work.

Ecclesiastes offers another insight that speaks directly to this struggle:

“If you wait for perfect conditions, you will never get anything done.” (Ecclesiastes 11:4, NLT)

Many of us spend enormous energy waiting for complete clarity before we move forward.

We want every question answered and every outcome guaranteed.

Yet much of life requires faithful action while uncertainty remains.

We don’t always know how a conversation will go before we have it.

We don’t always know how God is working behind the scenes before we take the next step of obedience.

Sometimes wisdom is not found in obtaining more answers.

Sometimes wisdom is found in faithfully taking the next step with the information God has already provided.

Because faith, dependence and trust require incomplete information.

None of those qualities develop when every answer is already available.

If we had all the answers, we would have far less need to lean on the One who does.

“When doubts filled my mind, your comfort gave me renewed hope and cheer.” (Psalm 94:19)

The psalmist does not describe a life free from uncertainty.

He describes a God who meets him in the middle of it.

I realize how much unnecessary suffering I’ve created by assuming I knew what something meant before I actually knew the truth.

I’ve also learned that some of the peace God offers us comes not from having every answer, but from surrendering our need to have them.

Maybe that’s where some of us need to linger today.

Not in the story we’ve created, the assumptions we’ve made or the conclusions we’ve rushed toward.

But in the presence of the God who sees what we cannot see.

The goal is not to become less observant or to stop noticing. The goal is not to ignore your intuition or dismiss your concerns either.

The goal is to become less controlled by what you perceive and to notice without spiraling.

To remain curious without becoming consumed, to stay grounded when answers are unavailable.

To remain grounded, clear-minded, and connected to God's presence rather than becoming consumed by your own interpretations.

To trust God with what you do not yet know.

And to remember that your peace was never meant to rest on your ability to interpret every situation correctly.

Your peace rests in the One who already knows the whole story.

Reflection

Where might you be confusing observation with interpretation right now?

What story are you telling yourself that may not yet be supported by facts?

What would it look like to trust God with the unanswered pieces?

How might your relationships change if you became more curious and less certain?

A Prayer

Father,

You know what I know, and You know what I don’t know. You see every motive, every circumstance, and every heart completely. Help me recognize the stories I create when uncertainty feels uncomfortable. Give me wisdom to distinguish observation from interpretation. Help me trust You when answers are unavailable. Teach me to bring my fears, assumptions, and questions into Your presence rather than allowing them to control me and please remind me again that my peace rests not in certainty, but in You.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.

“Let us think of ways to motivate one another to acts of love and good works.”Hebrews 10:24 (NLT)

With care,

Pamela

All for His glory.