Discernment or rumination?
You open your brand-new journal and take a breath. You’re ready to work through something that’s been bothering you—a conversation you can’t shake, or a moment that left you feeling unsettled. Journaling feels like the right way to go because your therapist suggested it, friends swear by it, and social media is full of people praising the power of writing things down.
Pen in hand, you replay the whole interaction, start to finish, and before you can write anything down, your thoughts take you on a wild journey: Why did they say that? Maybe they thought I wasn’t listening. Did I look bored? I should’ve said something different. You even try to imagine what they’re thinking of you now. No replay of the conversation seems to bring you peace, but you return again and again, hoping to feel better and less anxious. Instead, you feel worse.
You’ve written very little in your journal because you’re trying to find the moment where it all went sideways. Clarity eludes you, and you slam it shut, hoping to quiet your mind, but all the thoughts are still there, swirling in circles. You wanted clarity, but instead, you walk away feeling mentally drained from ruminating, kidnapped by thoughts that are holding you hostage.
Why We Ruminate
Rumination is an effort to avoid pain and discomfort. It’s that simple. Which is ironic, given how much distress it tends to create. I’ve never worked with a client who experienced a breakthrough after two hours of spiraling in the middle of the night. What they do experience is frustration, headaches, poor sleep, and a deep sense of exhaustion.
Sometimes rumination starts after an interaction that felt off. You replay the conversation, analyzing tone or body language, hoping to feel better. But underneath it, you’re trying to avoid the possibility that it hurt.
Other times, nothing specific happened; you just feel off. So you comb through your thoughts and recent days, trying to find the reason. But really, you’re trying to escape the discomfort of not knowing.
And then there are the things you’re worried about in the future: a conversation, a trip, a big moment. You start rehearsing, planning, overthinking—telling yourself it’s preparation. But what you’re really after is control.
Whatever the case, rumination is a likely indicator that fear is running the show. Not the loud kind, but the quiet kind you picked up along the way. The kind of fear that tells you emotions aren’t safe; that if you cry, it means you’re falling apart. Or that if you feel too much, clearly something’s wrong with you.
But you didn’t come to those beliefs on your own. Somewhere along the way, you learned them. Maybe you grew up in a home where feelings weren’t talked about, where staying “strong” meant staying quiet. So instead of feeling, you started thinking. You analyze, plan, go back over every detail, because your head offers the safety that couldn’t be found in your heart. These beliefs may have been reinforced every time you were praised for being the calm one, the easygoing one, the one who never made trouble.
But emotions don’t disappear just because you shut the door on them. In fact, they show up in other ways: chronic tension, irritability, fatigue, shallow breathing, brain fog. The more you resist them, the more those emotions will find ways to be heard.
What is discernment?
It’s very easy to confuse discernment and rumination because they often start the same way—with a desire to make sense of something, to feel better. Both may involve journaling, reflection, and even silence, but the outcomes are completely different.
Like rumination, discernment seeks clarity, but it requires a whole other level of courage. When you discern, rather than avoiding discomfort, you choose to allow it without trying to solve it or make it go away. You trust that clarity lies somewhere in the hurt or sadness, and that it may take time.
Discernment isn’t just for moments after hard conversations or confusing interactions. It also comes into play when you’re sitting with deeper, more existential questions. Who am I now? What matters to me? It’s there when you’re navigating a shift in identity, a crossroads in your career, or the aching void left by grief. It helps you stay present with what is, even when it’s messy or incomplete.
It’s not about forcing answers. It’s about making space for truth to unfold.
How to Shift
As with many things, awareness is key. Notice when you’ve left the present moment and gotten stuck in the spin. No judgment, just name it: This is rumination. That alone can loosen its grip.
Bring your attention back into your body. This can be hard, especially if you’ve spent years living in your head, but keep trying. Start this process with a brave question: Of what am I afraid? Then focus on a single part of your body, like the palm of your hand, the soles of your feet, or the space behind your eyes. You can also bring attention to where you feel tension—maybe your chest, jaw, or belly—and breathe into it.
You will likely want to jump back into your head the moment you start to feel the emotions underneath the fear—the sadness, hurt, or shame. Be patient: Every time you notice yourself spiraling again, gently redirect your focus back to your body and breathe.
And finally, release any expectation that you’ll get instant clarity. Discernment isn’t about forcing answers. It’s about creating space and trusting that understanding will come, in its own time. The goal isn’t to “fix” how you feel. It’s to stay in faith as it all unfolds.
You’ll know clarity has arrived not because you’ve figured everything out, but because something inside you settles: Your breath deepens, your chest softens, and the spinning quiets.
Conclusion
Discernment doesn’t always lead to clarity right away. Sometimes it takes a season—a few days, a few weeks, maybe longer—because whatever you’re working through is asking for a little more time.
And if it feels hard to sit still, that’s not a flaw. It’s conditioning. You’ve probably been wired, maybe for years, to overthink, to problem-solve your way out of discomfort. So shifting into discernment isn’t just a decision, it’s a process.
If clarity is taking its time, know that you are not stuck or doing anything wrong. If you’re choosing to stay present in the uncertainty and discomfort, you’re actually doing it right. That’s what discernment looks like: staying with yourself, even when there are no immediate answers.
